The sorceress was familiar enough with the social structures of cities to notice that most of those shopping were from the middle class. Their clothes were neat and reasonable, but they were made of simple material and lacked the embroidery and trim preferred by the wealthy. There were also some peasants, who seemed most interested in the stalls that sold second-hand wares. She spied a few people who were obviously affluent, judging by their clothes and bearing. One stood apart from the stalls and watched someone purchase oils. Brenna smiled. The person doing the buying was probably her servant, maybe a slave, as his hair fell to the lobes of his ears. Just as in any other city, she thought, the rich couldn’t be bothered to soil their hands by purchasing something from a commoner on the street.
“Pretty lady? Pretty, pretty lady? Want to buy my fruit?” A peddler was calling to her. “Special price for you, pretty lady.” He held up a bright pink, banana-shaped fruit.
Galvin took her by the arm and steered her to the center of the street, where there was less traffic and they were farther from the merchants. His hand felt clammy.
“Stop it,” she whispered. “Let go of me. You’re my slave, remember? Act the part.”
The druid dropped her arm and glared at her. Falling in step behind her, he cast his head toward the ground, as he had observed other slaves doing. Peering out the corners of his eyes, he scanned the marketplace. It had been several years since he was in a district like this, and he found it threatening and close. It reminded him too much of his early life, when his parents would take him to a marketplace where the shoppers were ripe for pickpocketing. The victims would be distracted watching the cute young Galvin, so it was easy for his parents to cut their purses. The druid put his hand on his money pouch and continued through the market.
To his right, peddlers were selling candles, oil lamps, knitted blankets, brass trinkets, and citrus fruit. To his left, they bartered for chickens, tack, costume jewelry, pots, pans, and other household items. He noted a few were selling clothes, and he nudged Wynter.
“Not here,” the centaur whispered. “The wealthy—and most of the middle class—don’t buy their clothes and fineries in an open-air market. They go to shops where the prices are higher, but the goods are usually better.”
The centaur reached forward and tapped Brenna on the shoulder. “We want to move through the market and into an established business district. One can’t be far away. I’m going ahead. Follow me at a short distance and pretend you know where you’re going.”
“You’re in charge here,” Galvin said. “I’m out of my element.” He studied the buildings as he walked behind Brenna. They were nearly through the open-air market. He felt relieved; ahead, the crowds thinned considerably.
Unlike other cities Galvin had visited, Amruthar had few wooden buildings. The stalls were wood, and the overhangs and posts supporting some of the balconies were wood. The wood looked old and weathered, showing that the city was far from new. But the majority of the buildings were made of clay bricks and mortar. A few had been added on to recently; the clay bricks on the second story were of a darker color, indicating they were newer than the ones on the ground floor.
A few blocks later, the street changed from hard-packed dirt to cobblestones, and the façades of the buildings looked fancier, evidence that people of wealth lived here. The druid felt caged in by the buildings, which stretched three stories tall in this neighborhood. There was no way out but to follow street after street like a rat running through a maze. He couldn’t see a sign of trees or open spaces; the only green things were the sod roofs that covered nearly every structure. To him, the sod was the city’s only redeeming feature. Too bad he couldn’t walk on it. The cobblestones were uncomfortable.
Galvin knew he should adapt. Nearly all of the Harpers lived in cities, and the majority of missions were in well-populated areas. He had never declined an assignment from Harper leaders that would take him into a city, but he had frequently made himself scarce when he knew one was going to come up. He couldn’t dodge all of them; he certainly didn’t want his peers to realize his weakness. And this mission was one he welcomed because of his hatred of the Red Wizards.
For most of his life, he had considered city people weak, dependent on the city for food, shelter, clothing, and protection. Few could properly defend themselves, and fewer still would be able to survive in the wilderness. They feared being alone, Galvin thought, so they congregated in their stone buildings inside stone walls.
Ahead, Wynter came to a stop. Galvin and Brenna could see he was talking to someone, but the figure stood in front of the centaur and was mostly obscured. The centaur’s tail swished back and forth lazily, then he bent forward to shake the figure’s hand.
The centaur continued on for several more blocks, turning down one street, then going up another, his hooves clopping rhythmically on the cobblestones. Brenna noticed that the city was built like a wheel; the major streets were like spokes emanating out from a central hub, probably the government district. Wynter was heading down one of the spokes, toward what looked like the city’s stable district. Here the cobblestones ended and the dirt road began again.
Brenna strolled closer, then suddenly stopped. Galvin looked up at her and noticed she had turned pale. Beyond her, in Wynter’s direction, was a series of pens. All of them contained people. The druid stared openmouthed at the sight. Like cattle, the people milled about slowly as workers directed them away from the corners so the pens could be cleaned.
Wynter paused several yards from the pens and glanced over his shoulder, nodding for Brenna and Galvin to join him. Still shocked at the tableau, they padded forward.
“I’ll look over the slave pens for an hour or two, inspecting the merchandise and talking to other buyers.” The centaur’s eyes were sad as he stared at the pens. “Since Maligor’s a zulkir, he’s bound to have plenty of slaves. Maybe I can find out a little bit about our wizard friend here.”
Brenna took the initiative now, happy for an opportunity to get away from the pens. “Galvin and I will go shopping.”
Wynter had heard the location of a respected business district only a few blocks away and pointed the sorceress and Galvin in that direction.
“Meet me back here in two hours,” Wynter advised. “I won’t be able to stomach the pens any longer than that. If you’re not here by then, I’ll know you’ve found trouble and I’ll come looking for you.” Wynter pawed at the ground and lowered his voice. “One of the slavers is watching us, so let’s be about our tasks.”
Brenna tugged on Galvin’s sleeve, guiding him toward the shop district Wynter had described. She knew they had followed his directions correctly when the cobblestone street began again.
There were sidewalks in the small but fashionable business district—planks raised above the cobblestone streets and covered with awnings to keep the shoppers dry during showers and cool during the heat of midday. There were plenty of Thayvians about, but not nearly the number as in the open-air market.
Galvin saw that these people acted differently, more refined and courteous. They didn’t shove each other to get a better position near a store window. Most were dressed well, and aside from the slaves they had in tow to carry their packages, they didn’t strike him as objectionable. Obviously not everyone in Thay was bad. The druid wondered what kept the good people in such an evil land.