I pulled the book from my bag. He smiled when he saw it. “Ah, I remember when you bought this. Your first, yes?” He turned it over and ran his large hand over it. “Does it need a repair?”

“No. I was wondering how much you would give for it.”

He looked at me, dark eyes questioning. “Word in the market is that you are buying healing supplies for the prisoners.”

I shrugged.

He thinned his lips and thought for a moment, tapping the book with one long finger. “Wait here.” Abruptly, he went in the back, and returned with a small pouch. He handed it to me, and it clinked in my hand. “My brother’s son was lost in battle. We have heard no word, but I do this in his name. I pray to the gods that there is one on that side with a heart such as yours.”

I opened the pouch and looked in. “Remn, this is too much…”

He held up his hand. “I hold your book as surety, Lady. I know that you will repay me.” He pointed his finger at me. “Mind you don’t take too long about it.”

I laughed and hugged him. He brushed aside my thanks and urged me to go home. I refused, gently.

He scowled at me. “Very well, then. Take one of my apprentices with you. You should have an escort, young lady.”

/“I’ve only to go to Estoval’s. I’ll be fine.” He grumbled, but opened the door and I waved as I continued on.

I stopped briefly at Kalisa’s cart. She was busy with actual customers, who looked close to buying all of her stock. So I tucked a bottle of my joint medicine into her gnarled hand and moved off. She called her thanks behind me.

Next to Estoval’s. He was farther down the street, and now the early morning crowd was beginning to enter the market. But the merchants weren’t opening their windows to display their wares, instead they were dealing from behind their doors and shutters. There was an air of desperation from those seeking to purchase goods. I hurried my feet and concentrated on trying to remember another mixture that was supposed to help scarring. I could remember goat’s milk boiled thick, but the rest eluded me. Ah, well. Perhaps Esto-val would know. Also, I needed plenty of lotion makings. I’d no wish to sell any more books.

As I moved through the crowd, a funny feeling began to creep up the back of my neck. As if someone was watching me. I stopped for a bit and rummaged through my bag as if looking for something. I glanced through my hair, trying to see if someone was following me, or watching me, but I saw no one. I shrugged. Guess the hours that 1 was keeping were getting to me.

“Xylara.” Estoval greeted me cooly, surrounded by his pungent stock. “How may I help you?”

I rattled off my mental list, and he gestured for his apprentices to gather up the items. I moved about, picking up the items that looked best for some of my lotions. “Estoval, do you recall an unguent to prevent scarring? With goat’s milk boiled thick?”

His tone was even cooler as he recited the recipe for me. I added those items to my growing pile. He stayed close, nervously sorting some of the stock near me. “I was wondering if you had heard anything, Lady? About the war?” His tone was fawning, but I heard the fear underneath.

I responded, keeping my tone calm and my information general. He nodded, listening carefully, and I was sure my words would be all over the market within minutes of my departure. I kept it simple, and positive, and made no mention of the truth. That was for Xymund to announce, not I.

Finally I had what I wanted and headed to the counter to where the apprentices had set out the other items. I gave them a sharp look, for they were clearly Estoval’s older stock—wilted and withered and not at all suitable. I gave Estoval a sharper look when he named his price.

He avoided my eyes. “Prices go up when supplies are limited.”

“Supplies aren’t limited yet, Estoval. And I wouldn’t feed some of this to a goat, much less use it in medicine.”

He lifted his chin. “You’re healing those barbarians. The better stock is reserved for Xyians, not those filthy—”

I cut him off. “By the Order of the King, Estoval.” I drew myself up, and fixed him with my best High Court look. “As I am a Daughter of Xy, and as I execute the King’s Command, you will sell me the best you have and at your normal prices. Or answer to Xymund and his Council.”

Estoval shriveled up. With a quick gesture, his apprentices brought out fresh items, and I paid a fair price for it, exchanging herbs for coins in silence. I was grateful that he had relented for there would have been no support from Xymund. Of that I was certain.

As I was packing the last of my purchases, Estoval’s normal civility to a customer took over. “Was there anything else you required, Xylara?”

“No, I think that I have everything for today, Estoval.” I hesitated for a minute, thinking. “Have you ever heard of kavage?”

Estoval wrinkled up his nose. “Is it a herb?”

“No.” I shook my head. “It is a drink of some kind. I have no idea what it is. I think one of my patients would enjoy some, but I doubt that there is any to be had.”

“One of the prisoners?” Estoval sniffed, but his merchant’s instincts won out. “You might try the tinker’s cart three stores down, if he is there. I think he has snuck out of the city and is trading with the warlord’s men. Mention my name, Daughter of Xy.”

I nodded my regal thanks, and headed off in the direction he’d indicated.

I spotted the tinker’s cart easily, decorated with pots and pans, and ribbons aflutter in the breeze. I paused for a bit, since he was dealing with a customer, a tall, broad-shouldered man in armor. I occupied myself by looking over his wares. There was all matter of trinkets and metalware that gleamed in the sunlight. After a bit, the tinker turned his attentions to me.

“How may I help you?” His eyes gleamed in anticipation.

I smiled. “I am in no hurry.”

The tinker winked. “This fellow can’t make up his mind. While he ponders, you and I will treat. What can I interest you in?”

“Estoval told me that you might be able to help me. I am looking for some kavage.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. What would you be wanting with that foul stuff?”

“I am tending some of the prisoners. One mentioned that it is a drink that they enjoy.” I wavered, thinking. “Is it some form of spirits?” I had visions of trying to explain a tent full of drunken prisoners. Xymund would kill me.

“No.” A deep voice with a faint accent answered me. I turned to see the other customer looking at me. Short black hair and skin tanned dark by the sun caught my eye, but what startled me were his bright blue eyes. Tall, with broad shoulders, he seemed to tower over me and the tinker, almost blocking the sun. My guess was he was one of the mercenaries that had been hired by some of the wealthier lords to guard their lives.

The tinker laughed and agreed. “The land take me, no. It is truly foul tasting stuff that they make by dripping water through seeds.” He started to rummage through his cart, head and shoulders stuffed into one of its compartments. His muffled voice floated back at me. “In truth, I traded for some a while back, but once I tasted it,” He emerged with a good sized sack and some kind of strange metal implement. “I knew I could never sell this here. The citizens would cry themselves poisoned and the City Guard would be on my neck.” His eyes gleamed. “I will sell it to you, fine lady, but give me no blame when it eats at your insides.”

“Well then,” I replied with a smile “must not be worth much.”

The tinker tried for an offended look, but burst out in a laugh. “Ah, Lady, you have the advantage.”

We dickered a bit, just to be polite, but were quick to come to terms. I paid him, well satisfied with my purchase. The tinker was kind enough to give me a sack to carry the beans and the pot in. As I toddled off with my burdens, I heard him call behind me. “Come again, lady, and buy some more of my wares.” If my hands had not been full, I’d have waved farewell.