“Most of the things Medley has to offer to its hordes of idiots don’t hold much appeal for me,” Pod grumbled as they arrived.

  Tiller stood inside the gates of Medley, staring around with wide eyes and a dangling jaw.

  They’d said town, but he was looking at a full-fledged medieval city. It was surreal how the city had simply grown at the horizon until eventually he had been walking toward the substantial walls that seemed to sprout from the ground. The walls were tall, stone-and-log constructed. There were watch towers manned with professional guards. More guards stood at the main gate, mostly silent and watching.

  As they’d grown closer to Medley, more groups of people had appeared, moving to or from the city. They’d alarmed Tiller at first, but Pod had calmed him, pointing out the wagons, the sacks of goods. Pod had been able to name most of the groups he’d seen.

  “That’ll be the Gandersons. Ol’ Ganderson’s a smith; they’ve got a little bit of ore on their spot, and he makes bits to sell. They’re the next spot over from us. I go way back with Gilly Ganderson; fact is, when we first set up a stead…”

  “Willy, there, with his kin. Hopeless drunk he is. And an elf. Hear me, if you don’t know it already, don’t trust an elf. Worst kind of folk you’ll ever meet, lie through their teeth. They’re even worse than whatever the fuck you are.”

  “Oh, aye, see that way off? Aye, there, right on the horizon. That’s one of the biggest spots hereabouts. I know, you can’t make it from here, but it’s big. Belongs to Bonk’s uncle, Cronk. Keeps cattle he does. He’ll be in town this morning selling milk, maybe meat. He’s not a bad sort. We go back a ways. He won’t help with his rotten fucking nephew, but he won’t rob you at least. Honest sort.”

  They’d passed through the gates without incident. The guards had most certainly eyed Tiller with interest, but he hadn’t been stopped or questioned. He wondered what kind of a figure he struck, in his dinosaur-skin clothes, the shovel over his shoulder. He wondered if his stone band was worth noting in a place like this. The guards were all clay-banded like almost everyone else he’d seen. Or was it his race? Pod seemed completely unfamiliar with humans, and as he looked around the bustle of the town he saw nothing but nightmares and fantasy creatures.

  It was like a renaissance fair, or a town in an online game. The streets were unnaturally straight, everything was too clean, the buildings were almost too beautifully ancient looking, all stone and wood. Where he stood at the main gate showed a straight shot up what must have been the main street, lined with storefronts, taverns, and small stalls.

  Pod said, “Come on then, let’s get rid of this shit so I can get over to Spinners.”

  Tiller spoke, his voice shaken with uncertainty, “Lead the way.”

  They moved through the busy street. It wasn’t crowded, but there was a lot of activity. Tiller’s head spun at the variety of beings he saw. There were tall, unnaturally slender humanoids that may have been the elves Pod had referenced. He saw one completely massive being, wide and towering, far bigger than Bonk, with a hanging belly that he assumed to be a troll. There were other creatures that didn’t match anything he was familiar with from fantasy lore. Cat-people complete with swishing tails. Amorphous clouds of gas bearing baskets of fresh fruit. Something that looked human but seemed to have tree bark instead of skin.

  If anything truly amazed him it wasn’t the town, or the people. He moved through the street and realized he had accepted this reality. The realization provoked a sobbing gasp in his chest that he had to forcibly suppress. His heart grew cold with a strange dread, realizing that he was in fact here, that this was real, and that he was so, so far from his family.

  Pod led him to the gate end of main street and to a store near the very end of the row of buildings. There were stands outside the door, heaped with fruit. What appeared to be a female, given her dress, stood near the door, watching those stands with jealous eyes. She was nearly as tall as a human, but that was the end of the similarity. In every other way she looked like a toad in human form.

  “What’s that?” Tiller hissed at Pod.

  “Huh, that’s Uppy.”

  “What kind of thing is she?”

  “What? Oh, still not remembering what anything is, eh?”

  “I’m from a different world.”

  Pod rolled his eyes. “She’s a Croaker. Only, shit, don’t say that where she can hear you. It’s not, you know, polite. Her people are Bufos. Lot of traders are. We’ll stop here for a price, but I wouldn’t expect much. Tighter’n a goblin’s asshole she is.”

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  Tiller winced at imagining how one would acquire the knowledge of the tightness of a goblin’s asshole.

  Seeing them coming, Uppy shouted at them, her voice every bit as warbly and warped as one might expect from a toad-person. “Oy! You watch yourself, Pod! I see you coming! I know it was you who took them apples last month.”

  Pod only sneered back, “Town watch didn’t agree with you on that one, Uppy me darling. I wouldn’t steal from you.”

  “Oh no? You’d steal from your own sweet wife if she wasn’t looking and you wanted a drink bad enough. What in heaven brings you to darken my door?”

  Even as she said it, her eyes were raking over the sacks on his back with deep interest.

  Pod said, “This here is my… friend… Tiller. He’s started a little enterprise with Maeve and me. He’s a stonier, if you didn’t notice, and a Cindy earther too! We’ve been growing vittles, and I couldn’t offer ’em to anyone before you, Uppy. Hurt me though you might with your accusations, you’d always be the first on my list when I have a bargain to offer.”

  Watching the exchange Tiller began to wonder if being associated with Pod was good for business.

  Uppy stepped up to meet them before they reached the front of her store. “What have we got then? Hang on a tick, these are vittles. Fine looking vittles. What’s in this one? Carrots? Hmmm... I never thought I’d say it, Pod, but I could do business with goods like these.”

  Pod said, “What’re they worth to ya? We’re starting out an operation here, Uppy. Need capital is what we need. Need a good price.”

  “Hmmm… well let’s see here. We’ve a bag of onions, two of carrots, one o’ taters. The bag o’ taters is very light. I can go ten for the onions, same for the carrots. If the taters were full to the top I’d go twenty on it, but it’s not even half full. Six is the best I can do for that.”

  Tiller was left in bewilderment. That was thirty-six gold she was talking about. He didn’t know if he should be excited or disappointed. That was part of the point of this whole excursion.

  Pod seemed to answer his wondering for him. “Thirty-six fucking gold? For all of this? Uppy, you wound me. You fucking wound me. Drive a stake through my heart, is what you do. I came right to you, before I even thought about Tonk or Drake. And you want to take the fruits of hard labor, me sweatin’ in the fields, pouring my heart and soul into all of this, and you’ll hurt me by offering thirty-six.”

  “I’ll go to thirty-eight. It’s the best you’ll get from anyone in Medley. Take it now, Pod, and cut the shit.”

  Pod quite certainly refused to take it now. He stormed away, an excessively played expression of sorrow and offense on his face, and led Tiller to another store partway up the street. There they met Drake, a goblin with a surprisingly sophisticated accent. Drake greeted Pod with the same distaste that Uppy had offered him. The negotiations went in a similar manner. Drake was visibly delighted with the quality of the produce, but veiled it well. He dickered, starting with an offer of thirty and eventually, after long and exhausting banter, arrived at the same offer as Uppy had. Pod made another show of injury and betrayal, accusing Drake of forgetting all the good times they’d shared at Dave’s Tavern. Drake’s only response to this was a look of unconcealed disgust.

  As they made their way to the last store, Pod said, “They rightly like the look of the goods you do. Fine stuff you pulled. That’ll be your sigil.”

  “Drake didn’t seem too impressed with you. Is it really a good idea to lean on your history with people you’ve clearly got a bad history with?”

  “Aw, don’t you fucking mind him. Drake’s an uppity shit is what he is. Drake? How’s that for a name for a goblin? Not even his real name. He’s got notions for himself, is what he’s got, and shit’s all over the little fella while he tries to climb to the top. Don’t you mind him, Tonk’ll sort us out. Don’t worry. These first two stops were just testing the water.”

  Tonk was an ogre. Tiller was starting to see a pattern in the naming of ogres. Bonk, Cronk, now Tonk. Pod informed Tiller that Tonk was the son of Cronk and the cousin of Bonk. Tonk, it turned out, was far more civilized than Bonk. His shop was the largest of the three they’d visited. Beef and milk featured prominently in his offerings. Tiller noticed hopefully that his vegetable displays were somewhat diminished. This was a vendor in need of stock.

  Tonk greeted Pod without the same barrage of distaste he had received from Uppy and Drake. There was some familiarity here, and their entire history was clearly not as soured.

  Tonk inspected the sacks of produce and played a far more refined poker face. He started as low as Drake had, but increased his offering in more increments. When he settled on the same price, thirty-eight gold, Pod made the same performance of outrage and insult. This time, when they started to leave, Tonk stopped them.

  “All right, all right. I’ll do you a favor. Medley needs more growers, so I’ll help ya out. I’ll go to forty. But that’s the best I can do.”

  Pod looked back at him, his eyes glancing to the depleted stalls. “If you say forty-one then I’ll put these down. If I go back to Uppy and tell her you offered forty then she’ll beat it. You know she will.”

  Tonk stared Pod down for a long moment and then, with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, agreed.

  Pod left the sacks with Tonk. Tiller made sure it was he who accepted the forty-one coins, dropping them into the empty sack he’d brought, and they returned to main street. The sun was only reaching its zenith.

  Pod said, “Now look at that. We’ve made a small fortune and it’s not even noon. I’ll take my little cut outta that, and if you’ll be looking for me in the meantime, I’ll be over in Dave’s.”

  After no small argument, Tiller handed over three coins to Pod and watched the little old leprechaun practically skip down the street. Tiller found himself suddenly alone and unguided in this strange town full of strange people.

  He straightened himself up, squared his shoulders, and set out to do business.