Eric woke up suddenly and coughing, a lingering taste of some kind of meat in his mouth. His chest was sore as if he’d been struck by an iron-clad punch, but otherwise, he felt perfectly fine. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow in an effort to stifle the noise, not wanting to wake the man in the other bed. Finally, the coughing subsided, and he got up, eyes streaming, grabbing his shirt and pulling it on.

There was only one other room in the building beside the shop and sick room. It was closed off from the rest of the building by a simple wooden door, though that was slightly ajar now. The faint light of a candle flickered across the threshold, and Eric could hear a faint grinding sound. Knocking as quietly as he could, he pushed the door open a little more, revealing Emma, sitting at a desk, grinding something in a small bowl. She looked up as Eric appeared, and smiled slightly. She looked exhausted.

“Haven’t you tried to get some sleep,” he asked, staring from the bowl to her tired face. “You look just about done in.”

“I’m fine,” she replied, turning her attention back to the bowl. A kind of green powder lay inside, almost exactly the same shade as the potion she’d fed to him. Perhaps she was replacing the one she’d used, he thought. He sat down on the only other available surface, a small but comfortable bed pushed into one corner.

The single candle that provided her light to work by revealing the simple white shift she wore, her green dress hanging on the foot of the bed. The shorter nightdress revealed her long and shapely legs, and Eric suddenly found himself looking anywhere but at her. The memory of her healing session, with her hands expertly massaging and working over his chest, came to him. He was glad the light was so dim so that she couldn’t see his face reddening.

“I take it you couldn’t sleep either,” she said, leaving the bowl for the moment and turning around to face him. “Are there any lingering effects of the poison?”

“No, I’m fine in that regard,” he said quickly, staring at the wall past her head. “I’m a little sore from where the bolt hit me, but it’s minor. I’m just used to being awake at night.”

The night was the only time of day that he felt he could really focus. It was also the time that all his writing ideas had come to him. Most of the world quieted down in the darker hours, allowing his mind to think clearly without any distractions. That statement wasn’t exactly true in this situation, with the immense distraction that was sitting in front of him, but his body and mind were used to the habit.

“You’re avoiding looking at me,” She said, and he caught the slight sign of a frown by the faint candlelight. “Did I do something to offend you?”

“No,” he said quickly, and perhaps a little too loudly. He lowered his voice. “No, I’m just, err, a little nervous. Unfamiliar surroundings, you know.”

She glanced around the room in slight confusion, then seemed to register the way she was dressed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Let me cover up a little more.” She got up and leaned past him to snatch up her green dress, and he stared pointedly to the side, resisting the temptation to glance at her. He heard slight shuffling noises as she redonned the dress, then felt it safe to look again as she sat back down on the bed beside him.

“Sorry about that,” she said again. “I know not everyone is as comfortable as I am.”

She shifted closer to him and slid one hand into his tunic, feeling for the point where the poisoned barb had struck him. Her fingers were cool and smooth against his skin, probing slightly around the area, then withdrawing. He looked at her in question, and she smiled again. “Your skin is a little irritated around the area, but seems fine.”

She got up and retrieved the candle, bringing it alongside his head and peering closely at his face. He knew enough about medicine to be sure that she was checking if his eyes diluted with the bright light. He wasn’t sure why, but apparently it was a sign of good health. It was a common thing that doctors did when he got checkups, albeit with a flashlight and not a burning candle.

“You don’t seem to have anything else wrong with you,” she announced, seeming satisfied and returning the candle. “You should be fit to return to whatever you want to in the morning.”

“Thanks,” he said again, keeping his voice quiet. “That poison, or whatever was on the bolt, was not fun. Are you sure I can’t pay for the potion you used?”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It wasn’t a hard potion to make, and I’ve already made another batch of powder. It’s a few silvers at the most.”

“I thought that’s what you might have been making,” he replied, gesturing at the bowl. “Well, thanks anyway.”

“You’re very welcome,” she smiled at him. “Oh, speaking of potions. You have two of them in your satchel. I’m guessing you didn’t know that they could heal the poison?”

Eric shook his head. “I thought they were simple healing potions, to cure wounds.”

“They can do that, but they’re also restorative.”

Eric raised his eyebrows in surprise, trying to remember if the alchemist who’d sold him the vials had told him this. He didn’t think so, but he could have forgotten. He really had to make a mental note to properly identify and check descriptions of items he got, he told himself. Letting out a quiet sigh, he got to his feet.

“Well, I’m famished,” he said. “I’m going to visit the Night Market and try to find something to eat.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “I’d offer to feed you, but we don’t have any worthwhile food here. Just take it easy, and don’t do any running for now.”

He nodded his understanding as he moved to the door. “I’ll bring something back for you as well, as thanks for the potion.”

The location of her shop in relation to the Market District made for a relatively short walk. Night had truly fallen over Milagre as he’d slept, though all he could see of the sky was general darkness, the stars being blotted out by light from nearby lanterns. On the ground, it was still as bright as day on Trader’s Road.

He’d never visited the Night Market, of course, but he’d heard enough about it from other townsfolk in Milagre to know a good deal. Placed in the same exact spot as the market of the day, it focused on more exotic and unusual fare, designed for those with unique needs. It was close to a black market, but the stall owners, along with Everyone and the various guilds that sponsored, had a financial agreement with the Crown.

It was eerily quiet now as Eric entered, slipping past a worn-looking basic stall and staring down the alley of vendors. There were two key differences in Night Market. First, the customers and vendors were much quieter. They often wore dark and concealing clothing, and moved between their destinations with a hurried and purposeful expression. The second, and most jarring, was that instead of city guards patrolling, each stall had a few private armed guards, each cloaked in dark armor and looking mean. It was as if a thieve’s guild had taken over the market.

A few unfriendly faces gave Eric searching types as he walked past, undoubtedly drawing attention with his brighter clothing. But none gave him trouble, for both he and they knew that any attempt to start trouble would result in harsh consequences. Conduct your business, and leave. That was the rule.

He made for the first food vendor he could find. Despite the more shady transactions going around, there was still a need to eat for the people visiting. And since most of the restaurants were closed by now, the options were simple tavern food or these food stalls. Since he didn’t want to make the trip to the Heron and answer awkward questions about his capture, he opted to grab some quick food here.

“Evening,” he said politely but quietly as he approached the stall. “What have you got?”

“Sweet buns and roast chicken are our staples,” the woman replied. She had silvery hair tucked into a tight bun under her black hat. “But I have a special today. Boxed meal for four copper. It has beef, rice, and beans. Good meal for a working man, and it stays hot for hours.”

“That sounds good,” he said. “Four coppers each? Do you have anything to drink?”

“Coffee, ale, and tea,” she replied at once.

“Alright. Throw a coffee and tea into it, and I’ll give you a gold,” he said. “Strawberry tea if you’ve got it, else any tea will do.”

She had the food ready in a moment and plopped two small metal containers down. When he picked them up with a look of faint curiosity, she opened the other to show it was full of steaming tea. He could tell by the smell of it that it was strawberry tea, and his mouth watered at the thought. He fished a gold out of his pouch and handed it to the woman. She took the coin, bit it, and grinned.

“Thanks for your business, young man,” she said, a slight purr to her voice. “You have a good night, now.”

“Thanks,” he said. Settling the food and drink carefully into a fabric square she offered, he turned to make his way out of the market, aware of the heat radiating from the bundle. Before he made it more than a few steps, however, his attention was drawn by a flash of color to the side. Peering closer, he saw that the worn-looking stall was no longer unattended.

Sitting behind the stall, her boots propped negligently upon its surface and tilting her chair back, was a familiar limber woman with flaming red hair tucked up under a black leather hood. He frowned for a moment, trying to place why she looked familiar, then he remembered. The same woman had been in Sheran and had enchanted his gear for him. But more importantly….

“You,” he said, striding over and hissing in a low voice. “How did you know my name?”