“Talen!” I respond.
“God bless ya, Talen!”
“I rather doubt that,” I mutter under my breath. I glance over my shoulder and wave at him, still smiling.
Chapter 2
As I approach the end of the street, there is a noticeable shift in the structures and the people. Though nothing as grand as the houses on the other side of the wall, the structures are sturdier. The merchants have more expensive wares, and the street is generally cleaner. The scent of fresh-cut wood and hay fills the air.
Two merchants I haven’t seen before catch my eye, and I meander in their direction, casually looking over the items in their carts while sizing them up out of the corner of my eye.
A pale man with strong arms watches over his cart of vegetables. The food looks fresh, and I wonder how far he’s trekked. None of the land in this area is fertile enough to grow the melons and sweet potatoes he has on his cart.
I listen to him talk to a prospective customer.
“These look good,” the customer says. “Where did you get them?”
“Came from the southwest,” the merchant says. “The earth isn’t burned there, so the soil is better, and there are fewer quakes.”
He speaks with the accent of a Naught, but his grammar is too precise. Only Thaves are educated enough to use the term “fewer”—a Naught would have said “less.”
“How far southwest?” I ask him.
He looks over at me, eyes narrowed. He glances at the knives on my belt, but instead of the usual look of fear or at least wariness, his eyes hold disgust.
“Far enough to have escaped the burn.”
“On the other side of the second mountain range, then.” I take a step closer to him.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Did you buy another cart when you reached this side?”
“Another cart?”
“This cart here”—I tap the small front wheel of the cart with my boot—“wouldn’t have made it over the mountain terrain.”
He glances down at the wheels and then back up again. Lies fall from his lips.
“I had another cart, yes. It got me over
the mountain, but I…the cart slid down the last slope, and I had to replace it when I got to the bottom.”
“And where did you get this one?”
“There’s a settlement,” the merchant says as sweat begins to form on his brow, “right near the foot of the mountain. I purchased a new cart there.”
“In Roundbottom?” I ask with a smile.
“Yes, that’s the place.”
Movement to my left catches my eye, and I glance over to see Jonny, the woodcutter, heading in my direction. His eyes are narrowed in suspicion, and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am.
“Roundbottom only makes carts that can travel on the mountain slopes,” Jonny says, “not carts with these wheels. Their carts are made to be drawn by horses or oxen. Where’s your horse?”
“I left him to graze in the woods.”
“Nothing to graze on there,” Jonny says as he crosses his arms, showing off his biceps.