“Hurm,” said Dapplegrim. “If this is some extraordinarily stupid mugging, I should point out that I haven’t eaten breakfast.” He finished this with a jagged, smiling, “yet.”
The man started, taken aback for a moment, but recovered quickly. “Here, now,” he said, “his voice round and gravelly. None of that now. Aren’t you two the ones from up the moot-hill, just now? Folks are talking ’bout you. The young lady and her angry horse. Talking about war. Talking about armies in the north. Caeren and the, um, horsey thing, yes?”
“Caewen,” said Caewen.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Dapplegrim.
“Caewen, yes Caewen.” He wet his lips with a sharp dash of fat tongue. “How much coin do you have? How much you willing to pay to see something, er, that is pertinent to your little spectacle on the hill?”
“A bit.” She kept her expression cagey. “How much do you want? And what is it you are offering for show, anyway?” She shook her head. “And besides that, you know our names, but we don’t know yours. What should we call you?”
“Here, here now.” Though his face was mostly hidden by the tasselled hood of his cloak, the quiver of his poorly shaved jowls remained visible as he cleared his throat. “My name is better left out of this, for my sake anyway. As to what I want, and what I have to show: let us say three common salt-weights of gold to look at it. Ten, if you want to buy.”
“And what is this wondrous thing that we would be willing to pay the price of a mill-house and eel-weir to just look at?”
The man darted his eyes left and right. “I’m a collector and trader in antiquities. A rare object has come into my hands. Rare and dangerous. Given your little talk on the hill, I thought to myself, there is someone who might want a wee peek. Maybe, there is someone who might want to take it off my hands.” He lowered his voice still further. “It is a representation of the Winter King: carven in white marble. Small, but a good likeness, I’m told. And carried all the way from the frozen lands of the north. So, yes… His very likeness, in stone. And cut from life too.”
“Right.” Dapplegrim rolled his eyes. “We’re not complete fools. Or, I suppose Caewen is, but even she knows enough not to hand over a purse of gold for some carving that some stranger claims is of something we’ve never seen ourselves. I mean: could be, yes, but could be it’s a carving of the court fool of Ellerisch. How would we know?”
“Yeah. Dapple’s right. No, thank you.” Caewen turned to go.
“Wait, wait, wait.” He looked around again, hurriedly now. The man was edgy. “Blood of a mouse. Look. Alright. Alright. I’m in a hurry to sell. It’s a weight on my mind, you see. It’s not safe for me to have it.”
Caewen shook her head. “You really are a terrible shopman. Why would it be safer for us to have it then?”
“Certainly it’d be more safe for you. Me? I’m from Tallown, down south. We’re good and upright followers of the Sunbright Lady, we are, and an artefact of the Court of All Night: they will know. Just give it time. ” He licked his lips again, nervous. “They will find out I have it, and they will consider it profaned, won’t they? They’ll find me. They’ll do things. Bad things. So, either I pass it on to someone with more, um, nightish blood, or I chuck it into a ditch. Oh, my living heart. If I’d known what it was, I’d never have acquired the blooded thing in the first place.”
“Then just sell it to one of the proper night-folk. I’m from the borderlands. Not really ‘nightish’, as you put it. No doubt one of them would appreciate it. If it is what you say it is.”
“Weren’t you listening? My very possessing of the thing would be a crime in their eyes. They wouldn’t pay me for it. They’d cut off my hands and gouge out my eyes and leave me bleeding on one of their great rust-stained stones of justice, wouldn’t they? Let me make plain of this: I–am–not–a–magician. I’m not protected by any laws here. I’ve got to get rid of this thing. And fast. Look, please: you would certainly be protected, for a bit of time, right? Surely. Being a magician, right? At least until the end of the moot. I just want to be rid of it. And besides, I’m sure you two have got enough of the night-blood between you that t’d be safe, more or less. Right?”
“H’m,” said Caewen, listening a little more closely than she had intended. She had stopped in her tracks now, and turned around to face him. “So… then, how do you know that it is a depiction of the Winter King?” she said. “How can you be so awfully sure?”
“Just come with me. I promise, you will be convinced too. And if you are convinced, will you consider taking the thing off my hands? Let’s say, uh, three salt-weight of gold to purchase.”
“One,” said Dapplegrim, flatly. “It’ll be a half, in a second or two. And it’s only one because we’re generous nice souls, we are. Hurrm. And it’s free to look upon, too, isn’t it now?”
He prevaricated, muttering under his breath, evidently wavering back and forth between selling at a loss and being rid of something he did not want anywhere near him. “Yes, yes. Alright. One. Bless my living heart. But come now. No more talking. Someone is going to notice.” He turned his back to them, hunched the hood deeper over his features and hurried off.
Caewen and Dapplegrim exchanged looks.
“This is definitely not ending well,” said Dapplegrim.
“It never does though, does it?”
“Fair enough. Hurm.”
And they picked up a quick pace, following him along the space between looming tents.