Vespula Velvet's Problem

The Patchwork Market may not be the most remarkable place in all of Faerie, but it is certainly unique. As has been noted elsewhere the notion of geography is applied somewhat liberally in the Faerie Realms. The most geographically stable location is the area covered by the Hundred Kingdoms, even that has its back ways, turnabouts and confusions.

The problem with Faerie geography is the existence of places that are at the centre of the world. The way that you can tell such a place is that you can traverse such an area and get to any other destination in fairly short order, as long as you know the way. That last part, that's always the bit that misleads people. Knowing the way is not as easy a thing as many suppose.

The most obvious, and also the most difficult, central location in Faerie is the Forest of Grymm. That's the name of the forest but really it may as well be called 'The Forest', because all wooded areas are connected to it, so there is, at some level, only one forest in the whole of Faerie. The problem is that some of the kingdoms separated by other forest areas don't see it like that. Someone could circumvent, for example, Sommerslip Woods near the Faerie Archive and never see any part of the Forest of Grymm. However, once they step among the trees, even on a well maintained path, they could take the wrong fork and end up in Grymm, from there they could emerge anywhere, not necessarily back in the county of Sommerslip.

There are other places of a similar nature, the great city of Luminis, the Black Ocean, the Soft Places on the edge of the Undone (those get _very_ complicated), the Celestial Sphere and the NeverWill. All of these places can be reached from almost anywhere and lead to absolutely everywhere. The Patchwork Market shares this distinction, the Market and Luminis are the only two such places that are built. The difference between the two is simple, Luminis is closed, the Market is always open.

As such the Patchwork Market is the most welcoming of all the inbetween places. If it were as wilful as Grymm or as bizarre as the NeverWill or as outright dangerous as the Black Ocean then it would make it hard to sell things to people, this is the Market's entire reason for existing. If trade were not facilitated in the Market the Market would cease to exist.

Even so, the Market has it's dark secrets and hidden corners. Not everything that goes on among the tiered plazas of this world within the world is clean and legal as anyone might wish. Of course, the Market permits the existence of its Master and the Master's Watch, they do the best they can to maintain peace and order conducive to the spending of a substantial amount of coin.

They can't be everywhere, from time to time evil still works its way into the Market. A fact Eos came to appreciate in an entirely new way when she awoke in chains fastened to the wall of a ruined structure in the darkness of an abandoned plaza.

There was one thing in Eos's mind beyond her own immediate inconvenience, concern and discomfort.

"Rachel?" she asked, unabashed, not whispering, the importance of knowing that her charge was in good health overriding other concerns.

"Eos?" Rachel's voice brought a flood of relief.

"Tasty little snippets," a third voice interrupted the auditory reunion. It was a quiet voice, a voice soft like sucking mud dangerous as a whippingcord serpent. Eos recognised that voice, she was pleased that Rachel had never heard it before.

"Vespula?" Eos asked.

"Enjoying myself I was," the witch replied, not bothering to confirm her identity to Eos. Vespula Velvet knew that the mermaid princess whose kingdom Vespula had usurped would not forget the voice, or be in any doubt as to its owner. "I was in my little undersea cave, rebinding the bristles to my broom when I feel a stabbing pain, as if someone had thrust the blade of a steel knife through my old heart."

The platform on whic Eos found herself was shrouded in darkness. She could see the edge of a ruined wall defined by the glow of a low, orange-flamed fire burning beyond it. She could not see the witch who had taken away her birthright. All she could hear was the wheedle of the ancient sorceress's thin voice.

"Bound to our enchantments we are, magic workers," Vespula said, Eos could hear soft footsteps, the voice sounded louder, nearer. "I knew when you bought that ring, so you could walk upon the land, that didn't trouble me much. I hired me some trolls, to find you, bring you to me. Must have hooked up with some clever sorts though, disappeared from the Hundred Kingdoms, found you in the soft places, then all on a sudden you were here, in the market and I was on the floor in pain. So much pain."

Vespula was very close now, but still not visible, somewhere on the other side of the partial wall to which Eos was bound.

"So I contacted my troll master, and told him where to get him a cloud of sleeping dust. He found you on the Market Floor, near to the Master's Island. Had to get you before you reached the Master of the Market. Too much trouble, not that you were hard to find, just walking around without a fear in the world. Had you forgotten fear, dearie?"

The breath of that question warmed Eos's left ear.

"I'm not afraid of you Vespula," Eos said, although she knew she was lying.

"Don't bother," Vespula said. "I can smell the terror on you, marinating you, making you and your little friend ready for Vespula's pot. You know how much power I can get from the bones of two young maidens such as yourselves?"

"The little girl is nothing to do with this," Eos said. "Let her go!"

"You have forgotten what it is to be a wicked witch, Teleosti Shaleshore," Vespula chortled. "It does not matter what that girl is to whom. She had the bad luck to fall within my power and that means that now she is no more than soup. Can't you smell the stock cooking, bubbling away in my cauldron? Sweet with wolfsbane and nightshade, hemlock and brimstone."

Eos knew that Vespula would happily swill down Eos and Rachel broth. Vespula was one of the vilest witches in the far shadows. She thrived on poison, fear and heartbreak. Even so, one could not simply give up, defeat may be inevitable but ultimate victory should always be withheld.

"Let us go, Vespula, or you will be hunted down and killed," Eos said, she was uncertain, in herself, that this would be the case but Eos had made friends, and Rachel certainly had people behind her, even if the chief among them was a talking mouse. There was a chance that Phoebe September or Frederick Cobb would care enough to avenge their disappearance, if they knew who to look for. It was a slim hope and not one of much use if they had, in the meanwhile been eaten, but it was all Eos had.

Vespula Velvet chuckled again, a hoarse, bubbling sound. The twisted shadow of the witch's form cut between the broken wall and Eos's field of vision. Eos still couldn't see the gnarled enchantress but she knew the old woman was there.

"And who will ever know that it was my doing, little one?" she asked. "Who will there be to tell. The kind of folk that would look for you would not even think of asking trolls so full of the darker blood as I would hire. Trolls such as them would rather kill friends of yours anyhow. No, sweet morsel, Vespula shall drink your blood, and no one shall ever know that it was done."

"Excuse me, ma'am," came a voice from far away, beyond the broken wall. "I think the stock is prepared but I have not the tongue to taste it."

Vespula did not appear best pleased at this interruption, she spat back:

"You have the tongue to spoil my delicious moment, though," to her unfortunate henchman.

Actually, Eos considered, welcoming any distraction from the consideration of her present dire circumstances, it did sound a little as if it might be a hench-woman. Distinguishing the gender of a speaker, if that speaker was a troll, which this was, was not an easy task for anyone other than another troll. Those of dwarven stock were pretty similar.

"Apologies, mistress," the troll replied. "Our stomachs are not able to take in any food save rocks, stones and earth, we may only drink water. We cannot taste a stock for meat-people, nor would it do our insides any good at all."

"Well," Vespula grumbled, "I suppose this will be one of the more important meals of my life. Very well, I shall taste the stock. Hopefully it will be fine and fulsome in its flavour, ready for the addition of my tender tasty morsels."

The troll came forth from behind the wall with a ladle in its hand. Vespula took the ladle, lifted the bowl of it to her lips and sipped at the liquor within.

"Hot, spicy," Vespula crowed triumphantly. "A full, sweet, flavour that just needs the addition of flesh and bone from a pair of maidens, to fill Vespula's stomach and warm her old meat through with every vile type of magic. Perfect for hexes and curses and-eep."

For the barest fraction of a moment Eos wondered if an 'eep' was some kind of dark magic that she had not previously encountered. The grey cast to Vespula's usual greenish countenance told Eos that she may have received a reprieve from the cooking bowl.

A hard noise, like stones cracking against one another, came to Eos's ears. She could see that Vespula was starting to petrify, turning to rock from the feet up. Nothing as refined as becoming a statue. No, Vespula's legs were turning into dark rocky pillars of uneven shape.

"Your one and only mistake," said the troll walking round so that Vespula's furious eyes could see it. "Was to think that you could casually decide to eat my daughter."

In a falling sift of sparkling fairy dust the visage of the troll fell away to reveal the face of a woman that Eos had never seen before.

"Its you!" blurted Rachel from her own wall adjacent to Eos. Since Vespula had arrived the little girl had been too terrified to speak but her surprise trumped her fear for a moment. "The Green Lady."

"Her name is Rebecca," said another voice that Eos recognised as belonging to Rachel's mouse, James. "And she is your mother."

The owner of the voice, it transpired was no longer a mouse, but a tall, thin man, who emerged from the shadows beyond the wall to join the slim woman who had disguised herself as one of Vespula's trolls.

"How?" Eos asked.

"Mischief probably," James said, smiling at Eos. "Lester and myself were lost in the Undone, a magician helped us get back here after we helped him out with a wolf problem... there's a lot to explain..." James turned away from Eos to look at Rachel. "Not least of all to you, Rachel."

"James?" Rachel said. "Is that you? You're a man again! Oh, I am so pleased for you."

"There's more than just a transformation here," James said to Rachel. "We have a lot to discuss. First, though, we should probably see about freeing the both of you. Lester, do you mind lending a hand?"


So James and Lester helped liberate Eos and Rachel from their chains and the whole group went on to the Patchwork Market to find a place for tea and a complicated chat. What they did after that is a story for another day.

The House of Masks Revealed

"I suppose," said the owl, "that I should tell you to be careful. Not that it will do much good."

"Why won't it do much good?" Frederick asked.

"I told Lester and James to be careful," the owl said, "they are still missing, unlike the rest of them they haven't been gone long. Maybe they'll come back."

"I don't like this," Phoebe said. "Not one little bit."

"Six people disappear and you're concerned that there may be some kind of a problem?" Frederick said. "Full marks for observation."

"I was expressing my concern," Phoebe snapped. "It was a heartfelt comment, not a clever one."

"Are you going to look for them?" the owl asked. "Because there's really no one else left to, Felix has to guard the wagon, he's been told and I can't leave the castle."

"Castle?" Frederick asked, looking around and up for the usual tall, grey structure sprouting from a nearby hill. There wasn't one that he could see.

"It's a replica," the owl said. "A ghost can haunt anything domestic, scale isn't really an issue."

"You're a ghost?" Phoebe asked. "Fascinating."

"Usually I'd agree," the owl replied. "At the moment it's no more than an inconvenience. I can stay and I can watch, otherwise I am powerless to intervene."

"So where did they go?" Frederick asked looking about the nearby streets. It was near enough dead centre in the period between noon bell and the day bell, the streets of Steephill Fell were bustling.

"They went into the first small alley arcade on the left hand side of the street to the West," the owl said. "Actually they combed the area poking around everywhere. That arcade is the last place that they went. They investigated but then they never came back."

"I guess we'll have to be careful then," Frederick said.

"I'll swear I just made a comment to that effect not thirty seconds ago," the owl said but Phoebe and Frederick were already halfway down the street. "Oh, yes, and goodbye. Hope you find them. Not least because this street corner is really rather tedious."

Frederick was doing a little better now. There was a sense of menace and mystery, nobody had tried to beat him up in just over an hour and he had plenty to think about besides the way Phoebe's hair fell when she tilted her head over to the right in thought. He was most definitely too busy with the disappearances and what-have-you to think about the latter item much at all, and that was definitely a good thing.

"You don't need to stamp about the place looking so serious," Phoebe said from about half a step behind him. "It's not like you're in charge or anything."

The sudden tweak of annoyance in Frederick's gut cleared almost all other thoughts out of his head in an instant.

"I'm just worried," he said. "I don't want to get disappeared like the others."

"Do you not?" Phoebe asked. "Then how do you propose that we find them all?"

"Fine," Frederick said. "We can follow them, but we don't want to get lost like them."

"How do you know?" Phoebe asked. "They might have all gone somewhere so nice they just don't want to come back."

Frederick had to stop and think about that for a second and in that time Phoebe swanned past him and into the arcade. The small ginger tom cat, Harvey, plodded along behind. As they disappeared into the covered passageway Harvey looked back to give Frederick a narrow-eyed grin.

Now it was Frederick's turn to come bustling up the small cobbled passageway behind Phoebe, striding past fishmongers' stalls. The arcade smelled of fish that was on the point of turning ripe, most of the merchants were adjusting their prices downwards, trying to move on whatever it was they had left to get rid of.

"What about these people?" Frederick said as Phoebe studiously ignored the fish traders. Harvey was paying more attention, at least to the merchandise, but he looked as if he hated himself for it.

"They don't know anything," Phoebe announced airily.

"How do you know?" Frederick asked.

"If people disappear the last thing they will have done before they vanished is talk to your common or garden fishmonger or trader in seafood," Phoebe said with the ring of certainty evident in her voice.

"So what will they have done?" Frederick asked.

"Talked to the unusual, shady, creepy or otherwise darkly mysterious purveyor of briny goods, like him," Phoebe said pointing out a dark stall displaying jars of pickled seafood at the very end of the arcade.

"So they talked to him," Frederick said. "What about?"

"Let's find out," Phoebe said and marched over to the stall. "Where are they?" she asked without preamble.

The merchant gave Phoebe a look that indicated that he had seen it all before, even if 'it' was abrupt witches bluntly assuming that you would know what they were talking about, and pointed at the wall opposite his stall.

"You play patty cake with the bricks," he said. "Door opens. Will take you where you need to go."

"Where we need to go?" Phoebe said, looking at the wall. "So it's a different destination for everyone?"

"Don't know," the merchant said. "I just sell pickled seaweed, and other refinements."

"So, what?" Frederick asked, looking at the rather grimy looking wall of dark stone bricks that had been indicated. "We play patty cake? We don't play patty cake?"

"I think we need more information," Phoebe said. "Harvey dear?"

The ginger tom looked up from its activity, sniffing around an unpleasantly wet looking sack to one side of a stall further down the arcade. Harvey came slinking up to Phoebe before transforming back into a rakish red-haired youth.

"What's up, feebs?" Harvey asked.

"There's a portal, in that wall," she said. "What can you tell me about it?"

Harvey went over to the wall and sniffed about.

"Pure mischief," he said. "Not one of the boss's little side doors. This one's from the source. Nobody can control it, not even the boss."

"So if we go through it we won't follow the last people to go through it?" Phoebe asked.

"Can't tell," Harvey said. "sometimes these things won't even take two people who follow one another to the same place, sometimes they switch destinations in the tween, sometimes they just randomly do whatever they feel like doing. They tunnel through time and space, they could send you to the moon in the future, or to the mortal world in the past."

"You're not being very helpful," Phoebe said. "Is there any way we could get more details?"

"If you open it," Harvey said, "I could probably pick up a scent from the other side. While it's closed I can smell the door, and the scent of the people who recently went through, even over the fish, but I can't tell you whether those scents continue on the other side."

"If we open it," Frederick asked. "How do we close it again?"

"Almost all of these things close after about ten minutes, or, in the worst case, in the tween," Harvey said, he spoke a little slower as if telling something to someone slightly backwards.

"What's a tween?" Frederick asked, not caring how dumb people thought he was.

"Magical concept," Phoebe said. "A tween is any place inbetween one thing and another. Doorways in and of themselves are tweens. Crossways are tweens. There are also well established major tweens in time such as midnight, the space between one day and the next. If midnight happens where you are then it tends to reset any non-persistent magical effects in the area."

"So the door will definitely close by itself at midnight?" Frederick asked.

"Nothing will definitely ever happen when it comes to magic, dimbo," Harvey said. "Particularly not when that magical something involves pure magic, straight from the source."

"But it would be highly unusual if it didn't," Phoebe cut in. "Right, Harvey?"

"Hey, he asked a big boy question," Harvey said. "Excuse me for giving him the big boy answer."

"There's a lot of chaos in magic, isn't there?" Frederick said.

"We call it mischief," Harvey said. "Chaos has too many negative connotations."

"This isn't a magical theory lecture," Phoebe said. "We need to find out what's on the other side of that door, and if it's our friends."

With that she stepped up to the wall and slapped out a quick game of patty cake. On the last hand slap her hand penetrated the wall appearing to disappear into the solid stone of the bricks.

"Open," she said. "Harvey, get sniffing."

"Um," Frederick said to the pickle seller. "You might want to make a sign or something, in case we don't go through." The pickle seller looked at Frederick like he was some sort of odd insect that he'd discovered under a rock in his garden. "You know," Frederick said. "Caution... advisory... of caution... no. Okay."

Frederick turned away to see Harvey sniffing around the doorway, in his cat form. The djinn transformed back into his other shape.

"We're in luck, sort of," Harvey said. "The way through still has a scent of the last couple of people to go through."

"Are you sure?" Phoebe asked.

"One of the things that went through this door," Harvey said. "Was very, very tasty, small, grey, furry, likes cheese, you follow my drift? I can't get the smell out of my nostrils."

"What about the others?" Frederick asked. "The little girl? The mermaid?"

"Too long ago," Harvey said. "So, are we going on a mouse hunt."

"Do I have to put you under an injunction, Harvey?" Phoebe asked sternly. The red-headed youth flinched.

"You are about as much fun as, well, you," Harvey complained. "And that is no fun at all. I wish nobody had ever touched that magic shovel. I was having a nice holiday."

"I can only imagine," Phoebe said. "But I won't because it will only make me cross. Come on Frederick, let's get on with it."

"Sir Cobb," Frederick said as Phoebe swished through the magic door. Now he was alone Frederick could not help the urge to further qualify himself. "My name is Sir Cobb, I'm a knight," he said to the pickle merchant.

"You might want to hurry," the merchant said, unimpressed. "Door don't open long."

Frederick gave up on trying to impress upon people his chivalric qualifications and walked through the door behind the others.

"You really need to be more assertive," said the sword at his waist. "As your manager I am concerned that you don't have a strong enough brand."

"A what now?" Frederick asked.

"I'm resident in metal," the sword said. "As such I occasionally receive transmissions of mortal information streams. They, the mortals, have this kind of magic called a brand. You put a brand on something, like a shoe, and its magic makes people want to buy it, well, to own it. They haven't ironed that exact distinction out, causes some problems, anyway...."

"Are you talking to your sword?" Harvey asked.

Frederick realised that Phoebe and Harvey were looking at him. They were stood in a small, bare stone cell on the other side of the door. Phoebe looked as if she was running out of patience. Harvey looked amused, but not in a good way.

"I wondered how you found a conversational companion to be your intellectual equal," Harvey said. "Now I know."

"If everybody's quite finished messing about," Phoebe said. "Harvey, follow the scent."

"I'm just a nose to you," Harvey said. "It's really quite insulting."

With that he turned into a cat and sniffed away along the floor, following the scent he had detected. Phoebe and Frederick followed along behind. They walked down a few musty corridors and up a set of steps to a hallway with many doors leading off it. Harvey sniffed around the edges for a bit before turning back into a boy.

"They walked back and forth here a few times," he said. "I can't tell where they went last, I'm not a dog."

After a short examination of the surrounding rooms all they could find was a broken window in one room and an hourglass on a shelf. Above the hourglass, engraved in a metal plate, was the legend:

Come, spend an hour and visit with us.

"This is it then?" Phoebe said. "We turn the glass?"

"What do you think will happen?" Frederick asked.

"It's an area effect magic, low level, druidic," Harvey said. "Anyone in the room will be caught within the field when it's turned."

"So what will it do?" Frederick asked.

"It's not a door, dimbo," Harvey said. "So I have no idea, something magic."

"Maybe they didn't turn it over," Frederick said.

"Their scent trail says otherwise," Harvey replied. "They went across the hall a couple of times, upstairs for a bit and outside but there's no sign of them further than the sun dial in the back garden."

"Maybe you just can't smell it," Frederick suggested. "After all you're not a dog."

"Hey, whatever makes you comfy, Sir Clueless," Harvey said. "I personally don't really care what you do. I'm just behaving so I don't get any major mojo slapped on me by my burden."

Phoebe glared at Harvey who grinned and then turned back into a cat.

"We've got to go on," Phoebe said. "We don't have a choice, we've come too far."

Frederick shrugged.

"Alright then," he said. "Turn the glass."

Phoebe picked up the hourglass on its little shelf, reversed it and put it back down. The sand began to run through the pinch in the centre. Instantly Frederick felt like the bottom had fallen out of his stomach. His head felt dizzy and his breath caught in his throat.

"Oh wow!" said an excited voice behind him. "Even more visitors!"

Things had changed. The sound of jaunty folk music stuttered through the air forming a bed to a murmur of conversation, the odd shout or scream of delight and the occasional eruption of laughter, or applause, or both. As Frederick inhaled he caught the scent of roasted meats in competition with the sharp sweetness of sugary things, probably cakes.

Frederick had not eaten a proper meal in a long time. Being a travelling knight and an incompetent cook he had neither the money nor the skill to find good food for himself. He subsisted on energy-providing stodge with a side order of telling yourself that it was all for the greater good.

Suddenly finding himself at a party, the air itself changed from cool and still to warm and vibrant, Frederick didn't really know what to do next. A small, bearded man wearing a long nosed mask and with a brightly coloured conical cardboard hat perched upon his head came round to study Frederick. Cheerful eyes twinkled as they looked him up and down.

"A beautiful girl, a handsome knight and..." the little man looked at Harvey sat on the floor and surveying the scene half-hungry, half-suspicious, "...and an animal, all guests at the party now!"

"What party?" Phoebe asked, cutting to the heart of the matter.

"You've arrived at the House of Mirth, my dear," the little man said. "Where the party continues through the day and the night."

"What's the party for?" Phoebe asked.

"For?" the little man said. "Who said a party had to be 'for' something? At the House of Mirth laughter and levity are more than occasional, they are the very stuff of life. Come, let me show you the buffet, let me show you the musicians, the dancing, the entertainment. At midnight will be the great unmasking and then the festivities will be over for today. You can stay until then? Of course you can! Oh, but you will need masks."

"Uh," Frederick said. The smell of the food was making his belly growl, the evident jollity was enticing, at the same time Frederick could tell that something was off here.

"Excuse my silly friend," Phoebe cut across Frederick before he could rouse himself to a sensible response. "He has few wits and even fewer manners. I will certainly need to give him a firm talking to prior to entering the party. Particularly if he is to be masked. Who knows what he will get up to otherwise?"

"I am sure that he will get into the swing of things," the little man said. "Now is not the time for blame or recriminations. Fear and sadness have no place in the House of Mirth."

"I understand," Phoebe said, an edge to her voice. "However we must confess that we did not know that we would be coming to a party, so we are ill prepared for the party mood. A few moments and we will be ready to pull on our masks and join in the fun."

"Ah, but fun flows like a river throughout the House..."

Thunk.

The little man keeled over and fell to the floor unconscious. Harvey stood behind him holding a piece of wood with a jewel at one end, possibly a magic wand.

"That," he said. "Is how you deal with trouble like that."

"Trouble?" Frederick said. "I don't understand."

"Why am I not surprised?" Harvey said.

"This isn't a party, Frederick," Phoebe said. "It's a trap."

"A trap?" Frederick asked. "A trap with a buffet, dancing, entertainment and masks?"

"The worst kind," Harvey said. "I can smell the mischief in this place, and it's curdled. Mischief turned this bad is like poison."

"Party poopers!" declared a voice at the door to the room. "New arrivals! And they're party poopers!"

Frederick turned around to see the owner of this new voice, high-pitched and ringing, the kind of voice that was used to obedience. The voice came from a tall, slim woman in a sparkling party frock, on her finger she wore an enormous ruby set into a ring and the rest of her outfit appeared to follow on from that key feature. Currently she was pointing the ring in the direction of Phoebe, Harvey and Frederick. The ruby was glowing with a dangerous red light.

"Party poopers must become the life and soul, because this is my day, my sweet sixteen and nobody is going to ruin it for me," the young woman said.

The last thing that Frederick remembered before being swallowed by the bright red light was Harvey, shifting to cat form and dodging past the woman. Then Frederick stopped worrying and wondered whether there were any prawns on the buffet. He liked prawns.

Frederick and Phoebe were in trouble, but they escaped from the House of Mirth and with them they brought James, Lester, the gnome and all their other friends. How they did it is a story for another time.

A Bad Night In Bridgetown

"Told you Patchwork Jack would show you the way," said the ghost urchin. "Course the business has changed but this is definitely the place the Rainbow Grease stall used to be."

Lester was almost relieved to see his former pitch occupied by another trader. He did not believe himself to be cut out for the life of a goblin merchant. He would never have  taken on the job if it hadn't been for the sales patter of that mysterious man in the top hat.

"Things seem interesting," said a voice behind him as he looked at the newly erected stall. A pest control service that stood upon the pitch where 'Neptune & Sons Rainbow Grease Emporium' had once plied its trade. "Even if they haven't worked out quite the way you planned."

Lester turned to see the grinning man in the top hat, his eyes just as vulpine as they were upon their last meeting. His teeth shone a dazzling white that made Lester giddy whenever he focused upon them.

"You," Lester said. "you told me that if I took on that stall then I would start on the journey to find my brother."

"Who says you haven't?" the man asked.

"Do you know this man?" James piped up from Lester's shoulder.

"Know me?" the man said. "Who really knows me, James Rummage?"

"My name," James said. "You know my name."

"You never told me you had a surname," Lester said. He was annoyed that James had not shared this with him but he couldn't exactly say why that should be.

"I had forgotten, until he said it," James explained. His amazement at the recovered memory appeared to render him incapable of being irritable for a moment.

"Destiny has big things in store, Lester and James," the man said. "Right now, in order to set you on the right path, I think you might need this."

The man reached into the folds of his greatcoat and pulled out a tiny metal dragon. The man flipped the beast over and moved a switch on its belly. The toy pulled itself back upright. It looked about as if surprised to be on a man's palm in the heart of the Patchwork Market and flexed its wings experimentally.

Appearing happy with its initial movements the dragon flicked its wings faster and took off into the air. It buzzed around the man's head before swooping over to land on Lester's right shoulder.

"There we go Master Topping," the man said. "I have brought a sense of balance. If not to your life, at least to your shoulders."

Lester turned his head to look at the tiny metal dragon. The dragon looked up at him with tiny, inquisitive eyes made out of turquoise beads. On his left shoulder James made a tiny, wet popping noise.

"What is it with all the dragons?" Lester asked. "And who are you anyw-"

As Lester raised his head to look in the direction of the man once more he could not help but notice that the man was no longer there.

"Where did he go?" Lester asked.

"I don't know," James said. "I sneezed, that made me blink, when I opened my eyes he'd gone."

"I'm beginning to think there's more to that man than first meets the eye," Lester said.

"Really, what was your first clue?" James asked.

"We've talked about this sarcasm issue before," Lester said.

"Yes, and the conclusion was that it was your problem, not mine," James replied. Lester was sure the insufferable rodent was smiling. A mouse's face, being what it was, James remained relatively inscrutable.

Lester could hear the mechanical dragon ticking gently on his shoulder. He turned his head and studied it again. The blank, turquoise eyes stared back.

"What do you supposed he gave me this for?" Lester asked.

"If the last couple of days have told me anything," James replied, "it is that all things become plain in their own time. Shall we see how everyone else is getting along?"

"Oh, yes, no problem," Lester said, focusing back upon the wider space around him. They headed through the crowds, towards the sign for "Riseandshine & Titsadaisy". As they approached the stall the sound of voices came floating out from the interior.

"They will have gone along the trade routes, and if they haven't then they'll probably be lost. Tabarnas only knows the trade routes," said an old, female voice, scratchy but strident. Lester didn't recognise it.

"Do you have a map of the trade routes?" Sir Cobb, Lester couldn't help a slight sneering twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"I think I do have one, but only one, in stock. Very detailed, no more than four decades old," the old woman said. "I could part with it for something in the region of a half crown."

"Would three florins be region enough," a female voice that made Lester's heart flutter in his chest, Phoebe.

Lester reached the flap at the entrance to the merchant's stall to see the vignette of trade laid out. Sir Cobb and Phoebe were stood on one side of a counter top looking up at a wizened old goblin woman. The goblin clutched a rolled up document in her hand. The princess was poking around in a pile of junk in the far corner, looking extremely bored.

"They forgot the first rule again," James said in Lester's ear. "Always keep two eyes on the princess."

Lester slid into the stall and crossed the space between Sir Cobb and Phoebe to stand behind Princess Anabyl. He cleared his throat. Princess Anabyl's head whipped round, her brow knitted, there was a dark expression on her face.

"Maybe we could try to find James's friend without causing any kind of an incident," Lester said quietly.

"Where's the fun in that?" the Princess asked darkly.

"Come on you three," said Phoebe's voice behind them, all business. "We've got to get the princess to the Master's Tower."

"Where's Rachel?" James asked, Lester identified a note of worry in his voice.

"Ah, well, about that," Sir Cobb said, looking sheepish.

"She's not here, is she?" James wailed. "Where's she gone?"

"As it happens," Phoebe explained, "to look for you."

"Don't worry," Sir Cobb said. "She's with Tabarnas, they'll stick to the trade routes."

"Lester," Phoebe asked, "What's that on your other shoulder?" It was a game attempt to divert the conversation away from James's separation anxiety

"It's a dragon, um, a mechanical one," Lester replied.

"Why have you got a tiny, mechanical dragon on your shoulder," Phoebe asked.

"Can I have a look?" the princess asked before anyone else could speak up. Although the words were organised like a question they sounded like a demand.

"Er, well, the man in the top hat gave me this," Lester said. "I think I might need it to find my brother."

"Really?" Phoebe asked. "A man in a top hat gave you a mechanical dragon and told you it would help you find your brother?"

"Well, not in so many words but..."

The dragon, possibly sensitive to being discussed started to whirr and click. Lester craned his neck round to see the little creature buzz up into the air of the tent, spiralling and wheeling.

"Oh, no!" Lester said. "Quick, catch it!"

"Any damage must be paid for!" the old woman behind the counter cried out. The dragon swooped past the decrepit goblin, nearly catching her nose and then shot out of the flap into the market place.

"After it!" Lester cried out and chased the dragon out into the crowds of the Patchwork Market.

Before they knew it all five of them were following the tiny sparkling sliver shape of the dragon as it buzzed over Master's Quarter. The dragon whizzed forward, above the heads of the jostling crowd. It appeared bent upon some unknown purpose, not caring at all about the small party attempting to follow on behind.

The dragon lead them across several bridges, through numerous plazas. It was always too fast for them to catch it but never fast enough to give them a slip. Before long they found themselves running over a broad crossing place. They were all heading towards a portcullis leading onto a strange, dark plaza.

The dragon flitted through a hole in the portcullis and was gone.

"Oh! Oh no!" Lester shouted. "What's going on? I don't understand any of this."

"Come on, old chap," Sir Cobb said coming to stand beside him. "We'll just knock on the door and ask if we can come in to look for our mechancal..."

The end of Sir Cobb's sentence was rendered incomprehensible. A mighty explosion shook the plaza and those surrounding it. Everyone looked in the direction of the portcullis.

"What the hell was that?" Phoebe asked, her voice sounded as if it was coming through a cotton wool blanket.

The princess was already heading for the portcullis a look of unholy glee on her face.

"Oh, no, seriously, not again," James said from Lester's shoulder.

"My life has become so much more complicated ever since I..." Lester was trying to remember when his life had not been so complicated but he drew a blank. He looked about for something that could be used to safely restrain a psychotic young noble. All he could really register in his survey was the cylinder of a top hat.

"Hey, you!" Lester called racing towards the owner of the top hat. "Your dragon! Is that what caused this explosion?"

"What dragon?" came back the response, not male, not smooth and also not the person who had given Lester the mechanical toy.

"Who are you?" Lester asked the pretty young woman in black pyjamas, wearing an incongruous top hat.

"I am Princess Lilith Butterstone," replied the young woman. "Who are you?"

"Another princess," James said. "Just what we needed."

The excitement on the plaza beyond the portcullis had not abated. There was the sound of a mighty roar of anger and then a cracking, splintering noise.

"That doesn't sound like fun," Sir Cobb said.

"My brother!" Princess Butterstone cried out. She raced past Lester in the direction of the portcullis. She didn't get all the way as Phoebe caught the young woman by the arm as she came past. "What are you doing," screamed the Princess. "Get off me!"

"If you want to stand a chance of rescuing your brother," Phoebe said. "You'll do exactly as I say. Right now I say stand back." Phoebe turned her attention to the other rogue princess in the area. "Anabyl," she said. "Come over here, right now."

"Are you going to do what I think you're going to do?" Anabyl asked, delighted.

"I don't know..." Phoebe said, raising her right arm as Anabyl drew in close. A huge ball of pink-red plasma blasted a hole in the portcullis. "Were you expecting that?"

"I think, to be honest," James said. "We were all expecting that."

The party ran up towards the hole. Sir Cobb ran through first, drawing his sword (which babbled away to its owner excitedly). He was followed by Princess Butterstone, Phoebe and Princess Anabyl. Lester and James brought up the rear, being of limited value in the midst of a battle.

"Lester, what do you think you're doing?" James asked as they stepped through the still smouldering hole in the gate.

Lester paused and peered through the smoke beyond the gate. he was in time to see a gigantic knight bring a gigantic piece of wood down on top of someone lying on the floor. Various other knights stood around the plaza, weapons drawn. Smoke billowed from a hatch on the far side of the square.

Some more plasma, light blue this time, incinerated the end of the wooden pole before it could crush the skull of the man on the ground.

"That's it!" Phoebe called. "I'm out until I've had a good meal, a nap and, if possible a hot bath."

"Raaaargh!" the giant knight roared at the intruders, furious beyond sense. "Grarrgh! Arrrgh!"

Sir Cobb was closest. He swung his silver sword at the knight's armoured arm. It did not look as if he was trying to kill the giant, just to pull his attention away from the man on the floor. The giant stepped out of the way of the swing and hit Sir Cobb full in the face with the heel of the opposite palm.

The blow picked Sir Cobb up off his feet. It sent him flying backwards across the plaza, arms flopping like a rag doll.

"Vaskorn!" Princess Butterworth called out to the knight. "Leave these people alone and face me!"

The giant knight, Vaskorn, turned to look at Princess Butterstone. The princess was holding two fighting daggers and looked as if she meant business. She had planted her feet wide and set her shoulders ready for combat. Lester felt his heart twitch the way it had the first time he'd seen Phoebe September.

Lester knew he was a nice boy, a hopeless romantic, and also prone to fickleness in his affections. It was probably a good job that none of the women who caught his eye even gave him a second glance.

Vaskorn's brow knit, the giant turned his huge body to face the little girl threatening him with two tiny little daggers. He threw back his head and bellowed with laughter.

"Oh... oh no," he shouted, his voice filled with mockery. "The little girl has come to defend her half-starved, deafened and confused brother. Not only that, she's brought with her a witch who's run out of magic and an idiot with a silver toothpick. Not to mention the girl even smaller than her, the carnival barker and the mouse. What am I supposed to do armed only with legendary strength and a personal guard of twenty highly armed mercenaries? Well? Any suggestions?"

A silence descended over the plaza.

"I'm a _talking_ mouse." shouted James. For once, everyone was listening.

The comment dropped into an even deeper, longer silence. Then Vaskorn threw back his head a second time and laughed some more. When the fit of hilarity had passed Vaskorn's face turned grim.

"Guards," he commanded. "Round up these prisoners."

"Prisoners no more!" cried a tiny voice from the gloom above the plaza. "Onwards! To freedom!"

Vaskorn looked up, unsure how to feel about strange voices issuing from the darkness. A gnome fell out of the sky, trailing rainbow colours behind it. It hit Vaskorn in the face, bouncing off the gigantic knight to land on the plaza floor a few feet distant. Before Vaskorn could react a second gnome fell out of the sky and a third, a fourth. There followed a tumultuous shower of tiny earth sprites. Many of these hit Vaskorn full in his dark expression of consternation and confusion.

Before too long a few hundred gnomes had completely buried the knight. They scrambled and scampered away from him to leave the red-faced and fuming knight beside himself with fury.

"Kill them!" he screamed. "Kill them all!"

"Nobody will be killing anybody in the Patchwork Market today!" called out a clear voice imbued with an undeniable natural authority. The voice came from right behind Lester's now dragonless right shoulder.

Lester turned to see a tall, richly dressed, bald man with coffee-coloured skin stride past him. Behind the man followed rank upon rank of guards dressed in black and grey uniforms. Lester recognised these as the Market Watch.

"Master Kalico," thundered Vaskorn, "you do not understand. These are trespassers upon my plaza! They have damaged my property, injured my men... they have brought with them... gnomes, look at all the gnomes."

"You think this gives you the right to bring murder to the plazas of the Patchwork Market, Vaskorn?" Master Kalico asked the knight. His gaze did not waver at Vaskorn's fury.

"I demand justice!" Vaskorn cried.

"Then you shall have market justice!" Kalico matched the knight's fury with quiet intensity. "If that does not suffice you are free to move on."

"What do you propose?" Vaskorn asked. It was clear the knight was barely holding on to his temper.

"These people must make reparation for the damage to your facilities. Until then they will be wards of the market," Kalico said. "That is all."

"That is nothing!" Vaskorn bellowed. "An insult."

"As I said," Kalico replied, swift as a snake. "If you do not like merchant's law then you are free to move on. I'm sure there are many benefits to taking a pitch in a lesser market place. Somewhere your business dealings will attract a higher degree of visibility than they do here."

"Do what you will," Sir Vaskorn said. "I will remember this."

"As will I, Sir Vaskorn," Master Kalico said. He turned his attention away from the knight at last. "Anyone who does not wish to remain a guest of Sir Vaskorn, report to a member of the Market Watch directly."

Lester did not need to be told twice, it was the keenest he'd ever been to be arrested for something. Before long all of the party assembled in a cell beneath the Master's Tower.

"Another day, another hellish mess of chaotic incident and accident," James remarked.

"And I'm no closer to finding my brother than I was before any of this began," Lester said.

"Well, I am no closer to being reunited with Rachel," James said.

"At least the princess rescued her brother," Lester noted. Prince and Princess Butterstone were conversing intensely in the opposite corner. "I like Princess Butterstone's hair," he added.

"Grow up," James sighed. "She's just another one who would rip out your heart and use it for tennis practice."

"What's tennis?" Lester asked the odd little mouse.

The question was never answered. The door to the cell opened and in came Princess Anabyl. Following her was a man bearing the world weary expression of one who had dealt with the little tearaway many times before.

"Good news, everyone!" the princess announced. "The kingdom of Spireshine will pay for all the repairs to the mean knight's plaza. We're all free to go!"

The gnomes, in particular, found this news to be most exciting. A cheer went up. As the vast bulk of the gnomes fell to dancing and singing one detached from the rest and sidled over to where Lester was sat.

"So where's the girl?" the gnome asked James.

"You should know, it was your stupid wish magic that landed us in this mess in the first place," James said.

"Yes," the gnome said. "It was. While I was in that mine where my gnomish brothers were enslaved I found this. I thought I should probably bring it back with me."

The gnome opened his shirt and pulled out a face mask that was far too big for the tiny man's face. He held it out and Lester took it. The mask depicted a delicate female clown face. The mask was white. The eyes were picked out in delicate black triangles, red lips and small winding curls of hair around the brow and cheeks.

"What's this?" Lester asked.

"Turn it over, so James can see," the gnome said.

Lester turned the mask over. Inside the mask was written: "COLUMBINA: Property of Rebecca Rummage"

"Nice try," Lester said. "But the little girl's name is Rachel, not Rebecca."

"Rebecca is my wife," James said, his voice distant.

"Really?" Lester said. "This mask belongs to your wife?"

"So it would seem," James said.

"Let me guess," Lester said. "You don't remember anything."

"No," James said, his voice small but steady. "But I intend to find out."

And indeed he did, but not until he was reunited with Rachel. She, in her turn, had many adventures with her new friends Tabarnas, Eos and Micras upon the merchant roads. Indeed James, Lester, Sir Cobb, and Phoebe all had adventures of their own upon the way to reunite James and Rachel. Saeed went upon his own way within the market continuing to search for the soul of his mother. These are all stories that I will share with you, but for now the hour is late, so I must tell them to you another time.

END OF BOOK ONE

How Cressidia Ended Up Watching The Shop

...even as small as he was Sir Cobb used the potion of strength to lift the book of spells above his head and cast it into the fire. Perdita Baleclaw howled with pain and anguish to see the source of her power consumed in flames but it was too late.

Along with her power the wicked sorceress lost her pleasant appearance. The weight of the years she had cheated withered her in an instant. Within a few moments all that was left of Perdita Baleclaw was the impervious ice of her blackened crystal heart.

Already feeling the strength begin to ebb from his tired, aching muscles, Sir Cobb raced to the frozen heart. He scooped it up from the nest of ashes, the witch's remains. The heart was so cold that it burned his hands, turning his fingertips blue. Sir Cobb ignored the discomfort. The young knight carried the prize to his mentor and companion.

Avan Weatherstrong's skin burned red, the sweat that would have cooled his body was turning to steam. Sir Cobb was afraid that it was already too late. Using the magical resizing mirror he inverted the lens and attained his full size once more.

Without time for decorum Sir Cobb pressed the frozen heart hard against the prince's cheek. The cold of the heart was all that could fight the infernal poison in Avan's veins. His strength failing fast Frederick pressed the heart to his friend's skin. He kept it there until Avan could reach up and grasp the crystal for himself...

"You look annoyed," Rachel said, "and puzzled. Yes, definitely, puzzled... and annoyed. Is everything alright?"

Tabarnas broke his attention away from his reading book.  Rachel had entered the little study nook he had made for himself. He had built it in the model throne room, deep inside the replica of Caer Frogfellow. If just about anyone else had interrupted him he would have found himself seriously irritated. As it stood he was, in fact, just annoyed, but not with her, and it was true he was puzzled.

In Tabarnas's life there had never been anyone with whom he could share the magic of stories on a regular basis. Not until Rachel had come along. He told as many tales as he could for a coin in the market but he was a goblin merchant, not a showman. These encounters were singular and often more of a free gift than a matter of trade.

On the rare occasion that Tabarnas could sneak away he would visit the Circus Quarter. There he would pay to hear more stories, or old stories told with flair, by the professionals. The story tellers plied their trade amongst the coloured tents of the market's most frivolous area. He had a special place in his heart for such theatrics. Even so, Tabarnas much preferred to read a story from a leather-bound volume. This made him feel as if he somehow 'owned' the story.

Books were rare in Faerie. Most of the folk could read a notice, a proclamation or a road sign, but they lacked the  powers of concentration to read a whole story. This is one of the reasons why Tabarnas was particularly keen on the tales of Avan Weatherstrong. The Prince who had become the first Lord Sommerslip had defeated the evil ogre Urbegor. He founded the Faerie Archive over the remains of the ogre's tower.

The Faerie Archive was the one place in Faerie dedicated to the preservation and promotion of the written word. Avan Weatherstrong was more than a brave and handsome prince to Tabarnas, he was a role model and a hero.

Goblin merchants, by and large, did not really subscribe to notions of heroism. Nor did the have role models, except insofar as having them helped to get product into the hands of paying customers. Tabarnas was not a usual goblin merchant. Sometimes he suspected that he could be some kind of a reverse changeling. Maybe his true goblin merchant parents brought him up as a true goblin merchant but always to nurse a secret shame.

Tabarnas had made peace with his story habit long ago, he loved his stories without shame. He still kept out of Cressidia's way when he was reading. She found the whole business distasteful and upsetting.

Today Tabarnas may have had an inkling what that felt like. While thumbing through one of his favourite story books he had seen something new and different. He didn't know what it meant and he didn't like it.

"The stories," Tabarnas said. "They've changed."

"What do you mean, silly?" Rachel asked sitting down on a model chair set off to the side of the throne room.

"I've read all twelve volumes of the Tales of Avan Weatherstronge," Tabarnas explained. "I have read them more than once. I am currently reading about his exploits in volume four. That's the one with the tale of Seditas Wolfjaw, the evil sorcerer who enslaved the land of Frogfellow, you remember? This is a scale replica of the castle."

"I remember that you said there _was_ a story," Rachel replied. "You didn't tell the story because I didn't want to hear it, and I still don't."

"Well, fine," Tabarnas said. "Because I remember exactly what happened last time I read it and it's not what happened this time."

"I don't understand," Rachel said.

"Neither do I!" Tabarnas wailed. "There's a whole section of the chronicle that's completely different. In the tale of 'How Avan Weatherstrong Defeated Seditas Wolfjaw' a young knight falls out of nowhere. He just appears above the fountain in the courtyard, accompanied by a gnome, no less.

"They team up to defeat the sorcerer. This is an incident that never took place in the original. Then they go on to have several adventures together. This is all in the service of returning the young knight to his home destination.

"These adventures are sometimes completely original. At other times they're ones I recognise but they resolve very differently. like this one: 'How Avan Weatherstrong Vanguished Perdita Baleclaw'. Avan Weatherstrong always uses the sorceress's frozen crystal heart to cure the infernal poison. He didn't have help before, he never needed help. The last time I read it he used a potion of invisibility. With his last few breaths he managed to cast the Book of Spells into the fire, only able to stand with the help of his sword."

"Maybe you just remembered wrong," Rachel said.

"I have read all the Tales of Avan Weatherstronge! At least twenty times apiece, I'll have you know," Tabarnas snapped. "These stories are different, it's upsetting."

"It's upsetting," said Rachel, "that you don't know why. Maybe you should ask the person who wrote them about it. Maybe they're supposed to refresh themselves from time to time. It could be magic."

"I should..." Tabarnas couldn't speak, it was as if Rachel had set off a firework inside his mind. The thought of meeting the author of his favourite twelve volume chivalric epic had never before occurred to him. The thought that his books could be magic had not occurred to him. There were about a dozen other things about Rachel's suggestion that had not occurred to him. If he were going to sit and think about them now then he would have no room left in his head to make his mouth work.

The bloom of hope and excitement at the unexpected prospect of a quest burst into colourful life within his mind. So Tabarnas dutifully took a mental hobnail boot and crushed it back down again.

"Impossible," he said. "I have to stay here and help mind the stall."

"So," Rachel said. "You've never left Bridgetown? You've never left the Master's Island?"

"Well, when we were younger, of course," Tabarnas said. "Cressie and I would go for a trip along the trade roads. We would move some stock we didn't find so useful, receive some stock that we knew would find a profit back home. We used to take a year out of every ten. Of course that was before we got this pitch on the Master's Island. We're only seventy paces from Kalico's door here. We can't give that up. Besides, Cressie never liked travelling, she said it gave her the vapours."

"How did you feel?" Rachel asked. "And what are vapours?"

"I don't know what vapours are," Tabarnas said. He didn't want to answer the other question. He knew that if he told Rachel that he loved travelling, meeting people and having adventures he would never hear the end of it.

"So you liked the travelling then," Rachel said. This was the girl's problem, she was far too sharp for her own good.

"Well, it doesn't matter if I did or if I didn't. We're not giving up a pitch under a hundred paces from Kalico's door at our age," Tabarnas snapped. "Besides Cressie wouldn't want to go travelling at her age. The vapours would plague worse than ever."

"Well, she could always stay here and mind the pitch," Rachel shrugged. "That way everyone gets something they want."

"Don't be ridiculous," Tabarnas said. "Cressie and I are business partners, that's the closest and strongest bond two goblin traders can share."

"Yet, in the couple of days I've been here I've never seen you spend more than five minutes in one another's company," Rachel said. "You both take advantage of the vast amount of space available in your stacks."

"I don't know what you mean," Tabarnas said. There was a small spark of exuberant joyful hope kindling in his chest. Tabarnas had become used to the idea that anything nice that happened to him was an accident, not deliberate. He had become used to a world in which no one cared what Tabarnas Riseandshine wanted, they all only cared about themselves.

At that thought a filthy, slimy morsel of bad faith dropped out of the upper shadows of Tabarnas's mind.  Despite the misanthropic nature of the thought he couldn't help but believe in its truth.

"What do you care anyway?" he asked Rachel, warming to his bad mood. "Why should it make any difference to you whether I take the trader's wagon along the routes one more time? Why do you want me to be happy?" He peered over the top of his reading spectacles into Rachel's innocent, brown eyes. "What do you get out of it?" he asked grimly.

"Well," Rachel said, looking down at the floor and chewing on her bottom lip. Tabarnas was right, she did want something. In that moment Tabarnas learnedthat being right did not necessarily equate to being happy about the fact. "I did come to see you about Eos. I was talking to her. She's been trapped in that tank now for about six months, she's rather claustrophobic. So I was wondering when it was you were going to release her, and how you were going to manage it. So, if we were to go on a trip..."

"...Then you could set the fish girl free in the ocean along the way," Tabarnas said. He tried to project a tone of  moral superiority. One appropriate catching someone who was up to something. As it turned out she was 'up to' trying to help out a claustrophobic mermaid he felt his moral indignation lacked a certain punch.

"Also," Rachel said. "I would like to see if I could find James. I'm worried about him."

"Oho!" Tabarnas crowed, playing the triumph for all it was worth. "So you don't want to come with me on a trade journey that would also cast light onto my misbehaving story books? You just want to put cod lips back in the ocean and find your little mouse. You thought that you could sucker me into taking you along on that ride, did you?"

"Well, you said you liked to travel," Rachel said, there was a quaver in her voice and it had become breathy. Tabarnas was wrestling with an odd dizzy feeling. He also had a sensation like someone had punched him in the gut with a fist full of feathers. "I just thought... if everybody had a job to do... and I can't help it... James is... James is my dearest friend... I lay awake last night because I couldn't sleep... because... what if... I mean... he's just a mouse and..."

The jumble of thought and emotion overwhelmed Rachel, she sat on the chair and dissolved into great heaving sobs.

Tabarnas rifled through his extensive memories for instructions on what to do when you had been a blustering idiot. An idiot who had moved an innocent little girl to tears. He found that someone must have borrowed these instructions and not returned them. All he could do was stand still, helpless, allowing his shoulders to sink and his chest to deflate. He had not been defeated but he had lost.

"Good going, foolish flim flammer," said Micras flying in at the window. "What's your follow up trick? Liberating sweetmeats from a baby's crib."

"I didn't know she was going to cry," Tabarnas snapped waspishly.

"What did he say?" Micras asked Rachel as he flapped down to perch on the top of the throne. "What's all this hoo-hah about?"

"I'm sorry," Rachel said. "I didn't mean to cry. I miss James. I'm sorry."

"So," Micras said, "you're bullying sad little girls who have lost their closest friends. How is that good for business?"

"It's not," Tabarnas admitted, sitting down on the edge of the dais under the throne. "I was trying to work out why she would be suggesting that I take the trader's wagon out of storage and go on a merchant's trail. She said we could stop off at the Faerie Archive on the way to ask why my favourite stories are misbehaving."

"Do you not want to do that?" Micras asked.

"Well, I... well, of course I do," Tabarnas said shocked into honesty by the direct question. "It sounds like a very pleasant idea. I have always wanted to visit the archive."

"So why did you think it would be a good idea to make Rachel cry over suggesting it?" Micras asked.

"Uh, I didn't. I mean I didn't mean to, I mean... look, we'll go and find the wagon, we'll hitch up the mermaid's tank, we'll look for James, we'll do it. Cressie can stay behind and mind the pitch. I'm sure she'd be pleased of the peace, anyhow."

"You will? We will?" Rachel said, still a bit sniffly but now, at least, smiling.

"As the owl pointed out," Tabarnas said. "It would be foolish not to."

"You have something else to say," Micras said to Tabarnas. "Before we leave this place."

"I do?" Tabarnas said. He thought he'd covered everything, "What's that?"

"Don't you think that for acting like such a foolish buffoon you should apologise?" Micras asked.

All eyes were on Tabarnas, and although that was only four eyes in total it still felt like rather a lot. Tabarnas felt some sort of colour, likely a sickly beetroot, making his cheeks glow.

"Uh, but, goblin traders, they, um, don't..." he said.

"As I understand matters," Micras said sternly, "goblin traders don't read storybooks. You've had no problem doing that."

"Oh," Tabarnas said. "Well, in that case, I'm very sorrugh."

"Not to me," Micras said, "to the little girl you made cry, and don't mumble the important word."

"Um, right," Tabarnas said. Feeling about as awkward as he'd ever felt in his entire life he turned to Rachel. "I'm very sorreh," he said, not quite being able to get the final 'y' to come out straight, "that I made you cry."

"Apology accepted," Rachel said happily. "Now, are we going to find the trader's wagon?"

On the long walk from Mini Caer Frogfellow to the garage, deep in the stacks, Tabarnas had a chance to reflect upon what had just happened. In his long life Tabarnas had never made anyone cry before, at least not about any matter that wasn't purely financial. Tabarnas had never felt guilt before. He had never found himself with a need to apologise before. Since he had signed the partnership contract he had never considered leaving his partner's side.

Now he got the novelty of not knowing how he felt about that. Cressidia and he had never been what someone might describe as close. Despite this they had bailed each other out of trouble on more than one occasion, as business partners should. If Tabarnas was to be honest he had probably had more requirement for bailing out than Cressie. Even so, she had never tried to have the contract broken. In goblin merchant terms this was a clear indication that she must be fond of him. He knew in his heart that he was not the world's most efficient and value-driven partner.

All this had started when he met Rachel. Had he known what telling her that story would lead to he might have kept his mouth shut. Then again, maybe he was having fun. It was either fun or a peculiar sort of indigestion.

In one short day at the market he had rescued a mermaid, lost a mouse, given shelter to a lost little girl and rehomed an owl. That was to say nothing of the incident yesterday evening with the acrobatic street thief. He hadn't actually seen any of that. They did say that one day in the Patchwork Market was enough to turn your world on its head. Usually that applied to the customers, not to the merchants.

Hadn't Rachel mentioned a gnome? And a wish? Gnomes, generally speaking, did not grant wishes. If a gnome was granting a wish that meant that it was a new gnome. If it was a new gnome then it was likely to be out of control, spewing mischief into the world. It was clear to Tabarnas that he was a victim of such mischief right now.

As he found the entrance to the garage, covered over with a large sheet of tarpaulin. He gripped the edge firmly and  lifted the canvas to one side. He would have liked to whip the cover away with a dramatic flourish but feared that he may dislocate his shoulder doing so.

Underneath the canvas a pair of battered wooden doors leaned against a pile of crates at an angle. Rachel poked her head between the edge of the door and the next stack to look at the gap of the angle. Tabarnas could see her puzzled expression by peering down the other side. His face was hurting, he realised that's because he was smiling.

"I don't understand," Rachel said. "What are these doors for?"

"An alchemist of Almanreik once had an idea for a magical barn," Tabarnas explained. "You put the space into a special pocket in the ether anchored to a doorframe. Then attach some lockable doors and, hey presto, instant storage space. The only problem was that they were quite pricey. The process for attaching a barn sized space to a set of doors was very complex and took a lot of time. This is one of only maybe five hundred ever made. Look."

Tabarnas moved around to the front of the garage. He fished the key from the appropriate pocket in his waistcoat to unlock the doors. The doors swung back to reveal the space beyond.

Rachel's mouth described the expected little 'o' as she beheld the gigantic space.  She marvelled at this tiny pocket dimension stowed away behind the door jamb. A smell of dust and aging (although well-preserved) metals wafted out from the gigantic space. The doors were tilted at an angle but the floor of the barn was perfectly straight. From inside the doors appeared to be upright, even though they weren't. Alchemists were tricky fellows for certain.

"Go on," Tabarnas said, "take a look around."

Rachel took a few steps into the barn, looking up and around, her eyes like saucers. She approached the large shape in the centre of the space, also covered by a sheet of canvas.

"Is this-?" she didn't finish the question. Tabarnas guessed that she was still trying to fit the space beyond the doors into her mind. That could easily occupy parts of the brain usually reserved for asking questions.

"The Trader's Wagon," Tabarnas nodded. "I'll have to find a couple of golems to help me move the doors but I think it should all be in fine fettle."

"So we're really going?" Rachel asked. "We're going to find James? And we're going to take Eos home?"

"And we're definitely stopping off in Sommerslip, yes. I shall ask questions about my story book," Tabarnas said. "Although obviously, we have to clear it with Cressie first."

As it turned out clearing things with Cressida was not as hard a job as Tabarnas had believed that it might be. Tabarnas had never broached the idea of going off somewhere by himself. He'd always believed that Cressie would not stand for it.

As it happened Cressida's business sense totally overrode any sentimentality in her character. As soon as she understood what it was Tabarnas was flapping about she  immediately produced a list she had made. A list of stock that she believed needed to be taken away for any chance of a sale.

She set eight clay golems about retrieving the stock to place on the wagon. Then she located two more iron golems to move the doors into the yard between the pitches. By late afternoon the wagon was loaded with stock for the road, so there was only one problem remaining.

"Where are we going to sleep?" asked Rachel, looking into the stuffed interior of the covered caravan.

It was true that Cressida may have underestimated the amount of stock that she had earmarked for the travelling stall. There was barely room for Rachel to stand in the wagon, let alone for her and Tabarnas to find somewhere to sleep.

"Oh, yes," Tabarnas said. "That is a problem. We may have to leave some things behind."

"Ridiculous," Cressida snapped. "I thought you wanted to take your silly books with you."

"Of course," Tabarnas replied. "That's one of the reasons we're going."

"Well, you keep them all in that magic doll's house thing, the castle. Why don't you sleep in there?"

"Oh yes!" Rachel said. "That would work. Besides, I'd love to sleep in a castle, even a toy one."

"But... thieves," Tabarnas said. "How will we guard the stock if we're miniaturised inside a toy castle?"

"You don't think I'm looking to a little girl and a foolish old goblin to protect our stock on the road are you?" Cressida asked, desbelief ringing in her voice.

"Well, I..." Tabarnas said.

"No, don't even bother talking!" Cressida said sharply. "You know listening to idiocy gives me earache. Of course you'll take Ferris and Gerda, they can stay in the castle by day and watch the wagon at night."

"But what if you need help here in the market?" Tabarnas asked.

"We have eight stone golems," Cressie shrugged. "And we're in the Master's Quarter. That means that we're surrounded by the Master's Watch. If we're honest Ferris and Gerda have been more ornamentation than security since we got this pitch."

Tabarnas had to agree. He closed the door on the back of the wagon and climbed up onto the front of the wagon.

"Um, Tabarnas, what about horses?" Rachel asked. "How are we going to go anywhere without horses."

"Horses are expensive to keep, girl," Tabarnas replied. "The trader's wagon cost Cressie and I a great deal but we don't have to pay for feed, watch."

Tabarnas picked up the reins and flicked his wrist. From the front of the cart sprang two wooden shafts. From each of these sprang a startling profusion of metal plates, all attached to hinges, levers and axles. As the wagon's steed assembled itself in front of Cressida and Rachel there was a loud noise. It sounded like someone rattling a dozen cutlery drawers whilst someone else was banging a hammer against a sheet of metal.

After just a few seconds a gigantic, colourful metal horse stood in front of the trader's wagon. Tabarnas flicked the reins a second time and the mechanical horse pulled the wagon out of the storage barn to stand in the yard. The wagon complained a little as it began to move, probably because the golems had loaded it up from roof to rafters. The time the wagon had spent in the barn can't have done it too much harm. As tje cart started off it creaked and complained. By the time the steed had brought it into the yard it appeared to have settled on its axles.

"Come on then," Tabarnas said to Rachel as Ferris and Gerda started moving Eos's tank around to hook it onto the back of the wagon. "Hop up and we'll be off to find adventure."

"And to make us a good deal of profit," Cressidia said her tone still sharp.

"Of course, dear, of course," Tabarnas said a smile painted from ear to ear. And they did both, but those are all stories for another time.

In Which Saeed Impresses The Master Of The Market

The sound of horse's hooves rang against the stone of this desolate market hall and a gigantic black horse came riding out of the mist. Sat upon the back of the horse was a knight in black armour, an enormous dark sword sheathed at his waist.

It is a very good thing, thought Saeed as he followed Joshua across the bridge, that I am not afraid of high places.

High places are one of the natural habitats of the souk thief, so Saeed had spent many years climbing, clinging and hopping. Sometimes standing in wide open spaces made Saeed feel a little giddy. He was at home in places where toeholds were plenty and vertical surfaces begged to be scaled. Even given his history Saeed found the bridge that spanned the Bloodvane Gorge caused a touch of vertigo. The mighty structure was the nearest point to Joshua's home where one could find passage to Bridgetown.

Joshua had assured Saeed that any quest worth undertaking should pass through Bridgetown. Saeed had never heard of the Patchwork Market but he had not travelled far from the souk in Afsana during his brief life. The only stories that Saeed had ever heard were the old ones from the storytellers who eked out a meagre living in the corners of the bazaar.

Of course Saeed knew that there were lands beyond Araby. There were stories of invaders, after all, and invaders had to come from somewhere. The home of the invaders was rarely discussed in such tales. Invaders spoke strange tongues, wore strange clothes, wielded strange weapons. In every story invaders were represented, overall, as, well, strange.

Saeed knew full well that men would sometimes present themselves as heroes to the world. All the while they would steal, cheat and murder. He also knew that men of noble heart could find themselves exiled by insults and baseless accusations. Saeed was a street rat, people did not mind their tongue around a rodent.

Saeed had seen the hypocrisy of the men of Araby, he did not believe that men in any other land would be different. Some men were noble, like Joshua, some were evil, most were a mixture of both.

The Bloodvane gorge was a huge gap in the land about a day's foot journey from Joshua's home. They had come to the bridge on horseback, setting out early in the morning. Saeed sat behind Joshua as the horse cantered along the road out of Bloodvane.

By noon they had arrived at an inn built a short distance from the end of the bridge. Joshua had paid to leave his horse in the inn stable and they had set out on their journey to the market.

The bridge was thin, about wide enough for three men to stand shoulder to shoulder. It construction consisted of huge columns and ropes suspended over the bottomless span of the gorge.

Looking back as they passed into the mists, Saeed saw many waterfalls spewing water down the rocky walls of the gorge. Lush vegetation sprouted on shelves of rock here and there. Saeed even believed he could see animals leaping from shelf to shelf, living their lives on the hard surface. One day, Saeed thought, I would like to see what lies at the bottom of the gorge, if it has a bottom.

The mists which cloaked the centre of the bridge from view drifted upwards from the floor miles below. Rainbow lights wheeled and spun within the clouds of water mist. The air within the mist cloud was cool and smelled of fresh vegetation.

For a short distance Joshua and Saeed were surrounded by the white mist and coloured sparkles. As the rainbow mist receded the far end of the bridge became visible. The day on the other side of the bridge was neither as bright nor as warm as on the Bloodvane side. The mist appeared to congeal into flat, grey clouds. A covered area lay at the far end of the bridge. Underneath the canopy were sights Saeed felt were more familiar to his eyes.

There were the sounds of calling traders, the scent of spices and roasting food. Underneath it all rose the unmistakeable stink of many unwashed bodies crammed into too little space. The Bridgetown Market was a grand bazaar. Saeed's skin prickled with homesickness as they stepped down off the bridge onto the stone floor of the market hall.

No sooner had they set foot within the limits of Bridgetown than a small boy with a dirty face accosted the pair.

"Penny for a guide, squire?" the boy addressed Joshua, not appearing to notice Saeed at all.

"Not today," Joshua said to the boy.

"Are you sure sir?" the boy persisted. "I can show you parts of the market no one else even knows exist. I'm one of the oldest guides here. Don't be fooled by my appearance, there's, uh, more to me than meets the eye."

The boy stuck his hand out towards the enormous stone column that held up one side of the bridge. His hand passed into the rock and then out.

"See, sir," the boy said. "Few people have the opportunity to retain the services of a ghost guide."

Joshua turned his attention to the boy now, his brow furrowing. "Why do you beg for pennies?" Joshua asked him. "What does a ghost need with money?"

"I'll tell you for a Grand Age gold piece, squire," the boy said with a cheeky smirk. "Finding something in the market, that's just a penny."

"Suit yourself," Joshua said, clearly irritated at the ghost's reticence. "I have no need of a guide today, however, you can have this penny to take my young companion where he needs to go." Joshua produced a small, brown coin, plucking it with great precision from thin air. "Do we have a deal?"

"Indeed we do, squire," the ghost boy said holding out his right hand. "Just drop it here."

Joshua dropped the penny toward the ghost's hand. As it hit the boy's outstretched palm there was a spark of white light. Accompanying the flash was a sound like a small coin dropping into a jar of other small coins. The boy smiled.

"Patchwork Jack will be happy to guide your friend wherever he needs to go, have a good day, squire," the ghost said.

Joshua turned to Saeed.

"I don't need to warn you that some people in the market are not as honest as they would have you believe, do I?" he asked.

"Oh no, Mister Joshua," Saeed replied. "I have much experience of these things."

"Well, then," Joshua said. "It looks like it is time for us to part ways. I must thank you again for your earlier assistance and would wish you every success in locating your mother."

"Many thanks, Mister Joshua," Saeed replied. "Let us hope that I will have the opportunity to complete my journey an honest man. I will steal to make my way, for that is my nature, but I will not enjoy being forced to do so."

"I would be especially careful of stealing in Bridgetown," Joshua warned him. "This is the biggest market, well, anywhere. They have harsh penalties for those caught interfering with trade."

"I understand Mister Joshua," Saeed said. "I will do my best to honour my mother and remain clear of acts that would bring me to shame."

With that, the saturnine man who had offered Saeed such help and generosity disappeared into the market crowds. Saeed was left in the company of his phantom guide.

"So, where to, squire?" Patchwork Jack asked.

No one Saeed knew from the souk would entertain the idea of trafficking with the spirit of a dead person. The superstitions were clear, the spirits of the dead were ill omens, cursed. To even acknowledge them was said to place one in danger. If Saeed knew one thing it was that stories and superstitions were often ignorant lies. He would make up his own mind on the matter, and what better way than to allow this spirit to guide him onwards?

"I am not entirely certain," Saeed told the ghost. "I am on a journey to find the spirit of my mother so that I may beg her forgiveness for lying to her while she was alive. Joshua brought me to Bridgetown to begin my search. He told me that this is a place where many threads of the great weave cross in ways they would not elsewhere. Is there anywhere that you could take me that could help me with this quest."

"I can think of one place," Patchwork Jack said. "I don't think you'll want to go there, though."

"What I want is not important," Saeed replied. "You must take me to this place."

"Well, just remember," Patchwork Jack said. "You asked. Follow me."

The ghost turned and lead Saeed through the maze of stalls that made up the market. They passed among the nest of coloured canvas awnings that marked out stalls. Traders sold all manner of goods, from oil lamps to easels, from pumpkins to bonsai trees.

Before long they came to another bridge. This bridge was much shorter than the one from Bloodvane, only a street length across. It was also much wider, wide enough to allow a horse and cart to cross it with space to spare on either side.

Saeed and Jack crossed from the first part of the market to the second. In this second area there were even more stalls. Here were sold books, glass flasks, stout wooden staffs and items of gaudy jewellery. Further along were other places selling powders and coloured liquids out of jars. The various substances piled high on dangerously tall sets of wooden shelves.

As Saeed passed the stalls the traders watched him go with suspicious eyes. It appeared that even in this place, a merchant had a nose for a thief. These merchants were not dressed like those in souk, and many of them were paler of skin and were relatively clean shaven. They still had a pinch of the brow and a twitchiness of manner that marked them out as tradesmen.

"Don't mind the goblin traders," Patchwork Jack said. "They can smell a pauper by the absence of gold in their pockets. Poor people in the market offend them. The way they see it you're occupying space that could be better used by a paying customer."

"I am familiar with that attitude," Saeed said. "I have lived most of my life in a place such as this."

"Oh, I doubt that you have," Patchwork Jack responded with a cheeky grin. "I very much doubt that indeed."

With that the ghost took a sharp right between two more stalls and lead Saeed across yet another bridge. This one was clearly a footbridge with metal railings coming up to the top of Saeed's head. It was only wide enough for one person to cross comfortably at once. Saeed peered through the railings to see down to what was below the market. The floor was invisible, cloaked by the same thick, rainbow sparkling mist that had covered the end of the gorge bridge.

"There's no below in Bridgetown," Patchwork Jack grinned. There are cellars, that's where the merchants live and sleep. But there's no streets, not real ones, on this side of the crossway, anyhow."

"Crossway?" Saeed asked, he had not heard the phrase before.

"Crossway," Patchwork Jack repeated. "To the world of men. Bridgetown here is a candlestreet, a town that maps onto many gateways to the mortal realm. The Patchwork Market is tied to a human city. Sometimes people wander across, that's always good for a laugh. Most of the market is upstairs and mortals live all their life on the ground, they hardly ever look up. Probably for the best, most mortals are very stupid, they never like it here, it confuses them."

Across the next bridge were more stalls, these ones smelled strongly of exotic foodstuffs. The stalls were laden with smoked meats, produce, vegetables, sweets, savouries, pickles and spices.

"How many of these little bazaars are there?" Saeed asked. He had thought that Bridgetown would be like his home in Afsana but the further they walked the larger this place appeared to become.

"Nobody knows for certain," Patchwork Jack said. "Not even me. Probably the Master of the Market knows, after all he is, well, the Master. He wouldn't tell anyone though. I know, I tried asking him once, the answer I got was very rude and not even slightly informative."

"Oh, I see," Saeed said, bewildered.

The pair carried on across many islands, connected by bridges, each one crammed with market stalls. Somewhere in the teens Saeed lost count of how many bridges he'd crossed. The Patchwork Market was too full of sound and smell, life, heat, fascinating and colourful displays. Saeed was used to the souk at Afsana and even he found this place confusing.

By the time they reached their destination a storm had begun. Rain drummed upon the roof of every market place. Saeed had to hurry across the open bridges to save from becoming completely soaked. Eventually they reached a quiet market where there were not so many stalls. Most pitches were occupied by coloured tents promising a variety of esoteric services. They offered such oddments as fortune telling and maps of geographically non-specific areas.

At the back of this island a spiral staircase wound downwards into the basement area. Patchwork Jack and Saeed descended the staircase. They crossed another old metal bridge onto a small empty square market island surrounded by the rainbow mists. In the distance great, slow-drifting, clouds sank and spun in what looked like shafts of moonlight. Saeed thought he could make out the shape of a bridge wreathed in the thick mists.

The sound of horse's hooves rang against the stone of this desolate market hall and a gigantic black horse came riding out of the mist. Sat upon the back of the horse was a knight in black armour, an enormous dark sword sheathed at his waist.

"Halt strangers!" called out the knight. "Give account of yourselves now to the Keeper of the Way and I shall set the price for passage upon the Turnaround Bridge."

"Don't be scared," Patchwork Jack said. "It's just his manner. All I would say is that you should not try to cross the bridge without paying his price."

"What is the price?" Saeed asked.

"Ah, well, that's always the tricky part," Patchwork Jack said. "You'd better make your case, then you'll find out what's what."

"I don't understand," Saeed said.

"Price is different for everyone. Tell him where you want to go and he will set you the price for passage. It's old magic, very old."

Saeed nodded, understanding at last. He turned to face the Keeper of the Way and, before he spoke, he gave a little bow.

"Please, Great Keeper," he said. "I wish to go to a place where I may find the spirit of my mother. I brought great shame to our family while she was alive, greater still because I lied and kept it from her. I seek a way to redeem myself now. I understand that you may give me passage to such a place."

"Ay," the Keeper rumbled. "That I may, Saeed Ibn Abihi, wanderer from the souk at Afsana. You have already journied far and I can tell you that your road will not be straight or easy. To take this step you must bring me the Seal of Kalico, then you may set foot upon the Turnaround Bridge. That is the price, the Keeper has spoken."

"Ouch," Patchwork Jack said. "That's not going to be easy."

"I do not understand this price," Saeed said to Jack. "What is the Seal of Kalico?"

"You remember I mentioned the Master of the Market?" Jack said. "That's Kalico. His seal gives a man freedom of the Patchwork Market. He doesn't just hand them out to anyone. You have to provide him with a great service."

"Then I will have to go to see this Kalico," Saeed said. "I will have to get the seal no matter what the cost."

"Alright," Jack said. "It's stretching the value of a single penny but I'll take you to the Master's Quarter, after that, you're on your own."

Patchwork Jack lead Saeed back up the spiral staircase and across several more bridges. Eventually, they came to a place where the market stalls were bigger. Here the barkers selling goods were louder and wittier. The installation of these stalls looked to be more permanent than those at the edges. This was the Master's Quarter. Patchwork Jack explained that merchants here paid the highest fees. In return they occupied the most lucrative pitches anywhere in the whole of Faerie.

Patchwork Jack displayed evident pride in the place he called home. As he did so Saeed admired the grandeur of the Master's Quarter. A troupe of masked jugglers putting on a show in a small square captured his attention. They were the kind of jugglers who eschewed regular balls and clubs. Instead they proved their skill at more dangerous displays, with lit torches, swords and axes.

As Saeed looked at the showmen throwing their blades back and forth he saw that one of the troupe was sneaking into the crowd. The set of his shoulders and the way he turned his head, looking to see if anyone was following him, marked the man out as a thief. Saeed had seen hundreds of such rogues in Araby. Catching a thief would surely impress the Master of the Market.

"Friend Jack," Saeed said to the prattling ghost. "I think I have spotted an opportunity to gain Kalico's favour and I must go my way alone. Thank you for your assistance today, I hope that one day we should cross paths again."

Patchwork Jack stopped talking and turned his head to look at Saeed but the Afsana street rat had already gone. The young thief had pulled himself up onto the canvas of the nearest stall. He was even now hopping up to grab a ceiling beam crossing the high roof of the Master's Quarter.

Skipping from beam to beam Saeed watched the masked juggler slip through the crowd. The masked performer looked like some predatory fish wrapped in black silk. The thief had skills but Saeed took the advantage in height and speed, he was confident that he was not observed.

The juggler was not dipping his hands into the pockets of people he passed. This lit a spark of concern in Saeed's breast. If this rogue were not about the business of theft then he must be up to some other kind of mischief. The juggler slipped between two large stalls into a space marked out by the rear of a wide circle of pitches.

In the centre space was a small yard, strung with laundry lines and playing host, currently, to a large glass tank. Saeed was amazed to see a beautiful young woman with the tail of a fish swimming back and forth within the tank.

The masked juggler waited until the mermaid flipped in the water. Waiting until her field of vision was away from the thin alley between the market pitches. Then the juggler dashed forward and hid himself behind the mermaid's tank. The mermaid flipped again, swimming back to the end of her tank. She passed within inches of where the juggler hid, obscured by the metal wall at one end. Then she flipped again to swim up to the other end once more.

The juggler took a fish from a knapsack at his waist and dropped it onto a plate at the edge of the tank. Then he slipped through a gap behind the tank and back towards the market.

The mermaid flipped again and came swimming up to the end of the tank where the fish on the plate became visible. She saw the plate and swum up to the surface of the water, looking about her to see who had left this gift.

"Tabarnas?" the mermaid called. "Did you leave me this? I didn't think it was dinner for another hour. I didn't hear the Market Crier call for close down."

There was no answer for a moment, then a girl came out of a flap at the back of one of the stalls. The girl had long dark hair in plaits and was wearing blue trousers.

"Was that you, Eos?" the girl asked. "Look, Tabarnas found me some new clothes, better for the market. Do you like these trousers? Tabarnas called them dungarees."

"They are very nice, Rachel," the mermaid, Eos, replied. "Did you also leave me this fish? I thought it wasn't tea time yet."

"Oh, well, of course I was coming to eat with you but it shouldn't be time, I don't think. Maybe Cressidia bought it out."

"Really?" Eos asked. "Would she do that?"

"No," Rachel said. "I don't think she would."

Saeed could not stay still any longer. The masked juggler was getting away. At the same time he could not risk letting the mermaid eat the fish. He dropped down from his perch onto the top of the tallest stall and slid down the guy rope of that stall into the small yard.

"Please, esteemed young ladies," he said to the shocked little girl and the mermaid. "Do not eat that fish, I do not think it is a good gift. If we want to know more then I should get after the person who did leave it. Please excuse the rudeness of my entry and the speed with which I must leave."

He gave a tight little bow from the waist, ran up to the mermaid's tank and scaled a ladder up the side. At the top he pushed off with his left foot from the edge of the tank to land on the top of another pitch. He used the spring of the canvas as a trampoline to gain access to the roof beams again and set off after the juggler.

He could see the masked thief a few stalls away slipping around to rejoin his companions. He could also see two men with long pikes dressed in light armour towards the edge of the square. Saeed had learned the look of market guards and he made his way along the beams to stand above them.

"Gentlemen," he called down to the two shocked guards. "I believe that Kalico may have some questions for that masked individual over there. Questions about his intentions towards the mermaid Eos."

The guards looked up at Saeed, amazed, and then looked over to where he was pointing. The juggler had heard Saeed's call and looked back to see the two market guards looking in his direction. The juggler, panicked, tried to slip away into the crowd. The guards gave chase but they were slow and clumsy, the juggler would easily avoid capture if Saeed left it up to them.

He nimbly skipped over the beams to catch up with the fleeing juggler and, having no better plan, dropped from the roof onto his head.

The juggler and Saeed landed in a tangle of limbs on the market floor. In a matter of moments the market guards apprehended them both.

"I think Kalico will be keen to talk with both of you," one of the guards said.

The guards took Saeed and the juggler to the first building that Saeed had seen in the market. A small tower that reached from the market floor up into the vaulted ceiling. The building had no windows and a single entrance through a stout wooden door.

"Let's see what Kalico has to say about this," the Market Guard said and knocked upon the door.

The party entered a small room where various types of merchandise stacked up against the walls from floor to ceiling. Behind an enormous table piled high with gold coins was a man dressed in fine coloured silks. He had a jeweller's eyepiece stuck into his left eye, trained upon a sizeable ruby.

The man was bald. He wore a single pearl earring in his left ear. He had a neatly trimmed goatee beard. Saeed believed that the man may have come from somewhere in Araby.

"What is this that you bring before me? Thieves?" the man asked. Saeed recognised the ring of his voice. This man had come from Araby indeed.

"Not sure, Master," the Market guard said. "This one," he motioned at Saeed, "fell on the other from a great height. Seems to think the masked one is up to no good."

Kalico removed the eye piece and looked over Saeed and the juggler with gleaming eyes, sharp and cunning in the low light. He inspected the juggler first, then Saeed, then  the juggler once more.

"So, little thief, what do you think this one has done? Why should I believe a word that comes from your liar's mouth?" the Master of the Market asked.

"It is true that I have all the skills to be a thief," Saeed said. "But I have made an oath on the memory of my mother that I shall never lie. Not until I have had a chance to unburden myself of the shame of lying to her when she was alive. This juggler here tried to trick a mermaid into eating a fish. I am not sure, but I think he laced the fish with poison."

Kalico sucked in his cheeks, he looked as if he were savouring Saeed's words.

"I believe you, little thief," he said. "We come from a land where swearing an oath by our mother means something. You are fortunate that we share ancestors. As for you," he said approaching the masked juggler. "I have an instinct of suspicion that comes upon me whenever I see someone cover their face."

With that Kalico reached out and snatched the mask from the juggler's face. He revealed an angry expression on a pretty young woman.

"So what have you to say for yourself?" Kalico asked the young woman.

"You don't understand," she spat, her cheeks darkening red with anger. "None of you. If I did not do I as I was told they promised to murder my brother. Now I have failed. My brother is dead."

Kalico raised his eyebrows.

"Mystery in my market," he said. "Bad for business. And I dislike anything that is bad for business. How to deal with this matter?"

"Please, sir," Saeed said. "In exchange for your seal I will undertake to resolve this matter. I need the seal to continue with my quest. You have already seen my skill in such matters."

Kalico smiled broadly.

"Set a thief to save a rogue?" Kalico said. "I suppose, if nothing else I can rely upon you to keep things quiet. You have a deal young man. Either you will resolve matters with discretion or you will end up dead. In either case, I still go back to business as usual." Kalico turned to look at the juggler. "Looks like you have my assistance. Poison anyone in my market again and I will not let you go free a second time. Do we understand each other?"

"You can't be serious?" the young lady said, looking down at Saeed with contempt in her eyes. "This little insect will not be able to help me."

"Oh no?" Kalico asked. "He caught you out, so that shows how much you know. Would you prefer my way of dealing with things?"

"Do what you will," the young lady said.

Kalico did not respond to her petulance. He turned to his guards.

"Put these two outside. If you see them making trouble again, arrest them and we'll do things my way."

Kalico's face was hard. As the two guards manhandled the young lady and Saeed toward the door Saeed swore the Master of the Market dropped him a wink.

Out on the streets once more Saeed did indeed rescue the girl's brother. He helped restore peace to the squares of the Patchwork Market but that is a story for another time.