"In a world ruled by power, never forget the clever man. He built the road the cultivator walks."
– Excerpt from the Mortal Patent Charter, 3rd Edict
That next morning, I woke up with an unexpected vigour within me. Now that I had a vague idea of what I wanted to do, I needed to iron out key details and create a blueprint for the next few years of my life. And, thankfully, today I was to accompany Johanna to the market.
Today was Saint Hildebrand's Day, also known as The Day of Wits. It was a ridiculous holiday commemorating the legendary monk Hildebrand, who once tricked a river demon into bottling itself in a clay jar sealed with wax and prayer. Because of that, daycare was closed for the day, and the marketplace was as busy, and as open, as it ever gets.
I couldn't wait to go, even asking Johanna to hurry up eating so that we could get a move on. At times like this, it's nice to pretend to be a child, as things tend to go your way. Hell, is it even pretending anymore?
***
The smell was the first thing to hit me - braised pork and spiced sausages sizzling over a charcoal grill, an acidic scent coming from the pickle stall traced its way over to me, woodsmoke and sweat. The market was alive, bustling with people, the sound of heel hitting cobble creating its own symphony, a chorus of shouts and chatter echoing off the linen awnings, voices high and low bartering amongst one another.
And I stood at the end of it, just atop a hill, looking down at the scene before me.
It was beautiful, chaotic, and archaic.
Bright bolts of banners dyed with madder and woad stretched out between stalls, flapping like flags in the breeze. A boy pushed his way through the crowds dragging a squealing boar tied with a rope around its middle. Next to him, a woman covered head-to-toe in cloth was selling perfumes and bars of soap, crudely cut into different shapes. In front of her, a small family of three picked up each bar and gave it a whiff, trying to decide which one to purchase.
There was a magic in the air, and I don't mean Qi. There was something alive and buzzing around here - this was life, nay, this was economy. This was a machine of people.
And machines could always be improved.
A nearby scribe was painstakingly copying a list for a merchant using a quill sharpened to a feathery point. God, if they had a printing press…
A butcher rinsed his hands in a cracked basin of cloudy water - one step away from food poisoning. Sanitation protocols: nonexistent.
Even the scales some vendors used were just iron rods with weights, wildly inaccurate and ripe for cheating. A passing thought: introduce standardised units. Calibrate weights. Mass-produce balances. Too advanced for now, but perhaps in the future.
Everywhere I looked, there were gaps, inefficiencies. Things even I could improve.
Soon enough, Johanna, who had left me unaccompanied as she caught up with one of her old friends - one of the regional managers of this marketplace who oversaw everything from this hill, walked over to me and grabbed my hand. And like so, I ended up strolling through the market.
***
An old man turned a spit-roast over a flickering flame, the meat glistening with honey and rosemary oil. I paused for a brief moment in front of the stall, and the man immediately noticed my look.
"Hey, boy, two skewers for a half-pence!"
***
By the time I rounded the final corner of the square, my stomach was full of crust and ideas, my hands sticky with honey from a candied fig sample I hadn't meant to take, and my mind ablaze with possibilities.
*Theo POV*
The morning fog had not yet dispersed when mother woke me up to get dressed. Today was some special occasion - The Day of Wits, and today would be the first time she trusts me to behave sensibly enough to accompany her to the market for some seasonal shopping and relaxing.
We had to wake up before the bells even started to ring, something about trying to avoid the crowd and getting a good deal before it sells out. The village roads were still damp from last night's rain, and the grass surrounding glistened with dew.
At first, the market seemed to be the same as it always is. The smell of freshly baked bread coming from the baker's stall, whilst all other stalls were busy preparing themselves, some placing little clay figurines or bars of soap to be sold later on in the day once the market got busy. But soon, mother grabbed my hands and we took a couple turns before reaching an area of the market I had previously not noticed.
Here, it was somewhat... different, maybe even a little strange. The air was sharper here, like nettles on your skin, and the world surrounding us seemed oddly still. Only a few stalls were open, and some were completely covered in cloth.
One stall barely even had any products for sale - just three scrolls lain out on the table. I couldn't read them, since the tables were above my head level, but they must have been something special for a stall like that to exist. Another stall had lots of jewellery - rings and necklaces and other bits of metal and jade which reminded me of that Detector lady. They were arranged like sweets at a sweet shop, all on full display, and there was a sign composed of characters I didn't recognise.
And, here, people bowed. Not deeply, not like disciples to their masters, but out of respect and formality - they had replaced handshakes with bows. Sometimes, there'd be subtle dips of the head, the slightest of bows which never lasted longer than half a second, but they weren't directed at the Mayor, who could be seen patrolling the region. No, if I wasn't mistaken, they were directed towards mother.
She didn't acknowledge it at all. Just kept walking and carrying on with her day, stopping at the occasional stall to make light conversation and view the available wares. Her steps were perfectly even, calm as always, but now I looked more closely, she walked like someone used to being watched.
"Hey, mum. Why are they bowing to you?" I ask, still unsure if I was seeing things which weren't really there.
"Sometimes people show respect to me for your father's hard work," she responds, not looking at me, but smiling.
That made... no sense. Father was a blacksmith - that was something respectable, yes, but it's not like he was the Mayor or someone known around the village.
She must be hiding something from me, but I don't pry any further. I trust mother, after all. If she doesn't want to tell me something, there's probably a reason behind it. Instead, I grip her hand slightly tighter, and ask if she'll buy anything for me.
"That's why we're here, sweetie. I'm trying to pick out a gift for you for your spiritual root celebration. Now, is there anything you want from here? Perhaps a sword, or a little necklace, maybe?"
"Can we get one of those books? I'll grow out of everything else, but I could read a book with Rich!"
I knew there was something off about this place, and I'm not an idiot. I can tell that everything here is meant for cultivators - that's why it's separate to the rest of the market. Maybe one of these books will have clues on cultivation. Just maybe, one of these books can help Rich cultivate. And then, just maybe, he won't look so sad around me, he won't seem so awkward around me, and he'll come back to daycare and play with me like he used to.
Just maybe, we'd be alright.