Nero's original goal had always been to tour the city.
And what better place to start than a market?
As for Lyon's errand? Well, that could wait. The package was securely resting in Master Theo's hands so he was not worried.
So would say a market is a reflection of economic status. Goods and items being sold, price fluctuations, and of course, the faces of the people within it.
Nero slowly looked around.
The faces were... quite the sight.
Fear? Despondence? Sprinkled in with a bit of ambient frustration. A soft crease in the brow that persisted on the face of many— a clear indication that tis were hard.
Nero turned to Master Theo who seed rather used to the bustling atmosphere.
"Looks like you've been here a thousand tis," Nero said.
Master Theo adjusted the drape of his coat and gave a small, knowing huff. "Aye. The place doesn't change much. Still the sa old thing"
They stood at the mouth of a wide thoroughfare where stalls crowded in from both sides, the canvas awnings overlapping like mismatched scales. Voices layered over one another in a low, constant hum. The sounds of bargaining, complaining, laughing too loudly, sinister whispers...
It all lted into a distinct buzz that scratched the brain.
Nero stepped forward, then slowed.
It was not the noise that gave him pause. It was the way people moved.
There was no ease in their steps neither was there any wandering curiosity. Everyone seed to be heading sowhere, not even pausing to glance to the side.
Master Theo noticed his hesitation.
"Don't linger at the entrance, boy." he said quietly. "It makes you look lost."
Nero followed him deeper into the market, letting the flow of bodies carry them a few paces before they stopped at a stall selling dried at and preserved roots. The vendor was an older woman with a tight bun and a face carved into permanent displeasure. Her eyes flicked to Theo, then to Nero, then back again.
"Prices went up again," she said without greeting.
Theo sighed. "They always go up when I co by, Marlen."
"As they should," Marlen shot back. "You see the quality drop? No. You see the portions shrink? No. That ans the price is fair, you scrooge!"
Nero glanced at the slabs of dark red at hanging behind her. They looked tough and overcured perhaps. He wasn't an expert in ats so he wouldn't be able to tell.
"Who's the boy? Yer bastard?" Marlen asked, nodding at Nero without looking directly at him.
"Be polite, Marlen. He's a new kid training at the house." Theo didn't say more so as no to give too much away.
Marlen snorted. "This kid? He belongs in a brothel with that face on him. With fair skin like that, yer spoiling the kid. Let him use his looks to make so real coin!"
"That's enough, you uncouth hag!"
Marlene burst out laughing.
Nero smiled bitterly at their exchange.
Theo sighed then leaned closer to the stall. "How bad is it today?"
Marlen pressed her lips thin. "Depends on who you ask. The spice sellers are screaming bloody murder, I tell ya! The grain's been getting thin and the roots are rotting faster all the way from Beorstone down to the cape. And don't get started on salt."
"Still short?" Theo asked.
"You an hoarded?" Marlen corrected. "Those overweight scum keep hiking up the prices thinking we on the streets are idiots, I tell you."
Nero frowned. "Hoarded by who exactly?"
Marlen finally looked at him fully. "Those fat ass rchants! Just to make a penny off the sweat on our backs!"
Theo gave a warning cough, but Marlen ignored it.
"They have the backing of the nobles who have influence in the church. We can do nothing about it."
A man at the neighboring stall leaned over, having clearly been listening. He was younger, broad-shouldered, with ink-stained fingers and a ledger tucked under one arm.
"And that's not even the worst of it. Most of the taxes on imports have been bleeding us dry. Most of us will be out of work and supply by the year's end."
Marlen rolled her eyes. "Go mind your inks, Jorik."
Jorik grinned. "I can't. There's been no paper worth writing on lately."
Nero tilted his head. "You sell paper?"
Jorik corrected. "I sell excuses, kid. I sell tall tales and fables. Of dreams and hopes to n!"
"He's a snot nosed scribe, is all he is. The tax collectors use his wretched ass to write their papers."
Jorik grimaced, "I also wrote stories and—!"
"How's that working out for you?" Marlen said with a snicker.
Jorik's expression darkened, "You wench! I should —!"
Nero glanced between them. 'They seem rather friendly.'
Theo finished whatever business he ca there for then they moved on together, drifting only a few stalls down.
They stopped near a produce stall where baskets of bruised fruit were stacked high. The vendor, a thin man with a twitchy smile, perked up when he saw Theo.
"Master Theo! Just the man I was looking for! These 'ere are the freshest you'll find in the market today, straight from the fields to my humble store right here! Would you care for a few?"
Nero glanced down at the baskets of fruit. While they did seem clean, most of them were bruised, with so having a huge of brown at the edges.
They must definitely weren't fresh.
Nero was sure Master Theo knew this too, but the man didn't seem to want to call him out.
Instead, he chuckled and asked,
"How have your sales been?"
The fake smile on the mans face imdiately faded to a much more subdued expression,
"The season has been unkind."
"That's one way to put it," Theo muttered.
They discuss a few more things with muted voices before Master Theo bid him farewell and continued on.
"What was that all about?"
Master cleared his throat and spoke just a single line. However, that line was choked full with aning,
"The Church has eyes everywhere."
Nero felt his heart skip a bit as his eyes unwittingly darted back to the stall they had just passed. The man was already waving his hands at another set of potential custors.
'That is... terrifying.'
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