“What did I tell you?”

The man was panting, trying to keep up with his wife, who was sprinting fast like the road was made of hot charcoal.

“Yes, but this could have gone all wrong.” she shouted, still running.

“And yet it didn’t! You know you can trust me on stuff like this! We've been together eighty years! I'm the-’

“Oh please stop gloating, yes, you are still the best in your field! Happy now?”

“The happiest ever”.

“Cool, now pump those legs, we have to go buy a cart and start our journey.” she said, still holding his sleeve.

“Do you want to buy me a new hip joint? No one is tailing us!”

“No one is tailing us, yet.”

“Tell me why you have two rats peeking out of your bag again?” he gestured towards the two tiny heads poking out from the rim of the purse.

“They said they have relatives in Cranesworth they wanted to rejoin, actually, and I owed them a favor, so…”

“So we'll be four for this leg of the trip. Well, the more the merrier, and I don't believe they'll put a dent in our provisions. Do they have a name?”

“They do, but we'd make a sorry job pronouncing them, so they told me to just call them Spice and Thyme. No titles.” she slowed down, before stopping near a tree.

“Well”, Lazar said, huffing and puffing, “nice to meet you, Spice, nice to meet you, Thyme. ” He extended his open hand, palm facing upward, towards the rodents. They sniffed it, then gave it a short lick in greeting.

“They seem like nice lads. I approve of this collaboration. Now. Do you remember who sold carts in town and who may be willing to sell us two oxen?”

Liliane stroked her chin, thinking.

“The son of Jurben should have a couple new carts laying around.”

“Jurben retired?” said Lazar, flabbergasted “When?”

“He, hum, died, dear. Twelve moons ago. You skipped the funeral because you really needed to finish your draft, or your editor would have burned me to death or something like that, I think.”

The old man looked a bit downcast. He liked Jurben. Very good listener, very good worker. Cheap.

“Poor lad. I remember buying one of his first works. The chairs in the study are one of his best pieces. So sad when they go so young.”

“He was ninety two.” said Liliane, looking at him weirdly.

“Still”.

“Well, Gino should be as good as his father, and should sell a bit cheaper, too. We have to be wary of overspending at the start of a journey we don't know the end of.”

“But we shouldn't be misers, either. What's our budget again?” he asked, pensive.

“let me check my purse… Hm. I think this should be enough for the initial expenses, but we should bring some old stuff with us to sell in Cranesington, just to be sure.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Why do we need a cart again if you have your enlarging bag?”

“You know that my purse doesn't protect food from spoiling or other stuff from the passage of time, and right now is almost full with all the books I. Hm. Borrowed from the temple. And I don't want to go on foot or, Numens forbid it, on horseback.”

“We'll, let's go buy the cart then.”

“We're going nowhere dressed like this.” She looked at his attire, then at herself, shaking her head. Home. Now. I need to get out of this… horror.”

It was later into the day, almost midday now, and the small village, known by the inhabitants of the area with the name of Turn, was full of movement. Carts came down the main road, full of goods to sell, or just bought at the market square.

Voices screaming prices, haggling, or simply could be heard, a chorus of life and flowing coins that made up the beating heart of the village. Kids were running around, friends were catching up after working in the nearby city, old crones were whispering secrets and gossip about their neighbors, the newsboy tried to sell his papers speaking of some strange meteorological phenomenon.

Further down the road, near the stalls, were the shops. A small blacksmith, easily recognizable from the thick black smoke coming out from the chimney and the rhythmic sound of hammers striking metal, a tailor, “The Whimsy Coat”, which was now closed (it's owners were away, visiting their family) and what was, once, a carpentry, was now an open space with three, new carts, and other components laying around, where a man was fiddling with.

He was really focused on his work, and was a bit startled when a husky voice called him from outside the premises.

“Hello, you must be Gino, son of Jurben, right?”

The man got up. He wore a brown shirt, covered in sawdust, had a full, thick beard, covered in sawdust as well, and had a faint smell of dried wood. It was weirdly pleasant.

“Yes, that would be me, sir, ma’am. What do you need?” he said, dusting one hand against the other.

“Well,” said Lazar, “me and my good wife need a good cart, one that can be easily driven by no more than two oxen, that does not jump a lot on the road and that will last us at least a year.”

“Well, I think I have what you need.”

He took three steps, accosted a big, dark brown cart, and slapped the side of the roof.

“This bad boy can fit you two, your supplies, and two bedrolls where you can sleep comfortably. It's padded inside, lacquered with frijis oil so it won't rot or become too damp, and needs minimal maintenance.”

“This seems perfect!” Liliane touched the padding, which felt firm but soft to the touch, then knocked on wood in various places. After a thorough examination. “Thank you so much Gino! How much?”

“Seven hundred lyres”, he answered firmly.

“Seven hundred?” Lazar exclaimed,shaken. ”The last one I bought cost me three hundred lyres!”

“When did you buy it, sir?” The cart maker looked at the old man, frowning slightly.

“...Thirty years ago, I think.”

“Was it padded?” he smirked. ”Did it repel water?”

“No, it didn't, but I think it would just be like, two hundred more, not four hundred!”

“Six hundred and eighty lyres, then, sir. The prices have all gone up, on everything. My work is the cheapest, but also the best, you will find here. If you believe you can find some less expensive place, go ahead, but you'll have to walk more than thirty miles.”

Lazar sighed, a bit dumbfounded, and Liliane pitched in.

“Five hundred and fifty, and not a lyre more.”

“Six hundred and fifty, this is one of the best carts I made”

“It still seems overpriced, don't you think, young man?” Liliane said, taking a good look at him, staring straight into his eyes. “Six hundred and twenty, and you'll refer us to someone who may sell us two oxen.”

“You drive a hard bargain, ma’am. Six hundred and thirty. But! I'll give you two jars of oil to refresh the water proof effect on the roof.”

Gino extended his hand. “Deal?”

The old woman shook it.

“Deal” she said, taking out the coins from her purse, six gold and three silvers. They had a lyre on one face, and a crown on the other, with a smooth rim.

The cart maker struck one of the gold coins against another he took out from his pouch, and it made a sharp, ringing sound.

“A pleasure to make business with you, ma'am, sir. Now, oxen you said? I recall that the Burnsey had two they wanted to rid themselves of, but I don't really know the reason, so it may be a hit and miss, but you won't find others in Turn at the moment”.

The old couple looked at each other. Lazar smirked.

“And… where can we find the Burnsey, now?”