Chapter Text
It's not such an unusual occurrence, especially for merchants, to be set upon by bandits on their travels. This is the reason that when Camelot's regular supplier of oils fails to appear, no one really bats an eye. It isn't anything monumental, and merchants are always looking to make connections with wealthy patrons- so it's also no surprise when another takes their place in short time.
Merlin just happens to be in the hallway when the new merchant appears. He is a stringy man, his back hunched in a perpetual half bow, but besides those facts rather plain. He doesn't wear the fine silks of a trader, instead he sports a plain brown leather vest over a weathered black tunic and pants. The man wrings his hands slowly around the top of a walking stick, something he seems to be doing unconsciously as he discusses his new contract with the palace's head of house.
Nothing about the interaction seems suspicious really. It's all standard discussion and selling, but something about it just seems to strike Merlin as wrong. Maybe it's the way the man nervously shifts his weight from one foot to the other, or the fact that he glances away from the head of house more than he actually looks at the man as they talk. There's just something, he's sure of it.
Merlin makes an effort to keep out of the way, walking past the ongoing negotiation and pivoting around the corner to eavesdrop. He places his hand on the stone wall at his back before flicking his gaze down the walkway to make sure he's alone. Once he is assured no one else is likely to pass, he leans towards the sound of their conversation and concentrates.
"I am sure you will find, my good man, no better quality in all of the kingdoms," the merchant's voice carries over clearly, a little whisky rough but very articulate.
"Of course, given time we could test that, but I simply cannot take your word for it. What do you have to show for such a proclamation?" Ah yes, the head of house swings in with the important questions.
Merlin is just as curious, and peeks slowly around the corner to try and take a glimpse.
"Aha!" The merchant lifts his right hand from the walking stick and swirls it grandly through the air while puffing his chest slightly. He reaches for the pocket of his vest and pulls out a small square plate of what looks like silver. "No good merchant would make such claims without being able to back them up! Now look here-" he shoves the metal towards the other man, holding the piece on his palm for inspection.
Merlin barely gets a glance of it as the master takes it in hand before he has to duck back behind the wall when the merchant swivels his head around to take in the hallway. There doesn't seem to be anything special about it, but of course it would be hard to tell from what little he saw and from such a distance.
"What am I to do with this?" Okay, so there really isn't anything special about it.
Merlin hears the rustle of cloth and assumes the merchant is pulling something else from his pockets.
"I brought some of my special polish for this very occasion. Allow me?" A huff of air as the other man hands back the metal.
"You will find that it not only leaves the surface gleaming, but also strengthens it as well," there is a scraping sound, as if something sharp is being pulled across the metallic surface and Merlin winces at the noise. "Nary a scratch!"
Silence falls across the hallway for a moment, in which neither man seems to have words before the head of the house comes to a decision.
"Impressive indeed! And how much of this oil of yours would you be able to provide us with? " they begin talking numbers, and that doesn't seem important so Merlin focuses on some scrapes in the floor below him lost in thought. He decides a short while later to abandon the corner in order to return his previous task, not that he's horribly focused on it. Suddenly collecting water to clean Arthur's floor seems like the least of his concerns. What kind of wrongdoing could someone possibly be capable of using polishing-oil? As implausible as it seems Merlin has learned to trust his instincts on matters of this kind. The merchant is up to something, he's certain of it.