“Markus?” Loran’s voice interrupts my contemplations of the manachite beneath my feet. He looks as if a weight has been taken off his back, as if his shoulders can finally lift themselves from the defensive, hunched position that is his wont.

  “Done?” I ask in return. He nods wordlessly, gratitude spilling into his expression. I hold up a hand to stop him, belatedly closing my fist so as not to accidentally threaten him. But even though his mouth shuts itself, his mental voice comes through.

  Thank you, Markus. My lord. Without you…. He trails off, sending another glance back at the imposing courthouse behind him, his eyes full of disquiet.

  It’s an intimidating building, more so than the courthouse in Sandend. Unlike the banks we’ve walked past which are all widely set colonnades and expansive doorways, the courthouse is a squat, defensive building with small doors and narrow windows. Guards are far more obvious here than in other establishments we’ve walked past. There are even some gargoyles on the top of the building, peering over the gutters – I suspect that, like the direction statues, they will come alive under specific conditions.

  Your freedom is official, then? I check with the former-slave, while sending him a sense of his gratitude being appreciated but not necessary. Which, given how he reacted when the collar was first taken off, he surely knows. Still, it’s worth making clear.

  It is, he confirms. It might not be perfect protection – the law might say one thing but money can drown out its words – but at least now Loran is confident that I can’t just turn around and say he’s lying about having been given his freedom without questions now there’s a registered document in the courthouse.

  You didn’t have any problems?

  Loran shrugs.

  The open collar I submitted along with the contract was enough. The official might also have been told about who was accompanying me.

  I nod.

  Good. Come on, then – let’s go see a statue about some directions to the enchanter.

  Seeing stone move as if it’s flesh will never not be weird, and hearing a smooth voice emerge from a stone mouth is even more disconcerting, but we quickly get our directions and head off. Our route takes us away from the manachite-paved main road and into the winding side alleys.

  I regret that a little – the manachite is definitely fascinating and I’d love to spend more time observing it. It’s not natural, for all that its basic structure reminds me of marble. Mages may be required to install it, but I also suspect that they’re required to create it in the first place. My best guess is that it’s been saturated with magic to the point that it’s undergone a transformation – like a magical version of metamorphosis. I can do something similar with spider silk. It makes me wonder just how many other materials like this are out there – and what I could discover in the future.

  Once off the beaten track, the design of the buildings changes quite quickly. While it’s still clearly a well-off area, the buildings are smaller than in the district close to Nicholas’ manor, and are less quirky. The spaces between them are significantly narrower too, bringing us into closer contact with the other pedestrians. Not that many seem to want to cross our paths – several actually choose to turn tail and go a different way rather than get close to us. Given my companions, I suppose I can’t blame them.

  There are fewer permanent shops too. On the manachite boulevard, every building contained some form of enterprise. Here, though there are still shops set in the buildings here and there, more numerous are the mobile carts that clutter up the walkway. While there is technically enough space between the buildings for a carriage to pass through, it would struggle with all the temporary stalls present.

  The people visiting the stalls and shops are still clearly well-clothed, but something about the way they’re dressed or the hurried way they move shows that they’re not quite as well-heeled as those I saw strolling along the manachite walkway.

  Though I’m distracted by the people, I can’t help but be impressed by the variety of goods – more even than on the main boulevard. Everything from needles and thread to tin mugs, from porcelain plates to fur hats, from fruit and vegetables, to meat and fish. From books to detailed ornamental statues. And magic, in unexpected places.

  I catch snippets of conversation as I pass – murmurs of appreciation, the hawking of vendors, derision at the quality, concern about increasing prices. One conversation at the meat cart catches my interest because of the sheer stench drifting from a clearly angry woman.

  “-and I tell you that if you don’t refund me, my next stop will be the lawmen!” the thin, red-faced lady shouts at the more brawny woman who is clearly the owner of the cart in question. She’s holding up a chunk of rotting meat that stinks so badly I have to swallow convulsively to keep down my breakfast. Even my companions turn up their noses at it.

  “And I keep telling you that it ain’t my meat that’s any problem – I bet your cold cupboard’s runes are damaged. That’s a job for an enchanter – not a butcher!”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  I’m distracted from the stomach-churning scent by the reminder of my desire to bring some inventions from Earth over here – in a magi-tech kind of way. But it also indicates that I might not find as much of a market for them as I was hoping – here, for example. Fridges and freezers are great inventions, but it seems that they already have a version – a ‘cold cupboard’ powered by runes.

  I glance over at Hunter to see her staring back at the stall in curiosity – specifically at the enchanted ‘cold cupboards’ that are holding the stall-keeper’s wares.

  “I can buy one for you if you want to inspect it,” I offer. Hunter looks back over and her spikes flicker with negation.

  It’s fine. I think I have an idea of how I could produce a similar effect, she muses, then I feel her mind pull completely away from the Bond as she sinks into deep thought.

  My lips quirk up. I’ve lost her. Looking around I jerk forwards as I spot a developing problem.

  “Lathani! No!” I exclaim. The young nunda looks back at me with a guilty look, her paw almost touching a feather that’s dancing in mid-air. To be fair, I can’t really blame her for the distraction. But the stall-owner and its current client are looking more than a little wide-eyed. “Sorry,” I apologise to them. “She likes feathers.” It’s a poor excuse, but no one objects. Instead, the stall owner just darts a look towards my shoulders and pales.

  “No-no bother, my lord. Here, have this for your beast.” Grinning nervously, he waves to me and one of the feathers drifts my way. I take it out of the air and inspect it. A quill?

  Looking at the client who’s currently frozen, I see that a similar quill is balancing on a sheet of parchment in front of him, halfway through a word. Clearly, these quills are the seller’s livelihood rather than his product. I step forwards and lay the quill down on the top of the stall.

  “Thank you for the offer, but I’m sure the quill would be of more use here than getting chewed up by my companion.” Lathani sends me a grumpy disagreement. Apparently she likes dancing feathers. Maybe Hunter can figure out how to enchant a feather to dance for you, then, I suggest and both of them perk up at the idea.

  The seller looks at a loss for words, so I just give him a short nod and then walk away. A glance backwards a little later shows the seller staring into space and the client continuing to dictate to a magical quill that records his words.

  Returning my gaze to the route ahead, I can’t help wondering about the reason why there might be a merchant who seems to be selling time with an enchanted quill that can take a dictation. I can only guess that a good portion of the population here are mostly or entirely illiterate – I know from Nicholas’ lessons that less than half the people have access to formal education.

  Which reminds me.

  Loran, I start hesitantly. Can you…do you know how to read or write? Not that it’s any shame if you can’t, I add on hastily.

  Despite my reassurance, shame does trickle across the Bond between us. His shoulders lift and tension develops between his shoulder blades in the pause before he answers.

  I…I’ve picked up a few words here or there, he replies reluctantly. But I know my numbers – I can count and read those, he adds defensively. Up to a hundred, even.

  I’ll make sure you have the opportunity to learn, I decide. If that’s what you want, anyway.

  Loran hesitates for a moment, but I can tell from the yearning over the Bond that it’s not because he doesn’t want it.

  I already owe you so much, he tells me quietly, not meeting my eyes. I can’t afford to pay you for the lessons.

  It’s fine – I don’t expect payment, I reassure him. Actually, I might as well have Alyna and Rory taught at the same time – you guys will be more useful to me if you can read and write. When Loran relaxes a little, I know I’ve taken the right tack.

  Then, thank you, he tells me, gratitude spilling through our Bond again as we keep moving.

  I would teach them myself but I’m not sure I’ll have the time – there seem to be so many other things to do. Anyway, I never actually learned to read and write Moriaxar the normal way – without the language stone, it would still be gibberish to me…. Heck, even the number system is really odd here – written more like Roman numeral equivalents than a decimal system.

  I’m distracted from my thoughts by the shop ahead of us – our destination. Even if I hadn’t had the directions from the statue in mind, I would know this is the place.

  Images fill the glass windows – they must block out most of the natural light. I find myself marvelling at the designs – they’re beautiful pieces of artwork. Most are pictures of fantastical beasts; dragons, phoenixes, unicorns, and griffins dotted among many more beasts that I only recognise because of the wilderness survival stone I absorbed all that time ago.

  “Alright,” I start, eyeing the shop slightly dubiously. “I don’t know if we’ll all fit in there. Bullio, Leileh, would you be willing to wait outside?” It only reduces our numbers by two, but that’s something, at least.

  The two guards exchange uneasy glances but then Bullio inclines his head with evident reluctance.

  “We would like to check the shop before you enter it, but then we are willing to guard the exits instead of staying within.”

  “Fair enough,” I allow and the two guards bow slightly before heading inside the shop to the tinkle of a bell.

  Do any of you not want to come inside with me? I ask the remaining group while we wait. There’s a definite silence, not that I was expecting anything else. I look up at the sky. What about you, Sirocco? I check with her. Her answer is to come and land on my shoulder. Alright, then, I sigh, hoping that the shop has more space inside than it looks like from here.

  here!

  here!

  here!

  here!

  here