Faye struggled to open her eyes the next morning. It was still early, if the soft light and birdsong was anything to go by.

Swinging her feet off the bench and down to the ground, Faye realised that her sword had fallen onto the grass in the night. It was covered in dew, sparkling slightly in the morning light. A light mist covered the park she was in. Each breath she took was refreshing.

A loud, painful gurgle in her belly told her that she was in dire need of breakfast.

“I hope they don’t want gold coins.”

Trying to ignore the lightheaded sensation that stole over her when she stood, she tried to take stock of her location. Her memories of the walk to the park last night were hazy at best, and half-remembered at worst. Fortunately, she didn’t need to follow the path she’d taken to arrive there very far, because only a street away she smelled something wonderful.

“That’s a bakery or my name isn’t Faye Weaver.”

Following her nose, Faye wound around the buildings nearby. Off the main thoroughfare, the streets got much closer together. She wasn’t sure if that was because building codes were very different here, or just because the town wanted things this way.

But none of that mattered when she turned the corner in what had seemed like a dead-end alley and came face to face with the open shutters of the backside of a bakery. She could see three big ovens, their chimneys rising higher than the surrounding buildings, gorgeous smells wafting from within.

In the yard were a couple of young boys, perhaps eleven or twelve, who were carting buckets and trays back and forth from inside the bakery and the oven area. Faye hadn’t gotten the courage to say something to them before they both disappeared inside, and a large woman emerged. Her hair was pulled up and tied in a bun, and her large frame was covered by a brown apron; the apron was liberally dusted with flour.

“Hai, who’re you to be standing in my yard, eh?” she called out. Faye jumped. The woman hadn’t even looked at her.

“I— uh, I’m Faye,” she called out. This close to the ovens she was already warming up nicely, and she took the opportunity to take off the blanket and hold it folded over in her arms, with the sword carefully wrapped inside. “I’m… quite hungry.”

The woman looked at her then. Her eyes roved over her frame and the blanket in her arms.

“Is that so?”

“How can I get some bread from you?” Faye asked. She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice.

“You can pay for it, child, like everyone else,” came a gruff, deep voice from the doorway back into the bakery. The man emerging from inside was just as large as the woman. He was clean shaven, head and all, and his apron was as flour-coated as the woman’s. “We can’t give it away for free, now, can we?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

A grunt.

“I was asking what I could do in exchange for some bread,” she said again. “Please.”

After she’d said this, the two boys came back outside, each carrying a large tray of dough balls. Each one went into an oven in a remarkably efficient fashion. One of the adults would open the oven door, a thick iron thing that didn’t make a sound as it swung wide, and then one of the boys would step up, slide a metal tray off their shoulder and into the fiery embrace. A second later, the door was closed.

“Doubt she could do it as good as we do it, Dad,” one of the boys said, with a sideways glance at Faye.

“No doubt in my mind,” the father said, and laughed. “Sorry, lass, we can’t help you for nothing. Get your parents to send you back with money, eh?”

“Please—”

“We don’t give our hard work away for free,” the man said. “And that’s the last time I’ll say it.”

“Now, don’t scare the girl, Aengus,” the woman chided. She turned a gentle look on Faye. “He’s not wrong though. Go on, now, we’ve got work to do before the town wakes.”

Nodding, Faye turned and entered the back alleys again. A few steps into the dark space between the houses she stopped and put her back against the wall. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Tears leaked out of her tightly closed lids, but she didn’t do anything to stop them rolling down her cheeks.

She couldn’t remember a single time in her life that she’d ever been incapable of purchasing food. Sure, there had been times as a student that she’d been reduced to the most basic of fare; beans, noodles, or simple toast… but there had always been something available.

A part of her vowed then, to never cause someone to go hungry if it was within her power.

Even thinking about beans on toast was enough to make her belly rumble.

“This is ridiculous,” she whispered. “Pull yourself together, for God’s sake. You’re a grown woman.”

Wiping her cheeks with the blanket, sniffing a little and taking a breath, Faye strode back to the main street. There would be other bakers, she hoped. If fortune smiled on her, one of them would take pity and give her something. If not, she’d find another way to get something. At worst, she would have to beg. Or, go find something in the countryside around the town.

The other bakery was almost on the opposite end of town. It seemed that they’d decided to somewhat split the town in half. Probably better service if your baker was nearby. Saying that, the town wasn’t exactly big. Faye could walk the entire length in around twenty minutes, if she wanted. The main streets were long and straight.

Unfortunately, it was as if the baker’s union told their members it was impossible to give bread away to starving strangers, or something.

Not to be deterred, Faye made her way back to the square, certain that someone would be in a position to give her something.

To her surprise, the square was completely covered in various stalls. Their white cloth tents held up by wooden poles, reminding her of plenty of market days back home. It seemed that they were still setting up, it was an hour after dawn by now, she guessed. There weren’t many customers wandering through the market, though. Most of the stall owners watched her wander through the square, but none of them said anything or tried to sell anything.

On the edge of the square were paddocks of animals, and Faye watched as someone entered the square leading their beast — a large but placid bull, with curling horns — and recovered the panniers from its back before handing a man a coin. The coin disappeared, and the man who’d palmed it took the beast of burden by the halter and led it inside the paddock.

It moved like clockwork.

“You ain’t from around here, are ya?”

The boy who’d asked her was around eleven years old. He was wearing a basic tunic and trousers, they weren’t dyed but they were clean and tidy.

“How’d you know?” she asked. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, not many people look so amazed when tents are being put up.” He wasn’t mocking her, necessarily, but she could sense an undertone of humour in his words.

“I guess that must be true.”

“Oh, it is. But don’t worry, it’ll get boring soon enough. I’ve seen it enough times that it’s just boring now.”

“And how many times have you seen the market?”

“This is prob-lee…” the boy scrunched up his face in thought for a moment. “The third time I’ve seen it. I was too little before that but maybe Da brought me and I don’t remember.”

“Oh,” Faye said. “It’s an annual market?”

“What does annual mean?”

“Once a year.”

“No, not once a year. Once every two years. I was five when I first saw the market.”

Faye was surprised. A biennial market wasn’t usual. She wondered what kinds of things would be sold here once every two years.

“Why does it only happen every two years?”

The boy looked at her for a moment, as if he was weighing up whether to tell her or not. She smiled at him.

“Well…” he said. “My Da told me that it’s cause the bloody city folk are too bloody lazy to make the trip more often than that.”

“Neilan!”

The boy’s eyes went wide, and he spun around to look at the man approaching them.

“I’m sorry, Da!”

“What have I told you about swearing in front o’ strangers?” The man approaching them was tall and thin, his fingers looked better suited to holding a pen than a hammer. “Apologise to her, now.”

The boy turned obediently and bobbed his head at Faye. “Sorry,” he muttered. Then he turned and scarpered.

The man sighed.

“I’m sorry for ma boy,” he said.

“It’s no problem, really.” She smiled at him, but when he took a proper look at her, his scowl deepened.

“Now, you’re not from around here, I’d bet my hat on that.”

“You aren’t wearing a hat,” she said.

He blinked. “That I’m not. But I’m not wrong, am I?”

She shook her head. She supposed that anyone who looked at her would easily tell that she was a stranger. It wasn’t as if the town was so huge that people wouldn’t know the majority of their neighbours.

“Did you come in with the caravans?”

“No, I arrived last night…”

The man simply hummed at that, his scowl still affixed to his face. She had no idea what he meant by it. If there was some kind of prejudice against the caravaneers, then it was best if she distanced herself from them, anyway.

“Why don’t you like the caravaneers?” she asked.

“Pah, don’t listen to that fool boy of mine.” He hmphed out a breath. “But it wouldn’t hurt them to accept a lower price for their goods, and they damn well know it.”

Ahh, supply and demand. The bane of every working person, at home or elsewhere, it seemed.

Her belly took the opportunity to rumble loudly, and she grabbed it in embarrassment. The man looked over at her, an eyebrow rising.

“The caravaneers will gouge your eyes out, girl. Here, go to one of the bakers a few streets over.” He tossed her a small coin. She hadn’t seen him pull it out of a pocket, but that didn’t matter as much as he’d given her a coin. “Tell them Gregor sent you.”

“Thank you, I will.”

Gregor nodded, then strode away without another word.

Clutching the coin in her hand, Faye turned and tried not to sprint back to the bakery.

“Ma!” the boy shouted. “That girl’s back.”

The ovens were still hot, and the boys were still bringing things outside of the bakery. Faye waited as patiently as she could for the woman to emerge.

“Oh, girl, we told you—”

“I have some money,” Faye said, holding out the hand with the coin. “Gregor sent me. Told me you’d give me something to eat for this.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, then she stomped over, wiping her hands on her apron as she came. “That bloody man,” she muttered as she came.

Faye didn’t particularly care what they would give her, but when the woman took the coin from her palm, she practically bounced in anticipation.

“You tell Gregor that this is the last time! You hear? He cannot keep holdin’ it over our heads like this!”

Faye nodded. Sure, lady, whatever you say. “Please, I’m very hungry.”

“Oh, for all the… wait here.”

The fresh bread, butter, and thin slices of meat that she was given only a few minutes later tasted like heaven.

The bakers had told her to sit at a small table they had in the yard whilst she ate. She watched them work. It was constant, hard work from the looks of things. Even sitting near the ovens was hot, she couldn’t imagine getting in front of the blazing fires regularly. She supposed that’s why they had somewhat ruddy complexions.

The meat was a sort of cured sausage meat, sliced thinly. It wasn’t spiced, but it was fatty and tasty — salami, almost. She was able to savour the flavour of the butter and sausage easily, and then the bread itself almost melted in her mouth.

“This is the best bread I have ever tasted.”

“Hah! Hear that Aengus? She said it’s the best she’s ever had!”

Aengus popped out of the doorway into the bakery proper and beamed at Faye; his attitude had completely changed after she’d paid them. “Of course it is! She has good taste.”

Màiri, the female baker, wasn’t quite as happy with the small coin as payment, but she was congenial enough. Compliments went over well with her, too. Faye made sure to thank her over and over.

“All right, lass, you’ve said thank you more often than I’ve heard before from anyone.”

“Sorry. I just… I don’t have anything and needing to rely on other’s generosity… never mind.” Faye shook her head. “I appreciate it, is what I’m saying. I won’t forget it.”

“Just remember that the best bread in town costs three pieces, in future, all right?”

After spending around an hour at the baker’s place, Faye needed to get away from the heat. The boys grinned when she made her get-away, as if they knew what it was she was escaping from and they were proud of their ability to withstand it.

The open market was in full swing by the time she got back to the square. The townsfolk were threading through the stalls, caravaneers were hawking their wares, and children darted around as if it were a fayre. An air of celebration hung over the town square.

The problem with a marketplace, Faye thought, was that if you had no money, it wasn’t as fun. Normally, you can see what deals you might find, what interesting objects there were to purchase. But with no money at all, it left Faye feeling a little adrift.

What was worse were the items that meant nothing to her. When she would stop to look at one, the stall owner would either scowl fiercely until she put it back, or in one case, literally slap her hand away as she reached for it.

“No touching! Customers only. Get along now.”

“And how do you know I’m not a customer?”

A sneer was her only answer. It seemed that every stall owner saw Faye coming a mile away, and each time were more than prepared to shoo her away rather than entertain the idea she might purchase something. It was more than a little frustrating.

A full quarter of the marketplace was given over to food stalls. Not many of them seemed ready-to-eat, but they were all filled with meats, cheeses, pies, and the like. Most of the foodstuffs were hardy, long-lasting things, too. Faye guessed that made sense seeing as they came in on caravans, rather than preparing them here in the town.

The fresh foods, breads, milk, and similar things were all missing. Faye assumed that they weren’t able to transport fresh food without it going bad.

She paused for a moment as she looked over the food stalls, looking across it all.

“They must travel for more than a week if they’re worried about fresh food spoiling.”

Unfortunately, during her musing, the owner of the stall she’d been standing in front of was annoyed that it was her stall that Faye was blocking.

“Aii! Girl, if you don’t give me that back, I’ll have the town guard on you!”

At first, Faye looked around for a girl that was trying to steal something.

“Don’t play stupid, girl, I saw you take that travel cake!”

Faye looked the woman straight in the eye. She was in her late 20s, early 30s maybe. She was glaring at Faye as fiercely as any teacher, and if Faye had been younger, it might have worked.

But Faye had had enough of that at school and going to university had given her the chance to think over her younger years clearly.

“I didn’t take a single thing from your stall,” she said, calmly. “In fact…” She took a moment to look over the stall, curling her lip a little at what she saw. “I wouldn’t touch what you have to sell with a barge pole.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, dangerously. She lowered her voice. “Get away from my stall, girl, or it won’t be you the guards come for.”

Faye blinked. Was that a threat?

“You’re going to call the guards down on yourself, and you think that will make me leave?”

“I don’t know what you expected, the girl’s clearly slow.”

The speaker was the stall attendant next to this one. He was grinning, more at his rival’s misfortune than anything of good humour Faye was sure. “Me, slow?” she said. “I’m not the one who’s letting that urchin get away with my cured meats…”

“What?”

The man spun around, glaring wildly about, his hands frantically going over his stock.

Faye snorted. Idiot.

“I’ll not tell you again, girl!” The woman was back to shouting. “Give me that back!”

“Shut up, for God’s sake. You could have just asked me to move.”

“All right, then,” came a tired, bass rumble from nearby. “Turn out your blanket there, and whatever’s in your pockets.”

The guard wasn’t one that Faye had seen before. But he had the tired, bored look of a man who wished he were anywhere but here. He was standing with a relaxed hand on his belt, next to what looked to be a flanged mace. Faye winced. If he decided to use that, it would do more than knock some sense into her.

“I don’t have anything from this stall on my person, sir.” She made to walk away. “I’ll be leaving.”

As soon as Faye tried to move, the guard’s expression changed. He perked up slightly.

“Now, hold up. I asked you to show me what’s under your blanket and in your pockets. Don’t make me ask a third time.”

“Aye, I saw her stick it under there, all right!” the stall owner crowed.

“She’s a liar, I haven’t moved the blanket since I arrived.”

“That’s cause she’d got them dexterous skills of a thief, sergeant. I’ve seen her type before.”

The guard puffed up a little. “Well, now, I ain’t a sergeant yet.” He cleared his throat. “But, if this woman saw you take something—”

Faye whipped the blanket off her arm and threw it over her shoulder. She then took her longsword in a two-handed grip, flourished it and spun it around in a flashy lightsaber move that had always impressed idiots. She finished it off by pointing it straight at the stall owner.

“And how many federschwerter do you have for sale today, my good woman?”

“Hoi, now!” The guard, taken somewhat aback judging by his exclamation, fumbled at his belt for a moment before taking the mace and brandishing it in front of him. “You can’t go around threatening the merchants!”

Faye rolled her eyes. She returned her sword to its hilt-down position.

“I wasn’t threatening anyone, I was making a point.”

“I can’t believe you let people like her just take weapons wherever they want!” the stall owner was saying, as loud as she could. “What on earth has befallen this town?”

Faye heard a few other grumbles from the local stalls.

What was I thinking? She asked herself. It was beyond idiotic to brandish the sword at anyone, even if it was blunt. She shook her head.

“Look, I apologise for wielding my blade like that in public, but really—”

“I could have been killed!”

“Put the sword down, I won’t ask again!”

Things were getting out of control. The guard was clearly in over his head, the stall owner was making things as worse as she could, and Faye had no scabbard to truly put the sword away. There was no question of putting it on the ground.

“It’s blunt!” she kept saying, but the guard wasn’t listening. “Really, I can’t hurt anyone with it…”

“Silence!” someone roared. An immediate blanket of silence fell over the stalls.

“It’s blunt!” Faye shouted, before realising that everyone else had stopped speaking. They all looked at her in surprise. With their attention at last she carried on. “It’s a blunt training sword. See?”

She grabbed the edge of the sword and pulled her palm along it as hard as she could, then showed them all that there wasn’t a single drop of blood.

It wasn’t until she turned towards the new voice that she realised who’d come over to see what the commotion was about.

“Well, Muir, looks like our town’s misbehaving girl is misbehaving once again.”

The teenager’s glare was perhaps even more vicious than it had been the previous night.

Faye tried not to roll her eyes. She really did. But judging by the teen’s face, she hadn’t been too successful.

“You know the rules, girl. Hand it over.”

“I beg your pardon?” Faye had an awful sinking sensation in her stomach.

“You can’t go running around with a blade, no matter how, ah, blunt it may be.”

His smirk was obnoxious. She wanted to wipe it off for him but looking at the face of the man over the teenager’s shoulder told her that even taking a step forward would be a Very Bad Idea.

The teen held out his hand and made a ‘gimme’ motion.

“I haven’t got all day.”

Looking at the guard, Faye wasn’t sure what to expect, but the man was apparently completely okay with this boy taking her property. But she definitely wasn’t.

She turned and walked away, sword casually held in her left hand, right hand holding the bundled blanket.

“Master,” she heard the man, Muir, say.

She kept walking and hoped that no one could see how wobbly her legs felt.