The market was like many that sat in Varen’s memories, and like a few that sat in Ward’s. Hawkers with pushcarts surrounded the central plaza, while small vendors laid down sheets to display their wares. Small storefronts and eateries mixed with dumpling stands and kebab vendors. It was, in effect, a normal market filled with all the hubbub and haggling you’d expect.

  Dara arrived from a different street in a swirl of sect robes along with a small team of cultivators. They split into pairs and began patrolling the market, each heading in different directions. Their lack of experience became evident quickly as they covered some areas twice and the patrol routes kept them away from some stores. At first, Elias thought it was intentional, until two groups bumped into each other, bowed in apology, and headed off at different angles.

  Dara walked up to him, smiling and rubbing his hands together.

  “Ready to earn your keep?” He said.

  “You haven’t actually told me what you expect.”

  “It’s quite simple. We know something is escalating in this area. We want to know why.”

  “I’m not a detective.” Elias stroked the hilt of the sword Forest had loaned him. She didn’t mind his interactions with the Enforcers as long as they were far away from her. She’d mentioned being on their good side could be ‘helpful’ in the future.

  “What’s a detective?”

  “It’s someone who detects wrongdoing from clues and information.” Elias slipped into his teacher’s voice.

  “Never heard the term before.”

  “It’s a local dialect.” Elias shrugged it off. He strode into the market, moving between vendors as if he were browsing, occasionally striking up a conversation. Varen’s memories were overpowering, and his body moved before thoughts could form. The instincts of a man who lived in markets.

  He stopped before a spice vendor and took permission before pinching powders and sniffing barks. It smelled of dishes Ward had eaten at restaurants. Varen wasn’t lucky enough to have spices regularly. The prices were on the verge of outrageous, but reasonable enough considering their scarcity. High-level cultivators didn’t bother eating, while low-level cultivators struggled to afford the materials for their training.

  “Seems pretty expensive.” He said, and the vendor licked his lips and dry-washed hands. Unpleasant behavior in anyone let alone a food merchant.

  “No, no, little friend. Comes from across mountains. Much time and money.”

  Elias’ lips twitched. A fake accent. Varen heard them more than enough from con men, mayors and tricksters.

  “How much time and how much money?”

  “Much distance. War in the east and flight routes impacted.”

  Elias chuckled in spite of himself. He crooked his finger in the predefined manner Varen remembered, and the vendor straightened, his wringing hands falling to his sides.

  “Didn’t think I’d meet a colleague here.” The man dipped his head slightly, all traces of the accent gone. “What can I do for you? The cinnamon really is that expensive, but I can drop the prices on the powders by 20 percent.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “I’ll get some cinnamon then, but what war is causing such large price fluctuations? I heard prices have doubled in the last week.” Elias selected a few sticks for the man to wrap. He had no idea if the prices had doubled, but rules one and three of being a merchant were ‘double your price before negotiations start.’

  “Tripled, mind you. Supplies are coming in, but it’s rotation season.”

  Elias raised an eyebrow. Or tried to. Ward could. Varen’s body never did.

  “What’s rotation season?”

  “New here? It’s when the sects switch who’ll handle the various tasks in Pentas. New Enforcers, administrators, tax collectors.” The vendor spat to the side, the globule of saliva curving in the air to hit a small basket holding debris and waste.

  “Which means supply lines are disturbed. Or customs takes longer.” Elias supplied, but the vendor shook his head.

  “Naw, that’s handled by local staff. Even those gold-heads at the sects aren’t dumb enough to replace real workers. It’s the gangs. They push.”

  Elias glanced back involuntarily at Dara and the now chaotic patrol groups. If all the new staff were so young…

  “Someone mentioned blood.” He began, but the vendor shushed him.

  The man passed over the cinnamon parcel and leaned close. “Don’t discuss the gangs. Not here.” He raised his voice again. “Four silver. Much thanks little friend.”

  Elias handed over five silver. They shook hands once and he turned to other vendors.

  Half an hour later, he was sitting at the corner of the market’s central fountain—another variation on the mermaid motif, more aligned with his tastes—and chewed through the information he’d collected. All signs pointed to the gangs, but their behavior was erratic by all measures. They were trying to gouge on staples and specialist goods alike, but not with any pattern he could see. The grain merchant was forced to raise prices for almost a full week in a row, before being asked to drop them just yesterday. The young woman selling flowers had paid triple the protection money for this month, yet lost her spot to another vendor.

  He watched the carts moving into the plaza, counting the different sizes and where they were heading. Elias was about to give up when an unmarked set of crates rolled by, reeking of fertilizer and a greasy oil. The confusing scent tickled his neck, and Elias tracked the shipment until it vanished into an alley. They didn’t stop anywhere, but made it look like the cart came from the market itself. Before he could take a decision to follow it, the cart rolled back into the plaza, missing half the crates. At least three people would be required to unload the crates that fast. It came to a stop beside an old woman selling trinkets.

  He sauntered over and looked through her wares, one eye on the crates. Elias had wanted to be a spy for his childhood. Now the experience seemed dull, just lots of standing still and observing people. She tried to strike up a conversation with him and he absent-mindedly replied, looking at the silks and sugar being unloaded from the cart.

  Her insistence was frustrating, and Elias was tempted to give up and return to Dara when a small figurine with flowing blonde hair and an hourglass figure caught his eye. It was familiar to him, Ward had seen it in some commercials several years before, but this was a clear duplicate. It was made of metal, not plastic. The face was flatter than he remembered. More round. Not like in the movies and ads.

  “Where did you get this?” His voice shook.

  “This piece is very special, designed by a craftsman five hundred years ago. It took me weeks to get the auction house to let me buy the decoration, which I’m reselling for the low, low price of three silver.”

  Elias played with the figurine and tossed some money without haggling. The feminine grace and design were almost identical, but it lacked the modern designs he was used to, just being a plain doll rather than a professional character.

  He turned the doll upside down as Ward had done many times in his childhood to check under the skirt. Just as smooth as he remembered but there was something written there, which wasn’t clear in the low light..

  “Five hundred years ago?” Elias added another 2 coins and signed the merchant’s guild recognition code again.

  “Some crazy person in the craftsman’s district is building oddities.” She scratched at a pimple sprouting under her chin. “Some are good, like this figurine. Others. Not so much.”

  Elias felt his breath quicken, and he wanted nothing more than to return to the inn to dissect it.

  He thanked her.

  Underneath the skirt he could now make out the sign, a craftsman’s mark.

  ‘Derek’