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It was a small and tidy space, made up of only the front half of her wagon. No space in the tiny room was wasted. The sleeping platform across one end of it was supported by cupboards. Shelves and bins, hooks and drawers lined the interior of the cuddy, except for one small window, shuttered now against road dust. A cover of shag deer hide had been thrown across the wool blankets on the bed. In one corner of the cuddy, the worn hilt of Vandien's rapier winked at Ki.
    He would be in Bitters by now. Ki wondered if he had found a team yet, and what kind of bargain he would wrangle. That he would get a team she doubted not at all. He had a tongue that could persuade a Dene to eat meat. If his wheedling could not win them over, he would resort to using his personal trinkets as collateral. If that did not work... Ki shut the thought out of her mind. Vandien took care of himself. He wove his life in and out of hers in a random pattern. He did not fear commitment; he simply saw no need for it. He was an impulsive, reckless, and totally loyal friend, and she refused to sigh over him. He'd be back soon enough, dragging disorder and self-indulgence through her tidy life. It was all so much simpler when he wasn't around. The worst part of it was that he was becoming a habit with her. Damn.
    She crawled out of the cuddy, sliding the door closed behind her. Settling on the wagon seat, she picked up the reins. A kick freed the wheel brake and a shake of the reins roused the team. Dusk was settling, bringing with it a small coolness. The moon had begun to claim the sky when she rolled out of the city gates, past guards singularly disinterested in her cargo. Tonight she would sleep on green grass beside her wagon, and let the team graze free. She was weary of shutting herself tight within the stuffy cuddy and listening to her beasts stomp and shuffle all night. It was good to be working again.

THREE
    T he mart at Bitters was little different from that in Dyal. Except for the stink of fish. Vandien had not thought that shipments of fresh fish would stay edible over the two-day haul from False Harbor, yet folk here were buying them, and smiling at the fishmonger as he wrapped his noisome wares in sacking for them. Vandien leaned forward past a customer to prod a silver fish with a firm finger. The indentation of his touch remained. Vandien gave the fishmonger a different sort of smile, and edged away from his booth, wiping his finger on his breeches.
    The aroma of fresh breads wafted past him. He swallowed as he pushed his way past the booth where an expressionless Dene was listlessly hawking breads and pastries. Dark brown high-topped loaves vied with the shining flat cakes of greenish hue that the T'cheria favored. Vandien's hand went to the fat pouch at his belt. The thin leather disguised the small stones that kept company with two small coins. A carter had given him a ride from Dyal to Bitters, feeding him and giving him the coins in exchange for Vandien's assistance in unloading the bundled raw hides. The coins were not much, but were a generous payment for the small amount of work Vandien had actually done. He suspected she had paid him more for the stories he had spun on the long drive than for any real labor.
    He strode resolutely past the bread stall. He was hungry, but that could wait. He had business to conduct. He hurried past the farmers' section, past the chickens and piglets and chattering glibs, on past T'cherian stalls festooned with strands and streamers of slickly shining greens. A glowering Brurjan presided over a hot meat stall, with a private chamber in back for devouring the kill. The dying squeal of a glib, cut short, told Vandien that a meal was in progress. To a Brurjan, 'hot meat' steamed with body heat.
    He slowed as he passed the crafters' stalls. Beads and boots, armor and amorous potions all vied for his attention. A T'cherian merchant was politely curious about this Human browser who looked but did not buy.