He reached the outer edge of the marketplace, far from the vendors selling ale or smoked fish or sweets. He turned left past a merchant selling cups and bowls and encountered three more vendors’ booths.
The first was a large fishmonger’s stand, bordered by long, heavy oaken tables covered in buckets of fresh, swimming trout from the nearby creek. At the other end was an old woman selling charms, the soft dusk scattered through an array of hanging crystals, the light falling across her face and wares in a sparkling rainbow, undulating in the breeze. She glanced at Dee and quickly looked away, holding a small reddish crystal close to her chest.
Nestled between the two, tucked into a tiny stand no more than two feet wide, hunched a young man in a roughly knit wool tunic and downcast eyes. Spread before him on his table was a small bounty of mushrooms and roots and nuts, each carefully gathered in piles on hand-woven hemp cloths. The fishmonger suddenly guffawed next to them and the merchant looked up, pushing his unruly black hair from his face. Dee’s hands twitched and he tucked them into his cloak before they could reach out of their own accord to discover if his wavy locks felt as soft as they looked.
