Igail turned the book over and back again. She plucked at the string wound around it, tied in a tight knot with no bow. She raised it to eye-level and came to the conclusion she’d probably break a fingernail trying to unpick it.

The shopkeeper, a gangly man with wispy hair poking out from under a cloth cap, watched from behind the counter. He fingered the whip hanging from his belt. As soon as the girl slipped something into pocket or bag, he meant to teach her the error of her ways.

Igail squeezed through the piles of junk and bric-a-brac that filled the shop and placed the book on the countertop. As a girl of thirteen, she expected poor treatment from hardened merchants. They either didn’t believe she had money and considered her a time-wasting nuisance, or tried to take her for every last penny.

She adjusted the strap on her shoulder bag and put her hands on her hips, ready for some serious negotiating. “How much?”

The shopkeeper reassessed the girl. On closer inspection, she wore high quality riding gear. Which could mean she also stole from high-end merchants, or she really did have money. He looked down at the book and ran his tongue under his top lip. “Three crowns.”

“What?” Igail’s face contorted like she’d smelled something foul. “Three crowns for a book? Are you joking?”

“We don’t joke here, Miss. Strictly business. Three crowns.”

Igail picked up the book and re-examined the cover. The brown leather binding threatened to fall apart without the string, and the title had faded to barely legible. Demon Almanac and Glossary. The title beguiled her.

“Can I at least have a look inside, first?”

“Nope.” The shopkeeper shook his head. “If we let people read a book before paying, they’d never buy it. You don’t go to a cake shop and ask for a free bite, do you?”

“They give out samples someti—”

“Clearly you ain’t from around here, Miss. No free cakes in this town.”

“I’ll give you half a crown.”

The shopkeeper rolled his eyes. “Please, don’t insult me. I admit I’m not an educated man. For all I know that’s a collector’s item and three crowns is a steal. Or not. Life’s a gamble, innit?”

Igail dropped the book back on the counter. “I’ll have to think about it.” She turned and walked out. In the distance, a bell rang three times, marking the hour. A horse and cart loaded with sacks of coal hurried past, kicking up dust.

“We’re going to be late.”

She turned to find Titch, her younger brother, standing behind her. “Will you stop sneaking up on me like that? It’s annoying.”

“Not my fault you can’t handle my skills. I’m like a ghost in the shadows.” Titch raised his hands in front of his dirt-smudged face, and waved them back and forth. “Ghost in the shad—”

“Shut up. You got any string?”

“Of course.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, his sandy hair flopping around as he dug deep, and pulled out various lengths of string.

Igail scanned the options and then took the longest one from his grasp. She took off her bag and pushed it into her brother’s stomach. He instinctively grabbed hold of it. She flipped the bag open and forced the flap into his mouth.

“Hold this.”

He bit down on the flap as she rummaged around inside the bag.

***

The shopkeeper stood in the same place behind the counter, mouth hanging open, eyes glazed over.

“Hello?” said Igail. “Shop?”

His mouth snapped shut and he tilted his gaze towards her. “Can I help you, Miss?”

“Yes,” said Igail. “It’s about the book.”

“Which book would that be?”

“You know, the book I was talking to you about five minutes ago?”

“It’s been a very hectic morning, Miss. You’ll have to remind me.”

Igail looked around the deserted store. She stepped closer and picked up the book from the counter. “This book. Three crowns, right?”

“Ah yes, a quality item. No refunds.”

“Since you won’t let me open it, I’ve decided on another way to judge its value.”

“Oh, yes?” The shopkeeper yawned. “And what’s that?”

“Weight.” She held the book in her palm and lifted it up and down. “When you move around as much as I do, you don’t want to overload yourself.” She opened the flap on her bag, which once again hung over her shoulder, and put the book inside.

“Hey!” said the shopkeeper. “You can’t do that.”

Igail raised a finger. She bounced up and down on her toes, took two paces backwards, then two forward. “As I thought, too heavy.”

She took the book out and returned it to the shopkeeper.

He held it in both hands and shook it. “Don’t seem all that heavy.”

“I guess I’m a light reader. Thanks anyway.” She turned to leave.

“I could go down to two and a half crowns. Special offer.”

“Maybe next time,” she called out as she walked through the door. As her boots clunked across the wooden planks that formed a walkway along the storefronts, her hand slipped into the bag and came out with a string-wrapped book. She reached into her jerkin and took out a butterfly knife. She twirled it between her fingers, flicking out the mirrored blade, cut the string, twirled the knife back shut and returned it to her vest pocket.

“Where is the ghost in the shadows?” asked her brother’s disembodied voice.

“Titch, if I don’t see you in two seconds, the only thing you’ll be in the shadows is slapped.”

Her brother stuck his head out from behind a wooden post. “How much was that?”

Igail unwound the string. “Nothing. I swapped it for 1000 Frogs and Toads.”

“Aw, I liked that book. Had some good recipes in it.”

“You want it, you can buy it back for three crowns. Here.” She held out the string.

“Three crowns? I didn’t like it that much. Hey, this isn’t my string.”

“String is string.” She opened the book and let out a moan. “Damn. I think I did that guy a favour. What is this rubbish?”

The pages of the book were covered in scrawled handwriting and childish drawings of monsters with horns and wings and too many legs. Under each picture there were notes saying things like Winged Valyrn: smells like unbathed monkeys and Tall Demon: a tall demon.

She snapped the book shut and put it back in the bag. “Where are we supposed to meet them?”

“By the fountain in the square. I’m hungry. Got any food, Iggy?”

“No. Let’s go.”

They walked under the shop awnings to avoid the afternoon sun. The fountain in the main square was devoid of water, just a figure of a goat-boy in a large, empty basin. Igail sat on the rim, pulled up the hood of her cloak for a little protection, and took out the book. She alternately sighed and tutted as she turned the pages, each more preposterous than the last.

A shadow fell over her.

“Hey, you all alone out here? Sun’s not good for your skin, you know? You should come with us, we know a nice shady spot.”

She glanced up and then continued reading. “Thanks for the advice.”

In front of her stood four boys, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old. The tallest held a wooden bat, one end resting on his shoulder. Another tossed a fist-sized ball up and down.

“Come on, we’ll show you a good time.” The other boys sniggered. “Nobody’s around this time of day, no point waiting around here. Don’t you want to have some fun?”

Igail pushed her hood back. “Titch! These boys are up for fun. Play with them.”

“Hey guys!”

The boys turned around to find Titch standing behind them.

“Where did he come from?” said the one with the bat.

“What we playing?”

“Catch,” said the one with the ball. He hurled it at Titch’s head.

Considering the force of the throw and the short distance between them, it would take amazing reflexes to avoid getting beamed. Titch casually snatched the ball out of the air millimeters from impact. He rolled it around in his hand.

“Nice. Spongy. What’s it made of, some kind of animal skin?” He bit into it. “Is it lizard? Good weight to it. Here, catch.”

His eyes were on the boy who had thrown it, but the ball flew at the boy furthest on the right. His hands never left his sides as the ball hit him in the face and bounced straight back into Titch’s hand.

There was a second’s delay, and then the struck boy howled in pain and fell on his backside, both hands cupping his flattened nose.

“You’re not supposed to catch it with your face,” said Titch, grinning. He looked over to the other boys. “This guy, what a joker, right?”

“Titch,” said Igail without looking up from the book, “keep it one damage off lethal.”

“I know,” said Titch. “We’re just having a laugh, aren’t we, guys?”

The boy with the bat didn’t look very amused. He stepped forward holding the bat out in front of him. “You did that on purpose.” He prodded the bat at Titch’s chest.

“Obviously. That’s the game, isn’t it?” Titch plucked the bat from the boy’s grasp and flipped it so the handle landed in his hand. He turned it vertical and balanced it on the end of his index finger. The bat wavered from side to side. “Ooh, feels a bit off-balance. Might want to shave a little off this side.”

He tossed the ball up, dropped the bat back into his palm and then struck the ball high into the air. Everyone tilted their heads back to watch the ball disappear, and then come hurtling back down. Titch stuck the bat out and caught the ball on the end, dipping it to kill the bounce.

“What are you doing, Titch?”

They all turned as two older boys approached carrying large sacks over their shoulders. Gart had black hair that marked him out from his sandy-haired siblings, but other than that he looked the spit of his slightly shorter, younger brother walking alongside.

Fen, who had spoken, dropped his sack. “Are you playing bat and ball? What are you? Ten?”

“Yes,” said Titch. “I’m ten.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Fen. “Still, ten’s too old for kids’ games. You want to play, play with this.” He drew a sword from its scabbard and tossed it over.

Gart walked over to where Igail sat reading. “You’re supposed to be watching him.”

“I am,” said Igail, without looking up.

Titch dropped the bat and caught the sword, swinging it with an easy grace. Fen pulled out two large daggers and clinked the blades together.

The four boys who had been on the verge of starting a fight had somehow been reduced to spectators, with no idea what was going on. The cocky runt they had planned on teaching a lesson was facing off against a boy twice his size, with real weapons!

Titch leaned back towards them. “Hey guys, watch me take him down. It’s going to be epic.” He charged forward, the sword raining down blows from all directions.

With the advantage of height and reach, Fen parried easily, then launched his own attack, sparks flying as he beat the sword away and stabbed at his little brother.

Titch danced and ducked, narrowly avoiding cuts and slices.

Fen flicked the sword out of the way to land a kick. The sole of his boot struck Titch in the chest with a thud, sending him flying.

The four boys winced in unison. Igail glanced up, rolled her eyes, then returned her attention to the book.

As he hit the ground, Titch pushed his free hand into the dirt. Momentum levered him into a handstand, all the way over onto his feet. He sprang forward, leaping high, sword pointed at Fen’s head.

Fen dropped to his knees, raising his blades to slice through Titch’s leather jerkin as he passed overhead. A small hand reached out and grabbed the bottom of one dagger hilt, wrenching it from Fen’s grip.

Titch landed in a somersault, rolling up onto his feet. He turned, the front of his jerkin ripped to shreds, one hand raised high holding Fen’s dagger. “Winner!”

“What do you mean?” said Fen, laughing. “If that had been a real fight, I’d have cut you from throat to belly button.”

“Yeah,” said Titch. “I’d be dead, but I’d have your dagger. I’ve never got a weapon off you before. It’s only a matter of time, now. You scared? You’re scared, aren’t you?”

Fen got to his feet and brushed himself off. “I hate to think what kind of monster you’re going to be when you’re fully grown.” He took back the sword and dagger, resheathing both. He turned to the four boys. “Any of you want a go?”

The boys all shook their heads.

“Enough messing about,” said Gart. His voice carried none of the playfulness of his brothers. “You know what Dad’s like if we make him wait. Iggy, get up.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fen picked up his dropped sack. “Those two love being left alone. We’ll probably walk in on them right in the middle of doing it.”

“Hey!” said Titch. “Stop talking about them doing it. You’re ruining my childhood.”

“He’s old,” said Gart, ignoring Titch’s request. “How many times a day do you think he can get it up? Iggy! Let’s go.” He set off with Fen following suit.

“He’s Davidor, Saviour of the World,” said Fen. “Every hour, on the hour.”

Titch had fingers in both ears. “La, la, la, not listening.”

Igail rose from her seat, walking forward with the book open. It was full of childish nonsense, but the last page had her transfixed. It was exactly what she had been searching for. She followed her brothers, nose in book.

Titch turned and took his fingers out of his ears. “Sorry, guys, we’ve got to go. We’ll play again next time. Bye!” He turned and jogged to catch up, fingers reinserted.

The four boys watched them walk away.

“He said Davidor, right?” said the one with the bat. “You heard him, right?”

“Yeah,” said the one with the ball. “Those were Davidor’s kids.”

The boy with the broken nose lowered his hands to reveal a blood encrusted mess. “I god my dose broken by Davidorsh kid. Dat is so cool.”