Still, Finn felt he had gained real insight into the ways of this land. Everyone lived according to his creed, and everyone was totally mad.
Leaving the tavern called TAVERN, Finn passed a similar place called BAR. Reason said there was no use stopping there, so he made his way toward the broad market square.
The clouds had blown away and the sun had appeared to warm the dreary day. The square was crowded with booths, stands, and stalls of every sort. Stalls made of blankets on a pole. Stalls that sold melons, magic and simple card tricks. Big shops, little shops, shops no more than a stool or a bench. Each one squeezed, packed against the next. Finn could scarcely tell where one left off and another one began.
Working his way through the drab and odorous crowd, he found it hard to forget he was at the very site where Fate had slapped him silly and shown him what for. That too familiar tingle at the back of his neck was present there again.
After a bit of searching, he found the stall where he'd bought some tin scraps and a roll of silver wire. With a sigh of relief, he saw the same merchant was there.
“Good day,” Finn said, offering a smile to a fellow he'd met before, “it's quite nice to see you again.”
“I don't do returns,” the man said, wary, as ever, of a pleasant attitude. “You bought it, it's yours, don't come whining back here.”
“I'm very satisfied with my wares,” Finn said. “I have a question, is all.”
“I can sell you brass, bronze, nickel, or lead, copper, iron or tin. I can get you gold, I can get you gilt. The gilt's so good you could fool eight people out of ten.”
“My question's not about that.”
“Then you're in the wrong stall, friend.”
The merchant, a wiry man with a buzzard's nose, spat on the ground close to Finn's boot. Finn noticed he had a tattoo of a fish with a woman's head and breasts, ranging from the bald pate of his head to the base of his scrawny neck. He wondered how he'd possibly overlooked this striking image before.
“I'm willing to pay,” Finn said, reaching in his jacket and showing the man a silver coin. “This is yours if you tell me what I want to know.”
“Be still my beatin' heart. How can I resist such a fortune as that?”
“Right. Two silver pieces, then.”
“Three. And they'd better be silver 'stead of plate of some sort. This is what I do all day, friend.”
“I'm looking for Mycer folk. I haven't seen any, but I'm certain they're around. One Rubinella, I believe. If you could just-”
Finn stopped at once. The merchant, a man of a light copper shade, went suddenly pale. As pale, in truth, as the man at the tavern, who would make three or four of the fellow here.
“Are you daft,” he said, his gaze shifting wildly about the marketplace, “are you possessed, brother, soft in the head, looking for a noose? Would you care to be cut into ribbons, roasted on a spit? Is there some kind of pain that you desire?”
“None of that at all,” Finn said, “Why do you ask?”
“Gata-watta-bool,” the man muttered, or words to that effect. His fingers clutched an amulet dangling from a chain about his neck. A quarter-moon, Finn noted, carved from adder stone, with a single opal eye.
“I meant no offense. All I asked was where could I find a-”
“I
Rolling his eyes in a most peculiar way, he quickly tossed a cloth across his goods and loosed a cord that dangled overhead. At once a slatted curtain rattled past Finn to the ground.
“We're closed,” the merchant said, from behind his shabby blind. “All day, and tomorrow as well. Don't come back anytime. I won't be here the day after that.”
“What's wrong with you?” Finn said. “What did I do? Is there anyone sane in this place?”
He thrust the blinds aside, ready to give the fellow a piece of his mind. The stall was quite empty, the merchant had fled. Finn was disgusted, totally dashed. It was plain, he decided, that it wasn't the Mycers that set the locals foaming at the mouth. They'd all seen Letitia the day before, and doubtless there were other Mycers here.
It had to be the name, then: the Rubinella. Clearly, that bothered them a lot.
“I shall have to approach this some other way,” he told himself. “Rubinella is not too popular here …”
While no one offered him a smile or bothered to be polite, no one else went out of business when he offered to buy their wares. Finn bought long loaves of bread, overripe tomatoes, hot roasted corn on a stick. Cherries, berries, a crock of pickled cabbage, and a jar of plum jam. Oatcakes, sweetcakes, and sugary treats. Apples so brown and wizened, they all had faces like little old men.
He didn't buy a single turnip, and he didn't buy a fish. He did buy a straw basket to put his goods in. He didn't buy a thing they'd have to cook. Letitia would surely be delighted. The food would lift her spirits, and she wouldn't be angry for a while.
Finn was so hungry himself, he ate two loaves of the bread, a great deal of cabbage and most of the jam. He didn't feel bad about eating before he got back. Certainly, Letitia wouldn't fault him for that.
It was pleasant to see foods of different colors again. Nothing in the market was gray. Nothing looked at all like the horrors that Squeen William served. Neither of the Nuccis seemed aware they ate glop, slop, gunk and toxic swill three times a day.
If the Hatters and the Hooters and folk who didn't go to church at all had any bias toward Newlies, it was nowhere in evidence here. Finn saw them everywhere. Stout, broad-shouldered Bullies who seldom showed expression beyond a blank stare. Snouters strutting lazily about. No Yowlies so far, and he was thankful for that. Bowsers a-plenty, though, yapping and marching about, wearing those ridiculous boaters Bowsers wore everywhere, getting in everyone's way.
Even a pair of Dobbins, tall and handsome creatures, with their outsize noses and kindly brown eyes. If there was any station, any rank among the Newlies, the Dobbins would surely be near the top. With the Yowlies at the bottom, by damn, as far as Finn was concerned.
Of the Favored Nine, those animals the outlaw magicians, Shar and Dankermain, had changed into beings very much like Man, Finn had seen all but one, even the shy elusive Badgie, known for its stealth and criminal enterprise. He had never, ever seen a Grizz, and hoped he never did. They were fierce, antisocial creatures who kept to themselves, mostly in the North. Finn had seen an etching of some, sitting in a forest by a fire. Everyone said that a Grizz loved fire, but no one said why.
“Now, if I could only find a Mycer, I could leave this odorous place and get back to Letitia, alone in that hideous house …”
First, though, he knew he'd best purchase another jar of jam and some more oatcakes, as there was little of either left. That, and a gown she could wear, though where he'd find that, he couldn't say. The females here, Newlie and human alike, seemed to favor ill-fashioned garments made of scraps, patches, and snatches of straw.
Letitia wouldn't care for that. Letitia didn't dote on clothing, but she wasn't fond of sacks. If he could
“Ah, looking at who is here, looking who is out to see the sights in our most lovely town.”
Finn stopped, pulling up short as the Foxer stepped right in his path. One, and then another, and another after that, all arriving quickly without the appearance of intent, yet clearly designed to box him in.
“I fear you're in my way,” Finn said, “I ask you to kindly step aside.”
The Foxer closest by showed Finn a toothy grin. “He askits we are stepping aside. He fears wes in his way.”
“In his way,” said the second, who was shorter than the rest.
“Steps aside,” said the third, who walked with a limp. His voice was a rasp, much like that of his companions, voices that were scratchy and dry.
Finn had seldom been around Foxers, except for a few at home. Foxers didn't care for the west, they'd mostly settled south. To him, these three looked much alike. Gaunt with red eyes, amber hair and tufted ears, and mean little mouths. Still, the bloody slash across a brow, the scar above an eye, a limp and a twitch, told him he had met this trio before.
