Outside the shop, Nuliyaa stepped into the river of people moving through the square. Early afternoon meant the marketplace was full. There would be many customers browsing through the shop’s jewelry over the next few hours.

She would never again be the one to serve them.

Nuliyaa clamped down on that thought. She would not dwell on that here, where too many people who knew her could see her emotions. Miyt would tell her to go to Taalk’s temple and sit in contemplation until the deity of trade gave her insight. But the only temple on this side of the city was too near Maltangku’s shop. She would certainly see people she knew there, and they all would want to know why she was there instead of working the shop.

Best to get home and break the news to her mother before she took the time to mourn what the past seventeen years of her life had come to.

She turned toward home, walking with her hands tucked into her littiichangs and paying little attention to the other shops and vendor stalls set up around the market. Ordinarily she would delight in an afternoon free to do some of her own shopping.

Home was several streets away, in an area where stone and brick had given way to wood and the shops on the ground floors sold simpler wares. She turned down a wide road, eyes fixed on her next turn at the corner three crossways down as she hugged the buildings to give plenty of way to the carts and wagons carrying goods to and from the riverside docks.

It was unusually hot for the middle of malt, with a dry wind that sucked the green out of the flowers and herbs planted along balconies and carried the river stink deep into the city. And this road didn’t have as many awnings overhead to shade people walking. She lifted the littiichangs over her head to ward off the sun, wrapping one end over her nose and mouth to dampen some of the smells.

Ahead of her, pack-laden people scurried out of the center of the road to avoid an over-burdened wagon that was traveling too fast. She added her own admonishing shout to those screaming at the driver, not that he seemed to care. The wagon careened around the corner Nyliyaa had just crossed and a crate tumbled off the back.

The crate hit the road. It crumpled and a small, furry form spilled across the stones.

Nuliyaa darted over. She wrapped her arms around the still form, then spun and rushed back against the nearest wall, cuddling what looked like an overly large housecat.

“What’s that?” a man asked, peering too closely at Nuliyaa.

She pressed her back to the nearest wall and opened her arms just enough recognized what, or rather, who, she now held: a malk with patchy silver fur, a magic-born creature out of the northern nation Nengmek. Oh. The patchy areas weren’t a darker color at all but dried blood.

Hopefully not dead. Oh, good, Nuliyaa could feel breath against her arm.

“A malk,” she said. Her eyes flicked to where the wagon had disappeared and she realized the man had done the same. “Poachers,” he said like it was a curse, then spat on the road.

The poachers were becoming more of a problem in the city. With docks on both the river and the bay, goods from many regions passed through their area. The sale of sapient beings was forbidden in Keeyl, but that didn’t stop people from sneaking through her nation to get them onto ships heading elsewhere. She needed to bring the malk to the city authorities.

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“Best leave the creature there,” the man continued, turning and shifting his pack on his shoulders. “Someone might think you’re the one responsible.” He started off.

No. Nuliyaa was hardly going to abandon the malk on the side of the road.

Nuliyaa carefully rearranged her hold on the malk, using her littiichangs to cover them both. The malk shifted slightly with a hiss and groan. Nuliyaa sucked in a breath, but the malk didn’t wake. She set off for the Nengmekian chancery.

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The Office of the Nengmekian Ambassador was in the opposite direction of her home from Maltangku’s shop, so Nuliyaa had walked around the market square and closer to the ocean-side of the city. Here the buildings were far older and it was said they had been built on top of even older buildings that had sank or burned down earlier in the city of Wumaltsmaas’s history.

Nuliyaa believed it when the guards stationed at the corner took one look at the malk she carried and sent her around the side to a cramped doorway that was five steps down from the alleyway.

“Oh.” The woman who came to the door stared at the malk. Nuliyaa guessed she was a healer-aide from the soft green over-tunic she wore.

“Is there a healer?” Nuliyaa asked.

“Oh! Yes, of course.” The woman hurried into the building, beckoning Nuliyaa after her.

And then she was surrounded by people. Human Nengmekians in the belted double-layered tunics they preferred, a shorter one with elbow-length sleeves and deep V-necks over a knee-length, long-necked version. Other malks, ranging in size from smaller than the one she carried to one that was almost the size of a small donkey. Others she didn’t see well enough to determine their species.

“I’ll take her,” a man said, motioning for Nuliyaa to pass her load to him.

Then a different woman directed her to a small, windowless room and shut her inside with a cup of water. Nuliyaa drained the cup, sat for a few minutes, then got up and opened the door.

The woman who had brought her into the room looked up from a small desk that was across the way. “Yes?”

“What is going on?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Someone is coming to ask you that question.” Her accent was just heavy enough that Nuliyaa had to take a moment to comprehend the words.

Nuliyaa straightened. “I didn’t do anything to the malk. I found her and brought her here.” They had said “her” earlier, hadn’t they?

“Yes. Well.” The woman straightened her papers. “Someone must question you.” Her tone made it clear she didn’t think Nuliyaa so innocent.

“That’s enough.” Another woman walked up, a man in the uniform of a city official beside her. The new woman motioned back into the room. “If you please. We just have a few questions.”

Nuliyaa returned to her seat, asking the newcomers. “How is she? The malk I found?”

“She will recover,” the woman said in a tone Nuliyaa associated with someone who had many tasks and little time in which to do them. “She was very badly bruised, has not had enough food in weeks, and it seems the poachers have been keeping her drugged.” The woman laid out some paper with a sigil drawn at the top, tapped a quill to the sigil twice, then released it. The quill hovered over the paper. “My name is Singmij. This is Sallew. We are both involved in the investigations into the poachers who are trafficking non-humans through Wumaltsmaas. What is your name?”

“Nuliyaa Etskaau.” The quill touched the paper and started writing as Nuliyaa spoke. The pen and paper were enchanted objects, then.

She told the officials about walking home, the wagon, and saving the malk when she realized the being couldn’t move herself.

Sallew spoke up then. “Do you often save people who fall in the road?”

What kind of question was that? “Not with these circumstances, no,” Nuliyaa said. “But the freight roads are dangerous with the way the drivers are always hurrying to their next stop. All of us who walk that route have to help those who can’t move fast enough, or more people would get hurt.”

“Hm,” Singmij said. “Did you see anything else? What can you tell me about the driver?”

Nuliyaa hadn’t seen much of the driver. She never paid them much attention.

After she had told Singmij that, the woman took hold of the quill, tapped it to the sigil twice again, then said to Nuliyaa, “Thank you for your assistance. The nation of Nengmek appreciates your protection of one of our citizens and the information you’ve given us.” She gathered the quill and paper, then stood. Sallew stood with her. “I will send someone in to escort you out.”