Chapter 150 — The Market Entrance
The cord-makers’ passage was already crowded with workers carrying the last market covers into place.
Ayari kept Nia near the inner wall while Tovin walked ahead with the lidded basket beneath one arm. Shen stayed on Nia’s outer side and guided her around a coil of rope beside a repair stool.
A man above them pulled a cover across the first stall. Another secured the lower edge while the seller moved her baskets away from a damp corner. Across the passage, three women spread folded cloth over their tables and weighed the corners with smooth stones.
The first bell had not sounded, but buyers already waited near both ends of the row.
Dema stood behind a reed-covered table, separating narrow strips into bundles. Two unfinished sieves rested beside her. The tighter one allowed only thin lines of light through the weave.
She lifted it when she noticed Nia.
“I need both grain samples before I close this rim.”
“I brought my market basket, not the meal.”
“Tomorrow, then. Bring the coarse meal and the finest you want separated.” Dema pressed her thumb against the unfinished edge. “If I only see one, I can only size the sieve for one.”
“I’ll bring both.”
Ayari touched the rim after Dema set it down. “She has been discussing those two weave widths since before we reached the passage.”
Dema continued sorting reeds. “Because she wants two results from one grinding.”
“The coarse pieces cook differently from the fine ones,” Nia said.
“I know. I listened yesterday.”
Ayari drew Nia onward before Dema could begin measuring the basket she had brought instead.
An older female sat behind the central order table with a measuring cord looped around one wrist. Gray showed through the dark braid coiled at the back of her head. One of her husbands tightened cord around a stack of carrying frames while another counted folded market covers into two piles.
A visiting trader waited beside the table with a rush token in his hand.
“We can repair six before the next market,” the first husband said. “Eight if the household work is moved back again.”
“Those households have waited through the thaw,” the female replied.
She moved two covers from the trader’s pile and added them to the household stack.
“We take six frames. Bring the remaining two with your next load.”
The trader examined the reduced pile, collected his token, and stepped away.
Ayari waited until he had cleared the table. “Luma, this is Nia.”
Luma finished tightening the knot in her measuring cord before looking up. “Dema told me she wants a grain sieve.”
“I also need straining cloth,” Nia said. “Finer than the cloth we use over storage jars, but strong enough to twist while it is wet.”
Luma motioned to the husband stacking frames. He returned with three folded cloths from the rear shelf and spread them across the table.
The first weave was too open. The second was tighter, but its threads shifted when Nia pressed them. The third held its shape beneath her fingers, though small pieces of leaf or curd could still pass through it.
“This one could hold softened roots,” Nia said. “It might hold fresh curd if the pieces are large enough. I need something closer for smaller bits.”
Tovin drew a seller slate from the lidded basket and marked Luma’s household sign.
“The same strength with less space between the threads?” he asked.
“Yes. Enough cloth to gather the corners and lift it from a bowl.”
Luma folded the third cloth along the direction of the weave. “A closer cloth will dry more slowly.”
“I’ll need to hang it fully open after washing. It cannot remain folded while it is damp.”
Luma glanced toward the rear shelf and then at the husband beside her. “Ask the fine weavers whether they can close the spacing without using the softer thread. Bring this piece so they match the strength.”
He tucked the cloth beneath his arm and left through the rear opening.
“Come back after the next market,” Luma said. “I may have one test piece. Do not expect enough for several cloths until we know whether it dries properly.”
“One is enough to test.”
Luma returned to her measuring cord before Ayari guided Nia away.
“She has made covers and carrying cloth longer than most of this row has held market tables,” Ayari said once they were beyond hearing. “If the first piece twists badly or traps dampness, she will stop before making another.”
“That is better than making a whole stack that cannot be used.”
Tovin slid the slate back inside the basket. “She rejected our storage-net order last spring because we asked too late for the river-trader season.”
Ayari adjusted the wrap at her shoulder while watching a worker carry the cloth sample through the rear passage. “We received enough nets to secure the jars already on our shelves. The others stayed where they were until the next weaving.”
Two females approaching from the basket row greeted Ayari and Nia as they passed. One mentioned that her mate had eaten three festival cakes while insisting he disliked sweet food. The other welcomed Nia to the spring market, then hurried after a husband who had turned into the pottery row while she was still speaking.
The first bell sounded before either woman reached the end of the passage.
Sellers tied their covers back and placed trade tokens at the fronts of their tables. Buyers stepped away from the walls. One woman exchanged two marked strips for a carrying basket, lifted it onto her hip, and moved aside for the next household.
Pottery and storage goods occupied the nearest turn. Tall sealed jars stood behind shallow cooking bowls, cooling vessels, oil flasks, and stacks of fitted lids. Tool sellers across from them displayed knives, hooks, scraping stones, bone needles, hide punches, and replacement handles.
The scent of cured leather mixed with clay dust and smoke from the prepared-food row.
Farther down, Kael stood beside the visiting-trader posts with Tarek and three market workers.
A cart had been placed between two marked stones. Kael checked the space left for foot traffic, then directed the driver toward another unloading position. The workers shifted the cart before the next load entered the road.
Warmth moved through Nia’s bond when Kael looked across the market and found her beside Ayari.
His gaze passed over Shen, Tovin, and the clear stone around them before returning to her face. Tarek handed him another route strip, and Kael turned back to the visiting traders.
Ayari followed Nia’s attention. “He may reach the food row before the middle bell.”
“He may still be working here.”
“He knows who is with you.”
Shen rested one hand against Nia’s back as buyers thickened around the pottery turn. “Stay to my left.”
A man carrying a rack of horn cups passed close enough for the lowest row to brush Shen’s sleeve. Shen moved Nia nearer the pottery table before the rack could catch the strap of her basket.
Tovin remained several steps ahead, making room without stopping the flow around them.
The produce row began with early greens spread over damp cloth. Some had narrow leaves and pale stems. Others grew in tight curls, with dark soil still caught near their roots. Baskets of winter-preserved roots stood behind them, marked separately from the fresh growth.
The seller placed one small curled leaf on a flat sample stone.
“These came from the sunny wall below the east rise,” she said. “Bitter raw. Softer after cooking.”
Shen examined the sample first, then lifted the upper layer of the nearest bundle. The leaves on top were cool and crisp. Deeper inside, several stems had dark bruises where the wet bundle had been tied too tightly.
“These were packed before they dried,” he said.
“It rained while we gathered.”
“Open the other bundles before the middle leaves warm further. Remove the blackened stems and keep the damaged leaves separate from the fresh ones.”
The seller untied the bundle and spread it across a second cloth. Damp heat escaped from the center. She pulled out the bruised leaves and placed them in a shallow bowl.
Shen broke the sample leaf’s stem, smelled the wet edge, and offered it to Nia.
“Safe. The bitterness will increase as the stems harden.”
Nia ate the small leaf. The sharpness came first, followed by a clean green flavor. She wiped her fingertips on the cloth Shen held for her.
“It would soften with fat,” she said. “Egg might balance it too.”
Tovin opened the lidded basket, retrieved the first slate, and marked the greens seller’s sign. He added the egg row beneath it and kept the slate in hand as they moved on.
The seller lifted another bundle onto the open cloth. “Come earlier next market. The smallest leaves sell first.”
Nia thanked her and followed Ayari toward the egg table.
A young female stood behind it with three husbands working around the stall. One replaced cracked reed padding beneath the eggs. Another held a covered clay bowl inside a basket lined with wet cloth. The third was moving the largest eggs onto a separate tray.
“Leave most of those with the others,” the female said.
“They will bring a better trade together,” the husband answered.
“The upper-cave households will take every large one and leave the smaller eggs until the heat rises.”
The husband holding the lined basket shifted it farther from the sunlight. “We should trade the curd first. The cloth is already drying.”
“I know.” She returned several eggs to the main tray. “Keep four separate. Put the rest back.”
Both husbands followed her decision, though the one sorting eggs looked over the tray once more before setting it down.
Ayari approached after the eggs were arranged.
“Pella, this is Nia.”
Pella wiped her hands on a clean cloth before greeting her. “I hoped Ayari would bring you before the curd was gone.”
The husband holding the lined basket reached for the clay lid.
“Wait,” Pella said. “Let Shen check it before we offer a taste.”
He stopped with his fingers beneath the rim.
Shen crouched beside the basket. He touched the wet lining, smelled beneath the loosened lid, and examined the smooth white curd without dipping his fingers into it.
“When was the milk set?”
“Before dawn,” Pella said.
“Was the bowl cooled before it was filled?”
One husband explained that it had been left near the inner water channel. Another added that they had replaced the wet cloth twice. The man beside the eggs began naming the animal that had produced the milk until Pella raised a hand.
“Let him finish.”
Shen checked the underside of the lid. “It is fresh. Keep the bowl covered, and do not let the wet cloth touch the opening.”
Pella took a clean wooden spoon from a covered cup and placed a small amount of curd on a shallow tasting dish. She handed it to Nia.
The curd was softer than pressed cheese and thicker than the milk Nia had tasted in Hearthfang. It was mild, with a faint sourness and only a little salt.
“This is richer than I expected.”
“The first milk after the cold season makes the softest curd,” Pella said. “It firms after pressing.”
Nia finished the sample and returned the dish. Pella placed it with the spoon in a small wash bowl, then nodded to her husband. He reseated the clay lid and tucked the wet cloth lower around the bowl.
“How much liquid drains out when you press it?” Nia asked.
The husband beside the basket held his hands apart to show the original depth. “Nearly half. We give the liquid to animals or add it to thin broth.”
“Save a little the next time you press it. I want to taste it before it goes into anything else.”
Pella looked at her. “The drained liquid?”
“Yes. I need to know how sour it is and whether it carries much salt.”
Tovin marked Pella’s household sign on the slate he was already holding and wrote separate lines for fresh curd, pressed curd, and drained liquid.
Pella’s egg-sorting husband leaned toward the slate. “Mark the large eggs too.”
Pella moved the separate tray to her side of the table. “Four large eggs. The rest stay mixed.”
He withdrew his hand.
Ayari touched Pella’s forearm before leading Nia away.
“She bonded with them near the end of autumn,” Ayari said after the crowd separated them from the stall. “She still hears every opinion before deciding, even when she already knows what she wants.”
“She moved the eggs herself.”
“In winter, they would have discussed the tray until someone needed it for another purpose.” Ayari looked back briefly. Pella was serving another buyer while the separate tray remained beside her. “She is quicker now.”
The row widened ahead of them.
Prepared-food sellers lifted lids from steaming pots. Flat grain cakes browned on heated stones beside skewers of smoked meat and bowls of softened roots. Across the aisle, preserved stock hung or stood in sealed containers: dried strips, smoked fish, salted fat, winter berries, ground meal, and dark jars whose contents required asking.
Nia smelled strong salt, hot grain, and something faintly floral beneath the smoke.
A visiting seller had spread pale roots over a red cloth near the edge of the food row. He shaved one with a small knife and held the cut surface toward passing buyers.
“Aromatic cooking root,” he called. “One piece will scent a whole pot.”
Shen stopped before Nia reached the table.
The seller offered the shaving.
Shen did not take it. “That is fever root.”
“It is used in broth where I trade.”
“A shaving may be boiled for medicine. A whole piece can numb the mouth and sicken the stomach.”
The seller lowered his hand. “Your healers may prepare it differently.”
“Then place it with the healer goods and explain the amount used in your territory.”
A market worker removed the food token from the front of the cloth and directed the seller toward the marked healer section. The man gathered his roots without further argument.
Nia waited until they had moved beyond the stall. “Does its scent resemble any safe cooking root you know?”
“No.” Shen looked toward the healer section. “The smell is strong enough to flavor food, but the amount needed would not be safe. I can ask how their healers prepare it.”
“Ask them. I won’t put it in food.”
Shen nodded.
At the next table, a seller was filling a household jar with coarse mineral salt while the buyer held a cloth beneath the rim to catch any spilled grains. Pale blossoms rested beneath damp leaves at one end of the stall. Small green fruits filled a shallow basket beside strips of dried meat, and glossy dark seeds lay near a low pressing stone marked by an oily stain.
The seller leveled the salt in the jar, tied a cover over it, and returned the buyer’s unused trade strip.
Nia waited until the woman had moved away. “Is that salt stronger than what Hearthfang usually trades?”
“Much stronger,” the seller said. “It comes from stone beds beyond the northern river. Most households use less of it.”
She placed one coarse grain in a clean tasting dish and gave it to Shen. He examined it before passing the dish to Nia.
Nia tipped the grain onto her tongue.
The salt struck quickly and left a faint mineral bitterness after it dissolved.
“I would use less of this in food.” She looked at Shen. “It may make a stronger brine, but we would need to compare it with our usual salt before changing any preservation amount.”
“We would test a small measure first,” Shen said.
Tovin added the seller’s mark beneath Pella’s entries. He wrote only enough to remind them to compare the two salts at home.
The seller placed the used dish in a wash bowl beneath the table.
A breeze passing through the row lifted the scent from the blossoms. The seller drew the damp leaves over them again before the petals dried.
“Those are stronger than the festival flowers,” Nia said.
“Only while fresh. The scent weakens by the second day.” The seller uncovered one blossom. “The petals can be eaten. The center is bitter.”
Shen smelled it, removed one petal, and handed that to Nia.
Its fragrance was stronger than its taste, soft and slightly sweet before fading.
“It might scent warm milk or fresh curd,” Nia said. “I would have to see whether the smell remains after heating.”
The seller dropped the handled center and remaining petals into the waste cup beside her cutting board. “Buy them on the morning you mean to use them.”
Before Tovin could write, another buyer asked for two measures of the green fruit. The seller cut one open to show the pale interior, then laid several thin pieces beside the dried meat while she weighed the rest.
Nia watched the buyer taste one piece with a strip of meat.
“Is it always eaten that way?”
“It is very sour alone,” the seller said. She placed a fresh slice on a clean dish for Shen to check.
He smelled the cut surface and examined the exposed seed before passing the dish to Nia.
The sourness tightened Nia’s mouth, but the fruit left a clean floral taste after the sharpness faded.
“It could cut through rich meat,” Nia said. “It might also work with Pella’s curd.”
She finished the slice and returned the dish. The seller set it in the wash bowl with the salt dish.
Tovin looked at the remaining space on his slate. “Fruit with meat or curd. Fresh blossoms to test in milk. Which one matters first?”
“The fruit will keep longer,” Nia said. “Mark the blossoms for a morning when I can use them immediately.”
He added both in two short lines rather than recording the entire discussion.
The seller began gathering the weighed fruit into the other buyer’s cloth. As she shifted the basket, Nia saw several crushed seed kernels near the pressing stone and the thin oil left beneath them.
“Do those seeds always go into lamps?” Nia asked.
“Most do. Hunters sometimes roast the kernels. I press a little when someone wants to test the oil before buying a full basket.”
She chose one loose seed and cracked it against the edge of the stone. Shen checked the pale center before the seller placed it on a clean corner of the pressing surface.
Nia pushed the kernel beneath her thumb. Oil spread in a thin line across the stone.
“How much comes from a basket?”
“Enough for several lamps if the seeds are fresh. Less after long storage.”
Nia looked across the aisle toward a small hand press displayed among the tool sellers.
Tovin followed her gaze. The first slate had no room left. He tied it closed, returned it to the lidded basket, and drew out a second slate.
“Seed seller and the small press,” he said.
“Mark that we need to know whether the oil tastes bitter after pressing.”
The seller scraped the crushed kernel and shell into the waste cup. She wiped the oily stone with a cloth kept beside the press and dropped the cloth into a separate wash bowl.
Tovin recorded the seed and press on the second slate. He tied it closed, placed it inside the basket, and secured the lid before lifting the basket beneath his arm again.
A pair carrying a covered milk jar entered the row. Ayari guided Nia aside while Tovin moved ahead to clear the turn.
The prepared-food tables lay directly in front of them, bright with steam, polished serving bowls, and sellers calling out the morning portions.
Ayari caught Nia’s hand before she entered the row.
“Not yet.”
Nia looked from the hot grain cakes to the narrower passages behind the basket stalls. “I thought this was where we were going.”
“This is where most new buyers begin.” Ayari turned her toward the side row. “The larger stalls bring enough goods to trade through the morning. Behind the household tables, local gatherers sell whatever they collected at first light—small bundles, fruit that bruises before midday, flowers that lose their scent quickly, and seeds from patches too small to fill a trader’s basket. Their regular buyers arrive early.”
Tovin moved ahead with the lidded basket beneath his arm. Shen stayed close at Nia’s shoulder as Ayari led her away from the steam and open serving pots.
Behind the basket tables, regular buyers were already holding out household bowls while the gatherers measured the morning’s first portions.