DEAR HALA

WE ARE IN AZURE FALLS.

THIS IS A BIGCITY. THEY HAVE MARKET.

WE STAY HERE FOR A WEEK THEN CROSS DESSERT.

I HAVE COMPANY OF STRONG MERCENARYS.

MONEY IS IN THE LETTER. KISSES

- NUA

The market in the back of the caravanserai was not as great as the one in the Numitor Druzus Plaza, but it was certainly more crowded. Stalls were standing back to back, so the patrons had to squeeze in the tight alleys, shaded by the wide, cloth roofs and half-open tents. All kinds of people in Tiberian or Azurian attires surrounded the booths – the locals looking for a bargain, merchants exchanging their goods for the next part of the trip (most often, they were presenting samples – real, large scale trades took place in private chambers), explorers in search of supplies and the wealthy interested in curiosities, and so the rich often found themselves closer to the poor than they would ever like.

A sizable number of street urchins prowled around, and Nua was paying close attention. She didn’t look like one of them anymore – pampered in the baths, dressed in travel clothes, and wearing shoes. But to some degree, she still felt like one on the inside, and they weren’t invisible to her.

Which was one of the reasons Lykomedes hasn’t been robbed yet.

He was carrying three bundles of overpriced rope, happy as a clam and oblivious to the world. Nua saved him from the tourist-geared booths, but she could not make him stop gawking in delight at any merchandise he was considering buying. This made the storekeepers discreetly swap the cards with prices, and start haggling with outrageous opening fees. She told him. He listened. As much as he prided himself on being a worldly gambler, he was unable to keep his face straight. It didn’t help that he looked like a foreigner.

“Look at this! They have peppercorn sugar-glazed baked scorpions!”

As much as Nua would like to try everything at the candy stall, she was on business. She glanced to the side. She noticed a dirty teenager sitting on the crate beside the booth. He was watching them for some time now.

“I prefer the mint candy,” she told her companion, “The scorpions are half shells, and the mints are all proper sugar. But don’t buy them right away. Take a scoop into the bag and then I’ll double-check the weight.”

Living in the Overlord’s Mercy, Nua had no idea about the scales and measurements. In the caravan, she learned it as soon as she could and promptly, she incorporated it into her former experience. After all, this was vital knowledge, and she knew very well how the shopkeepers behaved when they saw easy prey.

The merchant puffed up. Nua returned his gaze, taken aback. She was used to being treated as a ghost or a pest, and he clearly heard her.

“You do not need to worry, good sir! My scale has the Merchant Guild’s certificate. I can show you the copy!” Oh, he heard her, all right. But he was clearly intent on not talking to her.

Lykomedes gave her a questioning look.

“Yeah, be picky and take your time buying,” she said. “I need to check something.”

Squeezing through the crowd, she took a few steps back and stood over the dirty teenager.

“Hey.”

He returned her a glare and didn’t answer.

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“That guy over there, he’s my mark,” she said. “Leave it. And tell your friends.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re the third one I see, sizing us up. I have eyes for that, you know,” she pointed at her face.

“Says who? I haven’t seen you around before.”

“Says three coppers,” Nua opened her palm. “A copper for each of you, if you want to share. You tell others to leave and you’ve got a bargain for the day.”

The boy took the coppers.

“Manticore’s onto you,” he warned.

“I wouldn’t try it if I were him,” Nua shook her head. “See that hairy guy over there? The tallest one? We’re in it together. He’s a barbarian from the North. You know how they change into huge ass wolves when they fight? I wouldn’t make him angry if I were you.”

“All right,” the kid gave out a skeptical huff, then went on his way.

A wispy, blue shape appeared in the corner of Nua’s area of view.

“That was very charitable out of you, but are you certain he shares?”

“Oh, he’s not going to share. His friends are watching. They’re going to beat each other up over the coppers,” Nua said. “This gives us time to get back to Oswald. I have no idea who that Manticore is, but if I guessed right - he’s probably a local gang boss.”

“That is highly possible indeed. As for the business, Nua. I have finally found a credible map stall, but it’s going to take some convincing to let them take a look at this one. More, I guess, than making people believe that Oswald is a shapeshifter mage.”

“Oh. And why is that?”

“Let’s just say that the owner does not make a good first impression.”

***

There was a fee required to trade in the marketplace, but a handful of local peddlers spread their wares on the outskirts in hope they will get overlooked by the guards. They didn’t even have proper booths, just worn-out carpets that were easy to roll back and walk away. However, they did not seem to be overly persecuted at the moment. Either the security was lenient, or greedy for the bribes.

The merchant was an Unsagga, which made his trade even more illegal, but Nua did not feel any kinship. He was old and spindly, with his grey hair disheveled and teeth like stumps – that, on its own, was perfectly normal – but on top of it, he reeked of booze. His hands were trembling, and his shifty eyes kept looking at Zaina’s bosom. This was exactly the kind of person Hala taught her children to avoid, and Nua was mortified that her new teammates would, in their minds, lump her together with the individual.

She glanced at Anki, but the ghost didn’t seem all that outraged. It made sense. He had already seen the Bottoms. Besides, since in his era, Unsagga were just people like everyone else, they could be bums as well as kings.

The man had all kinds of trash spread on his carpet. While her companions were glancing at her and each other, clearly confused, Nua looked at the wares with an eye of an expert. Half of these were scrap; the other half seemed lifted from a hapless explorer. Some copper wire, seemingly eroded beyond its usefulness. Two water flasks, one of them rusty iron, another made of leather. A glob of wax, wrapped in parchment. A dirty handkerchief, made of fine-grade material. Silk, maybe? Nua already saw silk in the caravan.

“He doesn’t know what he’s doing. If he had washed this, it would sell nicely. If he cleaned the wire or the flask, that’s good scrap. But we’re not looking for scrap. Anki?”

“Here.” The ghost floated over a partly spread-out scroll. It depicted some sort of a geometrical pattern. “This one is genuine. I remember the layout of that building, and the scroll seems pretty long, so there must be more.” There were other written works in its company, and Nua first pointed to the one on the left.

Quintus frowned.

“If you want to read a Tale of Three Cities, I can get you a better copy.”

“I have the finest lite-righture, good sir,” said the merchant and showed all his broken teeth. “And the maps of the ancient ruins, too. Seems like you lot need it.”

Lykomedes shifted from foot to foot.

“Nua, I don’t want to disappoint you, but we can probably get proper maps somewhere else. I know you’re looking for a bargain, but…”

“My scrolls are all very proper!” the trader was spitting while talking.

Zaina ducked beside the carpet.

“How much for these three?” she pointed to the one with a pattern and two others.

“Five silver, good lady! Five denarii and they’re all yours!”

“You must be joking,” she grimaced. “That’s a raki stain. The ink’s all run on this part, beyond repair.” She opened the scroll. “And that’s mold. I’ll have to treat it so it doesn’t spoil my other scrolls. Three silver.”

Nua expected a prolonged episode of haggling, but the man just deflated.

“All right. Three silver and they’re yours.”

Zaina pocketed the scrolls and gestured at the others to leave.

“You didn’t have to do it for Nua,” said Lykomedes.

“I didn’t do it for her,” Zaina spoke in a low tone. “That floor plan? We robbed the guy blind.”

“How so?”

“The kid’s got good eyes, all right,” Oswald grunted. “I’ve noticed when Zaina was buying. There is a faded stamp at the beginning of the scroll, and I recognize the symbol. It’s Antiquarian’s. And the scroll is not even that old, just dirty. Let’s get back to Idris. I’m sure he will tell us all about it.”