“Ah, petch…”
The sigh that escaped Aidan’s lips was one of vexation, palms coming to rest on the gentle slopes of his hips as his eyes gazed upwards for an appeal from the gods. Remi had offered to make a list of what she needed from the market before he’d set off on the errand that day, but his own hubris had gotten the best of him. Now, stranded amidst a host of denizens who seemed to have better reason for being there than he, Aidan felt like an island midst a rolling sea.
“Look out, scrum!”
Suddenly jabbed in the shoulder by a similar, more meaty appendage, the cook found himself teetering on a single foot before he managed to regain his balance only a few feet away from where he‘d stood. The trinkets around his neck jingled lightly against his breast bone, soft music to his ears that offered a polite reminder to the virtues that went against seeking swift retribution.
A dull throbbing within the muscle rose and fell like the crest of a wave passing beneath a pier, gone before he had time to wince or even catch a glimpse of who‘d struck him. But where the intrusion lacked in spiking his blood pressure, it made up for in the shameful realization that he was obstructing traffic.
Some quick and fancy footwork saw Aidan dancing around the more purposeful feet of others to the edge of the bustle, suddenly placed before a merchant’s stall that was peddling a host of colorful peppers from hanging strings. The provisions looked more like decoration than they did cooking supplement in their current state, their vague scent only hinting at their powerful sapor.
Aidan’s eye for value quickly diverted his attention away from any remnant of insult to his pride, fingers reaching up to hold the ends of the hanging peppers with a certain delicacy one might see more often in the jewel crafting business. He knew they were not the reason for his visit, but his attention span was currently possessed by that of a child, and the colors were visually stimulating.
“Do you see something you like?” A young woman’s meek voice broke past the murmur that plagued the market, soft like a silk sheet being slowly unraveled.
Aidan’s sharp blue eyes were momentarily diverted to its source, catching within their grasp a small woman of mixed descent whose tawny robe brushed with the floor. If the cook had to guess, he would have pegged her as being of a heavily diluted Eypharian stock. Her hair was braided into blackest ribbons, doe eyes a soft brown that complimented a malnourished face. What she was doing in a city like Syliras completely eluded Aidan’s best deductions.
The impish smile that registered on the man’s lips was easy on the eyes if not condemning, a slight hint of red gracing his cheeks. Dropping his hands away from the produce almost as if he was in fact guilty of something, Aidan brushed a hand through his hair before pulling both arms to the small of his back.
”Never seen peppers so col’rful. Must be the soil, ‘eh?”
The woman’s expression tilted towards a mixture of suspicion and intrigue, weighing the cook with an eye that measured his good characteristics against the more questionable ones. Satisfied enough not to turn him away, she offered a narrowing smile that kept its guard. “And what would a Syliran like you know of soil conditions, hm?”
”Oh, not much really. I just use what grows out of it for a few creations. I’m a cook, y’see.”
The woman’s expression softened a touch, daring to approach closer as she eyed the string of peppers Aidan’s hands had been appraising. “These are grown further south,” she stated matter of factly, “where the climate is more arid. It gives them a sharper taste. Perhaps too hot for palates the likes of a Syliran’s. But added to a dish in the right amount, if you are indeed a cook, can give it more flavor than…”
“Well look who it is…”
Out of the darkness the sudden guttural voice stifled the woman’s own and tore the coloring away from Aidan’s face completely. It was a voice that registered easily to those who had dealings with it, and was inherently lathed with a certain sense of foreboding.
The cook felt a heavy hand crash like a lead weight upon his shoulder from behind, turning him around predatorily to face a man he did not want to owe money to, but did. The crooked smile aimed in his direction was one that had seen years of being a part of a disreputable enterprise. Syliras didn’t allow for organizations of the underworld to form, but it also couldn’t stop the occasional thug from slipping into the system. Mudd, as he was so affectionately named, was one of those thugs.
“Got my money, Sutter?”
”Uh, still working on it…”
“Wot’s that? So why are you here, then?”
”Spending some money that’s not mine,” the cook replied indifferently. Rarely did his tongue get him out of as much trouble as it did immerse himself within it.
Anger bristled at the corners of Mudd‘s retina in reply, his hand squeezing on Aidan’s shoulder, forcing compliance, and leading the pair astray from the stall and back into the moving crowd. His voice was barely a whisper, but his chapped lips were so close to Aidan’s ear that it hardly made a difference. His breath smelled of rotten eggs.
“You scream out, and I’ll shiv you where y’stand and be gone ‘afore anyone sees me.”
”You shiv me and you won’t get your money,” Aidan sighed in hushed tones, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the scent that filled his nostrils.
“One dead Sunberthan is ‘ardly worth cryin’ over. ‘Least then you won’t be able to cheat anyone else out their money.”
The irony of the statement left a roguish smirk on Aidan’s face. ”Believe it was you who cheated me, my friend.”
As much as was to be expected, the cook felt the point of a blade draw pressure against the skin covering his liver. Chancing a look to see the weapon would be folly, but Aidan could tell that no one else seemed to take notice as they passed. It could only mean that the man was smart enough to keep its glinting edge masked from view. So on they strode through the Bazaar, seemingly untroubled by any life or death situation.
Meanwhile, back at the stall, the young woman whose presence had been robbed of a potential sale watched as the retreating pair became nothing more than another set of bobbing heads lost in the crowd. Abandoning her business would mean the potential thief could stroll by and take from her whatever they pleased, but at that moment it seemed more important that she found help.
And when one needed help in Syliras, they looked for the Knights.
x
