shiver creeps across my shoulders as I duck down alleyways chock-full of bins of rotting food to avoid the crowd. Grandmother had seen a green-eyed serpent while reading the bones and believed it to be a demon. Now Arti had only got a glimpse of the child snatcher. She and the seers think it’s the work of anti-magic. What if it’s something else?
A demon and missing children. It doesn’t seem to make sense, but the timing is too close, the circumstances too strange. Why would a demon be in a vision about me? I’m nothing special. Yet, as impossible as it sounds, even I could feel the wrongness of the magic in Grandmother’s tent. It was nothing like the feather touch of tribal magic. The magic had been invasive and curious, hostile. The situation with the children is far worse. The biggest question is why; what reason would anyone have to take children?
I slip out of the alley and into a different crowd in the East Market – my nerves on edge. I keep remembering the way Rudjek refused to look at me after my mother all but accused one of his brothers of being the child snatcher. If he doesn’t want to see me, I can’t blame him. Not after this morning. As I brace myself for the possibility that he won’t come, dread sinks in my chest. I miss our routine – I miss him.
I pass people haggling over day-old bread, overripened fruits, cured meat, and charms. Donkeys laden with sacks of grain kick up a fury of red sand. The market writhes like the Serpent River after a rainstorm, and reeks of sweaty feet and dung.
As everyone goes about their business, hard faces stare at me. Soft faces. Kind faces. Faces of all colours. Faces leathered from too much sun. Faces so structured they look carved from stone. Jovial, round faces. The people in Tamar come from everywhere – across deserts, across seas, across mountains. The city is home to all who embrace it. Most noticeably so in the East Market, which is why I love coming here.
There’s comfort in knowing that, like me, no one in this crowd quite fits. It always fascinates me how a person can at once blend in and stand out here. That would be the greatest advantage for the child snatcher, becoming invisible. My pulse throbs in my ears as I glance around again – seeing the market with new eyes.
Barefoot boys in tattered trousers and girls in dirty shifts duck through the crowds. Their small hands are quick as they slide them into pockets, lifting a money pouch here, a bracelet there. When a woman catches a little boy trying to steal her armlet, an unseen child on a rooftop strikes her with a pebble. Distracted and rubbing her head, the woman lets the little thief slip away with his prize. I don’t condone what the orphans do in the market, but I don’t judge them for it either. City life is hard for those who don’t come from a family of status. Unlike in the tribal lands, where magic is all that matters, money and influence rule here.
The sun beats down on my back as I cross a street dense with food merchants. A plume of smoke from their firepits chokes the air and waters my eyes, but it smells wonderful. Roasting chestnuts, spicy stews, plantains fried in peanut oil. My stomach growls a reminder that I haven’t eaten today. But I can’t stop for food; I’m too focused on getting to the Serpent River to see Rudjek, too anxious that he won’t be there.
He’d slipped out of the assembly before his father adjourned the proceedings. I’d watched as he’d tried to hide his anguish behind a blank, bored stare, but his is a mask that I can see straight through. I know him too well. My mother had dealt him a nasty wound. He’d already hated the way his father treated his brothers after the Rite and blamed himself for not being in the market that day to calm Jemi down.
I startle at a faint rustling at my side and catch one of the little thieves trying to lift my bracelet. I grab his arm – not too tight but firm enough to stop him from wiggling his way loose. The boy looks up at me with sad eyes, his lips trembling. Little con artist.
Before he drops a tear, someone slaps the back of his head. ‘Scat, or I’ll call the Guard.’
‘Ouch,’ the boy protests, and whirls around, holding his head. ‘You’re one to talk, Kofi!’
The would-be thief must be new to the market – I’ve never seen him before. From the hidden pocket under my belt, I dig out a silver coin and pass it to him. ‘You could’ve asked first, you know?’
He smiles sheepishly. ‘Next time I will.’
When the boy runs off, Kofi steps into his place. At twelve, he isn’t much older than the would-be thief. Fish scales cover the apron he’s wearing, and he smells fresh from the docks, which is to say like rotting entrails. His eyes go wide as he takes in what I’m wearing. ‘Why are you dressed like that?’ he asks me.
I purse my lips and glare at him, even though he’s right, of course: my sheath is impractical and too conspicuous. Wearing something like this in the East Market proclaims me an easy mark to any thief. At least my family doesn’t wear a crest like Rudjek’s. ‘The better question is, why do you have a silver coin behind your ear?’ I retort.
He grins as he reaches for one ear and finds nothing.
‘The other ear.’ I tap my foot.
His hand moves quicker this time as if the money will disappear in the blink of an eye. When he retrieves the silver coin, he tucks it inside his apron, a blush of joy warming his tan skin. I’ve snuck him enough coins lately that he no longer protests that he must work to earn its value. Our family has more money than we need, and like Oshhe always says, a coin hoarded is a blessing missed.
Kofi’s father is among the many fish merchants in the market. I came across their booth a year ago, drawn to where Kofi stood on top of a crate, selling outlandish tales to a crowd. ‘Desperate to flee a river of ice,’ he said, ‘the fish swam all the way from the North.’ When I shouted to him that this was unlikely, he changed his story, quick as a whip. ‘You’re right! This batch swam from the Great Sea seeking refuge from a giant serpent. Only they didn’t know that we eat fish too!’
Days after, I saw him with a woman who I later learned was his father’s new wife. She grabbed Kofi by his shoulders, her teeth gritted. ‘You’re so useless, boy,’ she spat. ‘Can’t you do anything right?’ Without provocation, she slapped him. The strike cut through me. I stepped in to stop her, but the next day Kofi came to the market covered in welts.
When I saw the woman again, I introduced myself as the Ka-Priestess’s daughter. I told her if any more harm came to Kofi, there would be serious consequences. That was the first time I relied upon my mother’s position to gain an advantage. It worked: Kofi’s stepmother stopped hitting him after that. Instead of beatings, she now ignores him. I know what that feels like, so I decided to be his pretend-sister from that moment on.
‘Did you hear about the giant sea turtle that rolled in with the tide this morning?’ Kofi starts to say, but my attention lands on Rudjek. He’s wading through the thicket of people, making a direct line towards me. The effect he has on the market is immediate. Girls flash him smiles and some try to catch his eye by stepping into his path. People stare at the craven-bone crest pinned to his collar.
Whenever anyone from a family of status comes to the East Market, there’s always a ruckus. But he loves the market as much as I do: it’s our second-favourite place to meet, aside from our secret spot by the river.
Merchants clamour for his attention, but Rudjek’s gaze doesn’t leave my face. He sidesteps a man selling the tiny bells favoured by followers of Oma, the god of dreams. He’s grinning from ear to ear, his pale brown skin flushed. I let out a breath and the tension in my belly eases.
‘This morning was interesting,’ he says, interrupting Kofi. Up close, the shadow of purple bruising on his right cheek
