First day in the city

The smell of slightly burnt bread lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of wax from the candle we left burning on the table. It’s a good thing this place has a pan, because apparently, the art of toasting bread transcends worlds. I’ll take small victories where I can get them.

Our room is quieter than I expected. Sure, we can hear the city outside—the distant sound of carts rolling over stone, muffled voices drifting up from the street—but it’s more muted than I thought it would be. No shouting, no heavy boots stomping in the hallways below. I expected more noise in an inn. Then again, we’re on the top floor. Maybe that’s why.

Across from me, Io finishes her toasted bread with deliberate slowness, her gaze slightly unfocused. She’s thinking. Planning. The only sign of her attention returning is when she finally speaks.

“Should we split up?” she asks, breaking off the last piece of her meal.

I pause mid-bite, frowning. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We could get lost. And I need to take care of you.”

Io stops chewing and gives me a flat, unimpressed look. Then, a slow smirk creeps onto her face.

“Ohh, take care of me? That’s new.”

I sigh, already regretting my phrasing. “You know what I meant,” I mutter, tapping my temple.

Her smirk doesn’t fade, but she just shrugs and goes back to her food. I can already tell she’s not going to let this go.

Fine. If I have to deal with teasing, so be it. Better than being actually lost.

“Alright, so what’s the plan?”

Io leans back in her chair, arms crossed. She’s already figured it out.

“First, we check out the market,” she says. “See what’s selling, how people are talking. If we can get a good deal, we sell our wool.”

I nod. Sounds reasonable. We need money if we’re going to stay here for a while.

“And after that?”

She drums her fingers against the table, thinking. A rhythm, steady, like she’s working through multiple possibilities.

“Depends on what we hear,” she says finally. “The food shipments, the merchants, the church—someone here knows something useful.”

Right. That’s the real goal. We’re not here to just play merchant. We need information. The famine, the lord, the church’s influence—anything that can help us understand the bigger picture.

I hesitate before bringing up something else.

“And… what about the innkeeper?”

Io’s fingers stop tapping.

She doesn’t react much, but I know she heard me.

“He seems weirdly interested in us,” I add. “Any ideas what’s going on?”

Io doesn’t answer right away. She’s too careful for that. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, considering.

“Not yet,” she admits. “But if he knows something, we’ll find out soon enough.”

That’s not ominous at all.

I exhale and push my chair back, stretching slightly before grabbing my cloak. The morning light is sharper now, casting long shadows over the wooden floorboards. The city outside feels different than last night—busier, more awake, more real.

“Alright,” I say, adjusting my bag. “Let’s get going.”

Io stands and adjusts her veil, pulling the fabric into place with practiced ease. The disguise is still strange to me, but she wears it like she’s done this a hundred times before.

As she ties the last bit into place, she glances at me.

“Try not to look like you’re new here,” she says dryly.

“Right, because that’s going to be easy,” I mutter.

We head downstairs. The innkeeper is nowhere to be seen. Not suspicious in itself, but I don’t like how curious he was about us yesterday.

There are other guests at the tables this morning—four in total. A merchant, judging by the ledger he’s flipping through. A woman in a traveling cloak, sipping something that smells like weak cider. Two men in simple clothes, quietly eating. No one pays us any mind.

We don’t linger. A polite nod to the guests, and we step outside.

The city immediately swallows us.

Stone streets stretch in both directions, packed with people. Carts roll past, the air is thick with smells—fresh bread, roasting meat, horse manure, and the salt of sweat.

This isn’t the village.

Io moves ahead, slipping into the crowd with practiced ease. I follow, keeping close, trying not to gawk like the outsider I clearly am.

It’s time to get to work.

###

We need to find a place that will give us access to traders, gossip, and hopefully, a good place to offload our wool.

“So, what, are we looking for some kind of square?” I ask.

“Probably our best bet.” Io walks beside me, scanning the streets with the sharp eyes of someone who’s spent her whole life sizing up traders.

“We should keep some kind of map. How will we get back to the inn?” I add, glancing at the unfamiliar streets stretching ahead of us.

Io taps her ledger, flipping to an empty page. “I can scribble something. See, they have street names.” She gestures toward a sign fixed to the wall of a cornerhouse. It’s carved into a wooden plaque—Elder’s Walk—worn down by time but still legible.

I make a mental note of it, but honestly, all these buildings blend together. Stone walls, timber beams, faded banners fluttering in the wind. A city built for function, not beauty. There’s no towering spires, no grand sculptures, no intricate stained glass. It’s a city made by merchants, for merchants. Practical, sturdy, and expanding wherever coin demands it.

I adjust the bag slung over my shoulder, the wool inside shifting slightly. This was supposed to be a simple transaction—sell, gather intel, move on. But somehow, I doubt anything will go that smoothly.

Io nudges me. “Huh. This is the first real crowd we’ve seen.”

I look ahead. She’s right. The streets had been sparsely populated before—workers heading to tasks, the occasional cart trundling by. But now, we’re merging into a moving sea of people, flowing toward some unseen destination.

“Yeah,” I nod. “Back home, we were never surrounded by more than ten people at a time.”

The village was small. Intimate. Here, there are dozens of faces shifting past us every second—some wrapped in scarves, others in wide-brimmed hats, a few with jewelry that marks them as wealthier than the rest. A thick mix of voices fills the air—bargaining, casual chatter, occasional bursts of laughter. The scent of baking bread mixes with the sharp tang of tanned leather.

A faint prickle runs up my arm.

Io notices immediately. “Why are you scratching your arm?” She raises an eyebrow.

“What?” I stop, glancing down. I hadn’t even noticed I was doing it. It’s not a rash. Not a bite. No redness. Just an itch.

“You getting sick or something?” She steps closer, inspecting me. “Because that would be bad. We’re in no position to wait for you to get better.”

I shake my head. “I feel fine.”

She gives me a skeptical look. “Really? Because you were shivering all night.”

That catches me off guard. “Huh. I don’t remember that.”

“Because you were sleeping, genius.” She crosses her arms. “But if you say everything’s good, then let’s leave it at that.”

I open my mouth to argue but stop myself. Was I really shivering? That would explain why I woke up feeling oddly drained. Maybe it’s just exhaustion. The city, the tension, the traveling—it’s a lot.

We keep walking. The roads here form a clear grid—streets running perpendicular or parallel to each other, designed for efficiency rather than charm. It makes navigation easier, but it also makes everything look the same.

I rub my arm again, the itch returning. Okay, this is getting weird.

“Do you think they sell spirits here?” I ask, mostly to distract myself.

Io gives me a side-eye. “Why? You looking to drown your sorrows already?” She smirks, then leans in, pressing herself to my arm with mock concern. “Am I such a headache that you need a drink?”

I laugh. “I have never seen you make that face before.”

She pouts dramatically. “Huh. And I thought I could get to you.”

Her teasing usually works, but maybe I’m getting immune to it. A dangerous thought. I wonder how she’ll escalate her tactics once she realizes.

“So why do you need it?” she asks, shifting back to her usual voice.

I glance around before answering. “Remember the germs I told you about?”

“Yes,” she says, tone laced with curiosity, like she’s already piecing together where I’m going with this.

“We can use strong alcohol to clean our hands, tools, wounds. It kills bacteria before they can cause infections.”

Io nods slowly, processing. I love how quick she is. I never have to explain things twice.

“Right,” she says. “Because we’re in a new place. Maybe we’ll get sick with something we’re not used to.”

“Exactly.”

“Then we need to find strong booze,” she concludes.

I swear, if she gets drunk in the name of ‘scientific testing’...

The crowd thickens around us, and we let the current carry us forward, hoping it leads somewhere important. More stalls start appearing, lining the streets. We’re close.

Then—another prickle runs up my arm. Stronger this time. It’s not an itch. Not really. It’s a sensation, like something brushing against me.

What the hell?

I try to shake it off, but it lingers. Then—

“Nate, look!” Io grabs my sleeve, excitement in her voice.

I blink and refocus. The buildings open up into a wide plaza, bustling with merchants, carts, and goods laid out in neat rows.

The market. We made it.

Io grins. “Let’s see the stalls!” She tugs me forward, her excitement contagious.

I follow—but my arm still tingles.

Something is happening. I just don’t know what.

###

“Should we try selling the wool first?” Io asks, already in her work mode.

“Why not? I’d be glad not to carry this thing all over the city.”

She starts scanning the surrounding stalls, eyes flicking from one vendor to the next. I should probably do the same—look for anything that deals with fabrics, furs, or animal products. That’s my best guess.

“This stupid thing makes it hard to look!” Io mutters under her breath, shifting her veil slightly.

I don’t blame her. That thing must be miserable to wear all day. Yesterday, she even had a faint red mark on her forehead from how tight it was tied. Who even came up with this custom? If people just wore the veil during the wedding ceremony, like we did back home, things would be so much easier. Then again, I should probably be grateful—it’s the only reason we’re able to be here in the first place.

So, viva religious customs!

“Let’s try there,” I say, pointing toward a row of stalls with bolts of fabric stacked behind them.

Io moves in closer behind me, staying close. We planned this. I take the lead.

We make our way to the first stall. Behind it, an old man sits hunched on a stool, his head covered in thinning gray hair. He doesn’t look particularly friendly, but then again, I doubt many merchants enjoy random strangers approaching them.

I clear my throat, trying to sound professional. “Hello, we’ve brought some wool with us. Would you be interested—”

“Not interested.”

Well, that was abrupt.

“Right… then if it wouldn’t be a problem, might I ask—”

“It would.”

Wow. Okay. Great first impression of the merchants in this city.

I don’t even bother saying goodbye. He doesn’t deserve it. We move on.

“That was something!” Io says once we’re out of earshot.

“And I thought we already had our share of grumpy merchants back home.”

“Let’s try that place.” She nods toward another stall, this one displaying fur coats.

The merchant here seems younger, maybe in his thirties. Hopefully, he’ll be more open to business.

I give him the same polite sales pitch.

“How much do you have?” he asks. Progress.

“Three more bags like this one.”

“Sorry, not enough for me.” At least he’s polite about it.

Maybe I can still pry some information from him.

“Would you mind telling me where I can get some wheat?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.

The merchant gives a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, if you want to buy food, you’d have better luck lining up with the beggars. The church is handing out grain shipments from the Lord.”

I assume he means Lord Rhenault and not, you know, God.

“You won’t find anyone selling wheat here,” he continues, gesturing at the crowded square.

“And if you had come to me with grain instead of wool? I’d buy it in an instant.” He scoffs. “We both would make a killing on it.”

So demand for wheat is through the roof. That’s useful information. Io is already scribbling something in her ledger. Hah, how the turntables. Now I do all the talking, and she’s the one taking notes.

“Thank you for your help,” I say, giving him a polite nod. This guy deserves a goodbye.

We step aside, scanning for another potential buyer.

“Well, third time’s the charm, right?” I say, trying to keep up morale.

“What?” Io frowns, looking genuinely puzzled.

“Never mind.” Do they really not have a saying like that here? How did I not notice that earlier?

“Maybe you should stick closer to me and charm the next guy,” I suggest, mostly joking.

“Oh, so you think I’m charming?” Io’s voice is unreadable. Teasing or serious? Hard to tell. Maybe I’m building up resistance to her antics. She’s been having way too much fun recently. Not that I mind.

We approach another stall. This one looks smaller, less established. Maybe that means the merchant will be more open to buying smaller quantities.

I keep it direct this time. “Hello, sir. We recently arrived in the city and brought wool of top quality. Would you be interested in buying?”

The man grunts. That’s not the sound I was expecting.

“Any lice or fleas hiding in there?” he asks, squinting at the bag.

Fair enough. If I were selling fabric, I’d also want to make sure it wasn’t crawling with parasites.

“It’s as clean as it can be,” I say, trying to emphasize the quality.

“Right…” He doesn’t sound convinced.

“Show me.”

I open the bag, letting him inspect the wool. He runs his fingers through it, testing the fibers.

“That’s all you got?”

“I left three more bags like that at the inn. What do you think?”

The merchant grunts again, considering.

“Hmmm. Four bags. Quality seems good. I could use some wool…” Come on. Come on. Say yes.

“Can you bring the rest tomorrow?”

That would mean carrying it through the city on foot. Not ideal, but doable.

“Sure thing!” Was I too enthusiastic just now?

“Alright, then the price…” He strokes his chin. “The quality is very good. No smell, no pests. I can give you… nine bronze per bag.”

Io jumps in immediately. “You know this is good wool. You just tested it yourself. Bump it to ten, and we have a deal.”

The merchant raises an eyebrow. “You’ve got yourself a feisty lady.” He smirks. Then, after a moment of consideration, he nods. “Fine. Ten per bag. Bring me the rest tomorrow.”

I hand over the first bag. Finally. The wool quest is complete—well, a quarter of it.

I take the coins, we shake hands, and the deal is done.

Io and I step away, heading toward a quieter side street. We actually made it through the entire square looking for buyers.

“We need more money,” Io says, clearly having the same thought I did.

I do some quick math. “We can afford two weeks at the inn. But once we factor in other expenses? Maybe a week.”

Io frowns, calculating. “We need another income source.”

I nod. Time to get creative.

“So where do we go now?” I ask. “More stalls?”

Io hesitates for a moment, then glances toward a tall structure in the distance.

“Maybe let’s check out the church.”

I blink. “Are you sure about that?”

Her people and the church don’t exactly mix well.

“I know, I know,” she says, waving off my concern. “But we should see how they’re distributing the grain. Maybe someone there will tell us something useful.”

I sigh. “Alright. Then I guess we look for the tallest building?”

Io smirks. “Just follow the sound of self-righteousness.”

I chuckle despite myself. Time to go see what the church is up to.