We didn’t go far from the sifting section before Adwyn stopped us and pointed at the ground beneath us. “Stay here.”

Behind and to his left stood a stall stacked with plates, folded cloth and rows of vases, all decorated with curling tails, angular weapons and excessive glyphs —⁠ the plates and vases were all colored glass, and the cloth was of some smooth material I didn’t recognize. Other things scattered over the table, but they didn’t come in pairs, let alone stacks or rows. Was that a rope of golden thread? An obsidian spear? A cryst?

At our angle, we could see both our canyon-dweller, standing front of the stall, gas-mask off, and the cliff-dweller behind the stall and glancing up with a bored look. Adwyn smiled at the stallowner, and they smiled back, tongue scenting.

Adwyn waved his alula around and made an impressed noise. “This is quite the assortment of goods you have here. A little bit of everything, isn’t it?”

“Indubitably, it is. Something of a bazaar, I have here — a bricolage of wares, if you would.”

Adwyn lowered his wing, smile becoming a contemplative curl of his lips. “Exquisite taste, if I would say as much.”

The stallowner narrowed their brow, but before they could respond, Adwyn was peering at the counter, lifting and examining this or that object.

He had the cryst in his grasp when he spoke, only a few breath cycles later. “I have to see, this is the most interesting thing sitting here. I haven’t seen anything quite like it. Tell me about it.”

“Oh, that is a little curio some stupid sifter left me. They said it was worthless. Ha! Mud-dwellers wouldn’t know value if it spat on them, you must know.”

I gasped a bit and glanced at Hinte, whose frills hadn’t moved a notch. They were still. I prodded her. “I don’t sound like that, do I?” I whispered.

“Sometimes you do,” she said. “You’ve gotten better.”

I squeaked.

But Adwyn was laughing with the stallowner. “That they don’t. Entirely unlike yourself⁠ ⁠—⁠ you have quite the tongue for value, if your collection is anything to judge by. How much would you say this is worth?”

“Oh, thirty and six aris, say?”

“That sounds reasonable.” Adwyn tapped his chin with an alula. “But, how do you see tempering that price with a trade? I have this knife, and I want your opinion of it.” Adwyn grabbed a knife from his bags and placed it on the counter.

“It is bronze and slight rusty.”

“Indeed. However, this is not just a knife⁠ ⁠—⁠ if it were, I would sell it to one of those brute weapons dealers. No, this knife is special.”

The stallowner watched Adwyn for a moment, tongueflicks becoming more pronounced until they finally asked, “What makes it special?”

Adwyn looked away, distant. “Have you heard about that second act in the lake?”

“The mess with the monsters?”

“Quite. You see, this knife was the blade the monsters fought Gronte-wyre with. I risked quite a bit for this. I see it as having a certain symbolic value, no? It’s not just a knife, it’s a monster’s knife.”

“Oh–oh. How much is it worth?”

“Ah, I don’t know, I trust your judgment.”

“Well, thirty and six seems also fair, does it not?”

“It does. Though maybe this is worth a bit more than the rock? After all, this isn’t some stupid sifter giving this to you.”

“Oh, you’re right. How does forty and two seem?”

“Forty. I couldn’t ask for more than that.”

“Is it a deal?”

“Almost. As I said, I risked quite a bit to find this for you. As lovely as the stone is, it won’t help me find more monster trinkets. If you give me the full forty, I’ll see it back to you with the next trinket I find.”

“That sounds…” The stallowner was lifting a wing to their face.

“I know you can smell a good deal when it meets you.”

The stallowner nibbled a bit on their alula, then jerked it away when they seemed to notice. “Thirty and eight.”

“I — yes, I understand. Thank you for being reasonable,” he said. And that was that.

Adwyn returned to us, smirking, in a flurry of questions.

“I didn’t know canyon-dwellers could dance⁠ ⁠—⁠ where did you learn that?”

“What the void was that ‘mud-dweller’ residua about?”

“Why didn’t you sell your knife when we were in the place with all the swords?”

The smirk cracked under the strain. Adwyn sighed.

He looked to me. “The Constellation’s courts are hardly unique. I am thirtieth in skein for the Geunantic throne⁠ ⁠—⁠ I needed as much skill in⁠ ⁠—⁠ dancing, as you say⁠ ⁠—⁠ to survive.”

He looked to Hinte. “Scowl as you will, but validating a dragon’s strongest dewings is a quick way to build rapport. It has little to do with my true dewings toward plain-dwellers. They are dragons like any other.”

He looked to Digrif. “Why, if I went to a proper weapons seller, he might know how much the knife is truly worth.”

As we walked off, behind us came a cry of outrage. The stallowner stared at the Dyfnderi adviser, a storm limned in scales gathering on their face.

Adwyn’s smirk returned, and stayed with us as the stall faded behind us.

----------------------------------------

We were slinking through the crowds, me on the opposite side of Hinte⁠ ⁠—⁠ as far as I could get without it being obvious.

As if summoned, the smile and electric smell I was becoming familiar with spawned from the faceless mass of dragons. Her frills, both pierced and not, bounced as she sidled right up to me.

“Kynra?”

“Kinri. I told you.” I was baring my fangs at her, but I couldn’t hide my smile.

“Kinri. I’m going to get it, obviously. Kinri. See?”

I tossed my head and went back to watching the stalls we passed, Mawla padded beside me. Adwyn, gas-mask back on, still scanned for another stall to sell more human trinkets to, but he broke that hunt to run an shamelessly measuring look up and down the sifter beside me.

Mawla had glanced that way — but aimed at Hinte, not at Adwyn, whom she didn’t seem to notice. She nudged me. “I see you’re starting to slough that green wraith.”

“What?” my voice frayed. I tried, “What makes you think that?”

“Last night, you were slithering after her like a little snek, and now you’re all the way over here and looking everywhere else you can. It’s obvious.”

I wasn’t going to discuss this with her. “Why’re you here in the market?”

Mawla glanced behind her. “Just, y’know, buying things. Most entertainment happens in the evening⁠ ⁠—⁠ or at night. So I’m wandering around to ground time, looking at things and maybe buying them if I want them enough. Maybe I could show you how, some time.”

“You mean like bartering?”

She giggled. “Sure.”

Her giggling died down a bit, but faltered as it did, and that revealed something I’d never noticed about her voice. It was always extreme, deep, throaty growls or high-pitched enthusiasm… always strained. But why?

Hinte broke from a muttered conversation with Adwyn. Looking down her snout at Mawla, she said, “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing questioning me? Go back to licking orange vents.”

I spoke above Mawla. “There’s no sifting today, Hinte. Adwyn told us this. She’s a — friend, I was talking with her.”

Hinte whisked a wing. “We are busy. This mission is important.”

The sifter grinned. “If it were important, I don’t see why —”

“Mawla, please.”

“Fine. I’m leaping so long as this — as long as she’s here. Are you going to be able to make it this evening?” Her dark-blue eyes half-clouded, glinting in the sunslight.

“I’ll — try.”

----------------------------------------

I flicked my tongue, scenting ink and fernpaper. Not just any ink though⁠ ⁠—⁠ it was spicy and familiar. I’d been smelling it every day for cycles. Was this where he bought it?

I let a smile touch my lips, but continued walking with my friends behind Adwyn. Then I heard that familiar textured growl of a voice, and I frowned; but it was Hinte who found him. I caught her glancing at a ashcloaked cliff-dweller laughing and banging a foot against a stall. Out of his ragged halfrobes and librarian sash, my eyes had moved right over him.

Hinte continued walking, so I slinked up behind him. Standing there, I grinned. At last, I would be the one sneaking⁠ ⁠—

“Hello, Kinri.” Chwithach turned and smiled at me.

“Gah! At least once. Can I sneak up on someone at least once?”

“Evidently not. Though I’ll say you had a crack of success when you first arrived.” he said, then added, “But you stopped to bask in it,” in that prodding, teacherly tone.

I blew my tongue at the librarian. “What are you doing here, Sofrani? Who’s handling the Sgrôli ac Neidr?”

“I left Ehnym in charge of things; I’m only gone a ring.”

Ehnym. I’d heard the name before. He had to be some library regular, some volunteer.

“Why’d you come out, anyways?”

“Ran out of ink. I’m clawing a good multitude of letters, getting operations in an order. And I needed a breath cycle of fresh air, anyway.”

Claws scraped gravel. “My Opa always said to have more ink with you than you would ever use.”

Chwithach’s words were soft. “That may well work for the faer’s head alchemist. But I can scarcely afford a surplus of anything, even ink.

Hinte waved her tongue, her brow furrowed in thought.

Under Chwithach’s cloak another tongue flicked.

My frills snapped spread. “Is that —” I started, but my words gave way to a squeak as a slender, white head poked out of the librarian’s cloak, eyes a pale gray, pink pits along its snout.

Snake. I’d fantasized about a having a snake since I was a little hatchling. They were sleek, cuddly, dangerous, and way better than skinks or turtles or monitors. My face wore every parcel of my reaction, and I didn’t bother adjusting my mask.

Chwithach chuckled, rubbing the snake’s head with a alula. “Yes, this is my pet. Ceiwad, say hi.”

The snake gave a long hiss, tongue dancing out of the mouth. Slithering further up the owner’s neck, you could see the brilles clear and track all of us, wary tension written into every scale. Chwithach gently gripped the snake and lifted him from his cloak a little. The snake was just thick enough around that his feet couldn’t curl around all the girth.

I stepped closer, extending an alula for Ceiwad to scent. “Are they a boy snake or a girl snake?” “Boy.” “Are they a biter or a choker?”

Ceiwad touched my alula with a tongue-fork, then retracted it. After a beat, he yawned at me, fangs unfolded. When his jaw closed, he let me pat him on the head.

“Well, ‘chokers’ will bite you too.”

I scratched under Ceiwad’s head. He jerked away. “I know. But it’s not the bite that grounds you.”

“Fair enough. I still prefer to call them venomous and constricting snakes. It’s the system the forests use, and they are masters of natural history.” Chwithach hummed. “For instance, would you believe wraiths are anatomically closer to true snakes than dragons? It’s —”

“Trust you to make even snakes boring.” I looked up from Ceiwad to his owner. “Did you mention the forests? Is that where you got Ceiwad?”

“Ah, yes. He’s a leucistic swamp python, the most expensive thing I’ve ever had —⁠ he cost more than the library.”

“How did you ever pay for him?”

“I had an, how do you say, fascinating youth. I had a small fortune at times, but it had always been rather… mercurial.” Chwithach looked away. “But the truth is, Ceiwad here was a gift⁠ ⁠—⁠ from the miser, in fact. Though my association with him is a part of that youth⁠ ⁠—⁠ anyway, even though it was a gift, it was horribly expensive, and I insisted on paying him back, even though he only ever took half of it.”

I booped Ceiwad’s snout, and left him alone after that. “Huh. Ceiwad looks a bit old. You and the miser must have some history.” Obliquely, I watched the librarian, sifting for some tell, another scrap of information about the mysterious hooded dragon.

The librarian smiled, and gave it to me. “Quite. It was he who convinced me to have the library built and stay in Gwymr/Frina. Fledgling Chwithach had been planning to leave for Dyfnder in order to fight in the war against the spiders. Can you believe that?” He sighed, but it was one of nostalgia.

Fledgling Kinri was going to be Specter Zenith and change things. Can you believe that?

Brother told me it was still possible. That this mission would erase all of my mistakes. Had to.

----------------------------------------

When we left Chwithach, It had been Adwyn, and not Hinte, who’d pulled me away. Hinte had walked up to us, yet when she saw who I chatted with, she gave him a curt nod — and the librarian returned it, with a pensive line in place of a smile. She left us after that.

Now, we — or rather, Digrif and Hinte; I stood back — sat and watched as Adwyn did his thing again, this time haggling over one of the human’s necklaces at a stall smelling of all the nice metals: electrum, pyrite, zircoril, cobalt, irid.

Or we had, until a voice like arrows shot in. “Aha, I thought I saw you two in the sifting aisle.”

All of us turned around — Hinte like a flame snapping, Digrif like a poked turtle, and I like an impassive, observant snake.

Toward us stepped the first sifter from last night, the one whom I gave a cryst. He’d exchanged his sifting suit for… nothing. I could imagine he had a vent-cloth wrapped around his unseen tail and he did have a necklace, humming with a hidden cryst.

I kept my eyes on his face, not his thick legs or exposed muscle. At all. He spoke with a rough, coughing voice, saying, “I realize you have a new drake with you, and we haven’t had introductions. Sound like a good trade to you?”

I smiled to some extent. “Sure! This is Digrif, that is — Wrang, right?”

“Wrang, yes. Wrang of Llosgi Hoddi.”

Llosgi Hoddi. It was a name that’d come up a few times in my study of Gwymr/Frina. But the cliffs were nothing like the sky; even the oldest houses here went back fewer than a dozen generations, and even the most powerful were nothing next to the sifting and mining companies.

I’m not sure what look filtered to my face as I recalled these things. Whatever it was, it brought a smile to Wrang’s face and he gave a small bow.

“Heh. It’s been a while since someone reacted to our name with respect stead of ignorance.” He smiled or grinned. “From a sky-dweller no less!”

“Um.”

“It’s no insult, don’t worry. You seem far more like a goodly plain-dweller than some condescending sky-dweller⁠ ⁠—⁠ even if you don’t look it.”

A whisk of Hinte’s wing prompted Wrang to silence. “You can stop flattering her. It worked. She’s ready to do whatever apterous thing you want to ask of her, now.”

Wrang turned a cloudy-eyed gaze to Hinte. “You assume too much, Gronte-wyre. I have nothing to ask Kinri for.”

Hinte growled and stalked off to stand by Adwyn.

“I don’t want to tear a rift between you two, so I’ll be leaving now; but I leastly wanted to ask about the paid flight for the sifting teams. The timing is awfully right, and Lilian says Mawla is convinced you are to thank for it. And well, is it so?”

“Not really. It’s all been Adwyn pulling strings.”

Wrang’s tongue slipped back in his mouth, and a thoughtful hum slipped out. “That makes a bit more sense, at least. But I do appreciate the gift you gave me last night. So I thought I’d ask if you cared to join me at the Dychwelfa ac Theatr tonight. I know one of the actors.”

“I don’t think that’s possible. My schedule tonight is really full.”

Wrang paused for a beat at that; then, “That’s fine. Tomorrow?”

“Maybe. My plans have had a habit of expanding lately.”

“If you have the opportunity, I imagine you’ll have a good time.”

“Thanks? I’ll think on it.” I looked up. I’d seen so many familiar faces at the market today. Was it always like this? “So um, why are you in the market?”

“Ah, just following some friends. They had some plans for the day and brought me along.” He gave a prideful smile. “It’s a good thing, too. I got to do my good deed for the day because of it.”

I tilted my head.

“Saw a thief steal some dillers just a bit ago, gave the guards a tip.” His tone gained a sly edge, “Saw Mawla about then, too. She was nosing after you; but I sent her away. She’s not the type you want to keep around.”

I didn’t say anything, looking away.

“I have to say, today has been horribly exciting in that way. That wasn’t even the only time I saw the guard chasing after someone. Some ship that Mlaen’s running, isn’t it?”

“Uh, the faer’s doing their best, isn’t she?

“I wouldn’t know just from living here.” Wrang glanced at the sky and said, “I should be heading home about now, check on my hatches. Dwylla guide you.”

I watched Wrang take off and glide way. Once he was gone, I slinked to Digrif and Hinte and joined them in watching what was once a haggling broil over into a shouting argument.

“What do you mean? This is a Frinan necklace? How could a human —”

“What I mean is you have some gall trying to sell me of my cousin’s necklaces. Its even got her signature on it! ‘G’ for Glyster!”

“That doesn’t⁠ ⁠—”

“And then you try to cloud my brilles with some nonsense about monsters, you’re just a crook who thinks they can peddle lies and leech off Hinte Gären’s heroism. Spit out of my sight. Now.”

Adwyn took a breath, but before he could say anything more, they continued, “Now!”

He strode away from the stall with a complex look on his face. He waved his wing and we fell into step beside him.

“Sounds like that didn’t go overly well.”

“I made several mistakes. Things rarey bode well once you fall on the defensive.”

“What were you defending?” Digrif asked.

Hinte muttered, “Against the truth.”

“We started off on the wrong draft,” Adwyn said, rubbing a temple with an alula. “I mispronounced his name, and mistook him, at first, for a wiver⁠ ⁠—⁠ the frill piercings are common among them. At this point I had, perhaps, ruined any chance of a good deal, but we are short on time, so I decided I should sell here and start for the lake.

“My rush must have shone through in my behavior.” Looking to the side, Adwyn continued offwing, “For good reason is one of the first rules of haggling never reveal you have any unusual need of the deal. This weakness had encouraged the drake to demand unreasonable prices.”

Adwyn shifted to a high-stand. “Then I tried selling it as a monster trinket, as I had at the other stall. The drake pointed out that the necklace was locally made, then mistook my shock for guilt and, things plumeted from there.”

Hinte said, “Are we done wasting time here, then?” She was glaring at the Dyfnderi adviser.

“We are done spending time here,” Adwyn echoed. “This development demands the faer’s tongue. But first we must check on the bodies.” Adwyn began high-walking.

“Why?”

“Just follow me.”

----------------------------------------

The spot Adwyn had chosen for the cart was an alley between a flat-topped brewery and a sagging house, both leaning against the market’s eastern cliff wall. The crowds thinned here, and the sparseness seemed to make the red and gold of the Gwymri guard that much more numerous. Maybe they were; we were at the very edge of the net stretching over the market, and someones had to guard it.

As we approached that alley Adwyn looked around with a waxing scowl in his eyes. Everytime we passed a guard, he’d call out, “Of that light?” and with each absent response, the depth of frustration in his eyes doubled.

But as we reached the mouth of the alley, the orange drake stopped, staring in, tongue flicking before he strode into the alley. Without following him, I cleared my eyes and let my gaze flow down the alley. I shivered at the sight of the holey pumice cart, but I kept looking for what had the military adviser on edge.

The alley went back a dozen strides or less, and was empty save some half-hardened puddles of muddy ash and bits of trash. The window’s curtains were shut, and six-legged skink startled off further up the house’s wall.

My brow furrowed and I looked back to the cart. The tarp was still in place, and there were still bulges underneath.

I gave up figuring it out, and glanced back to the orange drake now standing just before the pumice cart. He was pressing a foot against a tarp-covered bulge.

He said, “Blind take them. It’s just as I glimpsed.”

Adwyn looked back at us. “The bodies are gone.”

* * *