the middle with a variety of goods from furniture to exotic fruits. The rest of the market encircled the permanent stalls. In the outer ring, some of the stalls were little more than a blanket on the ground with a handful of goods, the seller seated cross legged with their wares. Amongst it all wandered street entertainers, hoping to earn a few coins. The markets were filled with sounds and smells, all vying for attention.
Fen’s first stop was at a baker’s stall to buy a sticky bun, which he ate as he wandered through the secondhand stalls. A quick movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Rather than turn fully, Fen moved slightly so he could see.
Mouse, Fen thought to himself. What’s he doing here? Fen had expected to run into people from his old life, but hadn’t expected it to be Mouse.
The scrawny boy was dressed in ragged clothes, wore a floppy felt hat equally full of holes and had bare feet. He brushed against a woman at a stall who put her moneybag away. A red velvet drawstring style that bulged. Fen didn’t see Mouse take the bag, but by his movements, he guessed he had. Then Mouse moved on while the lady left the markets with her basket perched on her hip.
Fen threaded his way through the thin crowd in the market so he could keep Mouse in sight. He watched as Mouse bumped against one person, brushed against another and stumbled into a third.
“Oi, thief! He stole my knife,” a short, dark skinned man bellowed. A man behind Mouse turned and grabbed hold of him before he could run off.
Fen rapidly slid through the gathering crowd and arrived in time to hear one lady say, “Make him turn his pockets out. Has someone gone for the guard?”
Another called, “He deserves hanging. Don’t tolerate thieves around here or they’ll all think they can move in on us.”
Fen had to do something. He couldn’t let Mouse hang. He remembered what it had been like. Hunger, fear and Rhone’s walking stick keeping them in line. He took a deep breath, hoping he wasn’t making a big mistake. “His punishment is mine to choose.” Fen looked around at the crowd.
“And how do you figure that?” demanded the man who held Mouse.
Fen made the only claim he could think of. “Because I’ve tracked him through the crowd for the last few minutes trying to get close enough to grab him. He lifted my money bag.”
“I never. Never seen you ‘fore in me life,” Mouse protested.
Fen stared at him. “No, I guess you haven’t. It doesn’t take looking a man in the eye to rob him blind.”
There was a murmur of agreement through the crowd.
“How do we know you’re not working with him? You look a bit of a shifty one to me,” the dark skinned man demanded.
Fen smiled icily. “Since when does a Dragon Lord need to lower himself to petty theft in the market?”
“Hey, I know him. It’s the one with the wild dragon,” said a teenaged boy with a bad case of acne. “Tell us how you saved the dragon.” He nudged the sullen boy next to him. “You should have heard it. Real exciting.”
“That has nothing to do with what’s going on here,” a lady said sternly. Her glare made the boy step back.
“What is going on here?” demanded a guard. His hand rested lightly on the sword belted at his side.
“This thief stole my moneybag. It’s red velvet. I demand the satisfaction of dealing with him myself,” Fen said.
“I caught him. He took my knife,” the dark skinned man complained as he shook Mouse to show he was in his possession.
“I never. Just ’cause I’m not all sparkly clean, they think they can pick on me,” Mouse whined.
Fen recalled that tone. He remembered the desperate feeling that went with it. “Empty out his pockets and you’ll see I’m correct.”
“And who are you?” the guard demanded.
“Dragon Lord Fenton Walsh.” Fen was amazed at the difference his title made to the way the guard behaved. He was glad he’d followed Edana’s advice and used the
Fen’s first stop was at a baker’s stall to buy a sticky bun, which he ate as he wandered through the secondhand stalls. A quick movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Rather than turn fully, Fen moved slightly so he could see.
Mouse, Fen thought to himself. What’s he doing here? Fen had expected to run into people from his old life, but hadn’t expected it to be Mouse.
The scrawny boy was dressed in ragged clothes, wore a floppy felt hat equally full of holes and had bare feet. He brushed against a woman at a stall who put her moneybag away. A red velvet drawstring style that bulged. Fen didn’t see Mouse take the bag, but by his movements, he guessed he had. Then Mouse moved on while the lady left the markets with her basket perched on her hip.
Fen threaded his way through the thin crowd in the market so he could keep Mouse in sight. He watched as Mouse bumped against one person, brushed against another and stumbled into a third.
“Oi, thief! He stole my knife,” a short, dark skinned man bellowed. A man behind Mouse turned and grabbed hold of him before he could run off.
Fen rapidly slid through the gathering crowd and arrived in time to hear one lady say, “Make him turn his pockets out. Has someone gone for the guard?”
Another called, “He deserves hanging. Don’t tolerate thieves around here or they’ll all think they can move in on us.”
Fen had to do something. He couldn’t let Mouse hang. He remembered what it had been like. Hunger, fear and Rhone’s walking stick keeping them in line. He took a deep breath, hoping he wasn’t making a big mistake. “His punishment is mine to choose.” Fen looked around at the crowd.
“And how do you figure that?” demanded the man who held Mouse.
Fen made the only claim he could think of. “Because I’ve tracked him through the crowd for the last few minutes trying to get close enough to grab him. He lifted my money bag.”
“I never. Never seen you ‘fore in me life,” Mouse protested.
Fen stared at him. “No, I guess you haven’t. It doesn’t take looking a man in the eye to rob him blind.”
There was a murmur of agreement through the crowd.
“How do we know you’re not working with him? You look a bit of a shifty one to me,” the dark skinned man demanded.
Fen smiled icily. “Since when does a Dragon Lord need to lower himself to petty theft in the market?”
“Hey, I know him. It’s the one with the wild dragon,” said a teenaged boy with a bad case of acne. “Tell us how you saved the dragon.” He nudged the sullen boy next to him. “You should have heard it. Real exciting.”
“That has nothing to do with what’s going on here,” a lady said sternly. Her glare made the boy step back.
“What is going on here?” demanded a guard. His hand rested lightly on the sword belted at his side.
“This thief stole my moneybag. It’s red velvet. I demand the satisfaction of dealing with him myself,” Fen said.
“I caught him. He took my knife,” the dark skinned man complained as he shook Mouse to show he was in his possession.
“I never. Just ’cause I’m not all sparkly clean, they think they can pick on me,” Mouse whined.
Fen recalled that tone. He remembered the desperate feeling that went with it. “Empty out his pockets and you’ll see I’m correct.”
“And who are you?” the guard demanded.
“Dragon Lord Fenton Walsh.” Fen was amazed at the difference his title made to the way the guard behaved. He was glad he’d followed Edana’s advice and used the
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