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do it.”
    Roald closed his eyes again, but did not let himself fall asleep yet. He waited until he heard the slowly paced breaths of the person he held close, and listened for a while to the most soothing sound he could ever hope to hear. Roald prayed again to his parents now twinkling in the sky above him that he would never be the one to run the Gully Snipe to the ground. He prayed he’d never see the Gully Snipe thrown in the pits of the gaol or hung at dawn on the Bonedown.
    Slowly, the peaceful and measured work of Roald’s own chest matched that of his brother’s as he fell asleep with his arm around him.
     

Chapter 3 — Cheese And Insults
    “How much for the chicory?” asked Gully.
    “The chicory, ye say? Eh, let ye have a couple o’ scoops fer, I say, oh... well...” said the old man. “Let me thinks on it... hum...” He scratched at a scab on his head while stalling, and Gully could instantly tell he was hoping to see if any other vendors in the South Peddle market were selling it or not. Gully smiled to himself, finding it foolish of the old man not to have checked earlier for competition that might drive his prices down.
    Gully helped him out. “Won’t find any other chicory in the South Peddle, old man. No one to undercut your prices. But I could go over to the King’s Market and get a couple of scoops’ worth for four swallowstamps.” It would be so easy to lie to the man and trick him into selling it too cheaply, but Gully wasn’t out to take advantage of him. The chicory was a convenient excuse to start a conversation; he was far more interested in talking to the old man than he was in the buying and selling of goods.
    The old man laughed in relief and said, “Four swallowstamps, then, for two fair scoops. Bigger scoops than yeh gets at the fancy King’s Market, I’ll wager! And I saves ye the walk!”
    “And what’s this you’re selling?”
    “Ah, that be lemon balm, and the dried leaves here are ahramanic leaf!”
    “Ahramanic leaf? Don’t often find that for sale here. Do you grow it yourself?”
    The old man smoothed his white hair back and said, “Nay, nay... know where it grows wild. Better’n the farmed variety, ’tis.”
    The South Peddle market was quieter than usual, even for the early afternoon, probably because the sky was heavy and ready to unburden itself of its raindrops at any moment. No one else was pressing up against the peddler’s small square of ground with its few baskets and leather pouches that displayed his wares.
    Gully asked, “I don’t recall seeing you peddle here before. Do you pick it near here?”
    The old man’s face turned nervous and he pursed his lips in a rapid succession a few times as he thought how to answer. He finally replied, “Where I pick it ’tis me own business!”
    Gully laughed out loud and said, “No cause for alarm, sir! I’m not looking to pirate your trove of ahramanic! I’m merely curious as to where you’re from...”
    “Ah... live to the south of East End, I do, on the edge of the Ghellerweald. Me wifey and I have a place near to the South Pass Road. We grows the chicory in a patch out back, but the ahramanic I gets down near to the boggy woods, below the South Pass Road.”
    The man instantly interested Gully even more. He moved in a little closer and checked to make sure no one was nearby or listening to them.
    The old man clucked his tongue thoughtfully and continued, “Normally sells at the market in East End, buts there’s a want of people parting with their coins lately. I venture throughs the mountain pass to the land of Maqara sometimes to trade and sell, if they lets me in. But theys a strange people to the like o’ me, so I decided to try me luck selling here in the capital this time.”
    Gully had never ventured into Maqara, but had heard some tales of its people. It was a much larger and more powerful kingdom to the east and the only thing that really protected Iisen from the Maqarans was the all but