Alaric slipped back into the market with the ease of a man who belonged there. The sounds of haggling, clinking metal, and the heavy perfume of spices mingled in the air.
"Knowledge sure is power," he murmured under his breath, slipping past a pair of giggling women haggling over dyed scarves.
He paused now and then, letting his fingers brush across wooden beads, a bolt of deep-indigo cloth, a clay vial sealed with wax.
Every stop was a show.
A nod, a question.
A curious buyer trying to compare prices, nothing more.
But each word, each glance, every response from the merchants helped him sketch a clearer map of this place and the people who ran it.
Back in the cottage, he'd poured through many books and. Details about little about geography, regional herbs, the tincture practices of old alchemists.
Also, Sari's occasional commentary had helped too.
And now? It was paying off.
One down.
Two to go.
Then he paused as something caught his attention.
