“What did I tell you?”

  The man was panting, trying to keep up with his wife, who was sprinting fast like the road was made of hot charcoal.

  “Yes, your plan worked, but this could have gone all wrong. What if he recognized me? What if he recognised you!” she shouted, still running.

  “And yet it didn’t! You know you can trust me on stuff like this! We've been together for eighty years! I'm the-’

  “Oh please stop gloating, yes, you are still the best in your field! Happy now?”

  “The happiest ever”. Lazar said, out of breath.

  “Cool, now pump those legs, we have to go buy a cart and start our journey.” she said, still holding his sleeve.

  “Do you want to buy me a new hip joint? No one is tailing us!”

  “No one is tailing us, yet.”

  “You tripped no alarms and there will surely be some time before he goes to check if something is missing!” he paused. “What did you borrow, by the way?

  “A lot of shiny magic books. Well, holy, but you get it.”

  “Cool, cool. Tell me why you have two rats peeking out of your bag again?” he gestured towards the two tiny heads poking out from the rim of the purse, sniffing around.

  “They're friends! Well, accomplice. They said they have relatives in Cranesworth they wanted to rejoin, actually, and I owed them a favor for helping me with the books and the cleric, so…”

  “So we'll be four for this leg of the trip. Well, the more the merrier, and I don't believe they'll put a dent in our provisions small as they are. Do they have a name?”

  “They do, but we'd make a sorry job pronouncing them, so they told me to just call them Spice and Thyme. No titles” she slowed down, before stopping near a tree.

  “Well”, Lazar said, huffing and puffing, “nice to meet you, Spice, nice to meet you, Thyme.” He extended his open hand, palm facing upward, towards the rodents. They sniffed it, then gave it a short lick in greeting.

  “They seem like nice lads. I approve of this collaboration. Now. Do you remember who sold carts in town and who may be willing to sell us two oxen?”

  Liliane stroked her chin, thinking.

  “The son of Jurben the carpenter should have a couple new carts laying around.”

  “What about Jurben?

  “He left the job to his son. I don't think he'll work again now.”

  “Jurben retired?” A breathless Lazar asked, flabbergasted “When?”

  “He, hum, died, dear. Twelve moons ago. You skipped the funeral because you really needed to finish your draft, or your editor would have burned you to death and hacked you to pieces or something like that, I think.”

  The old man looked a bit downcast. He liked Jurben. Very good listener, very good worker. Cheap. Silent. Cheap.

  “Poor lad. I remember buying one of his first works. The chairs in the study are one of his best pieces, the one with the sharp leaves. So sad when they go so young.”

  “He was ninety two.” said Liliane, looking at him weirdly.

  “So, so young”.

  “Well, Gino, his dear son, who's fifty five, should be quite as good as his father. And he should sell a bit cheaper, too, maybe. One can hope. We have to be wary of overspending at the start of a journey we don't know the end of.”

  “But we shouldn't be misers, either. Especially with transportation. What's our budget again?” he asked, pensive.

  “Let me check my purse… Hm. One, two, three… I think this should be enough for the initial expenses, but we should bring some old stuff with us to sell in Cranesington, just to be sure. I'll pack it later when we get home.”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Why do we need a cart again if you have your enlarging bag?”

  “You know that my purse doesn't protect food from spoiling or other stuff from the passage of time, and right now is almost full with all the books I. Hm. Borrowed from the temple, plus the blankets and your parchment. And I don't want to go on foot or, Numens forbid it, on horseback.”

  “We'll, let's go buy this cart, then.”

  “We're going nowhere dressed like this.” She looked at his attire, then at herself, shaking her head. “Home. Now. I need to get out of this… horror.”

  It was later into the day, almost midday now, and the small village, known by the inhabitants of the area with the name of Turn, was full of movement. Carts came down the main road, full of goods to sell, or just bought at the market square.

  Voices screaming prices, haggling, or simply could be heard, a chorus of life and flowing coins that made up the beating heart of the village. Kids were running around, friends were catching up after working in the nearby city, old crones were whispering secrets and gossip about their neighbors, the newsboy tried to sell his papers speaking of some strange meteorological phenomenon down south.

  Further down the road, near the stalls, were some of the shops. A small blacksmith, easily recognizable from the thick black smoke coming out from the chimney and the rhythmic sound of hammers striking metal, a tailor, “The Whimsy Coat”, which was now closed (it's owners were away, visiting their family) and what was, once, a big warehouse with an open window for the sales, inside of which was the carpentry proper, was now an open space with three, new, polished carts, in full view of the street. No price was visible on them, and the floor near the back was covered in components, laying around, and in the middle of them, a man was fiddling with a wheel.

  He was really focused on his work, and was a bit startled when a loud, husky voice called him from outside the premises.

  “Hello, you must be Gino, son of Jurben, right?”

  The man got up. He had a head full of dark brown hair, full of sawdust. He wore a brown shirt, covered in sawdust, had a full, thick beard, covered in sawdust as well, and had a faint smell of dried wood. It was a weirdly pleasant smell. Lazar smiled.

  “Yes, that would be me, sir, ma’am. What can I help you with? Repairs? Tuning? A third wheel?” he said, dusting one hand against the other.

  “Well,” said Lazar, coughing “me and my good wife need a good cart, one that can be easily driven by no more than two oxen, that does not jump a lot on the road and that will last us at least a year without many issues. Preferably more.”

  “Well, sir, I really believe I have what you need.”

  He took three steps, accosting a big, dark brown cart, and slapped the side of the roof.

  “What you need for a long trip is not a cart, but a carriage! This bad boy can fit you two, your supplies, and two bedrolls where you can sleep comfortably. It's padded inside, lacquered with frijis oil so it won't rot or become too damp, and it needs minimal maintenance. The wheels are connected to the chassis with a rubber cushion to lessen the strain on the road. No enchantments, but it's the best of the best at his price range”.

  “This seems perfect!” Liliane touched the padding, which felt firm but soft to the touch, then knocked on wood in various places and jumped up and down from the cart. “Thank you so much, young man!” she said, after a thorough examination. “How much do you want for it?”

  “Seven hundred lyres”, he answered, firmly, crossing his arms.

  “Seven hundred?” Lazar exclaimed, visibly shaken. ”The last one I bought from your father cost me three hundred lyres!”

  “When did you buy it, sir?” The cart maker looked at the old man, frowning slightly.

  “...Thirty years ago, I think.”

  “Was it padded? Did it have a roof on it?” he smirked. ”Was it waterproof?”

  “No, it didn't, and it wasn't, but I think it would just be like, two hundred more, not four hundred!”

  “Six hundred and eighty lyres, then, sir. The prices have all gone up, on everything, in the last year's, you know. My work is the cheapest, but also the best, you will find here. My father was a good carpenter, but cart making is an art. If you believe you can find some less expensive place, go ahead, but you'll have to walk more than thirty miles, and won't get anything remotely near to this quality.”

  Lazar sighed, a bit dumbfounded, and Liliane pitched in.

  “Five hundred and fifty, and not a lyre more.”

  “Six hundred and fifty, this is one of the best carts I made”

  “It still seems overpriced, don't you think, young man?” Liliane said, taking a good look at him, staring straight into his eyes. “Six hundred and twenty, and you'll refer us to someone who may sell us two oxen.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, ma’am. Six hundred and thirty. But! I'll give you two jars of oil to refresh the water proof effect on the roof.”

  Gino extended his hand. “Deal?”

  The old woman shook it.

  “Deal” she said, taking out the coins from her purse, six gold and three silvers. They had a lyre on one face, and a crown on the other, with a smooth rim.

  The cart maker struck one of the gold coins against another he took out from his pouch, and it made a sharp, ringing sound.

  “All seems to be in order! A pleasure to make business with you, ma'am, sir.”

  He went to the back of the workshop to put away the gold, and came back with a small wheelbarrow, bringing the two promised jars.

  “Will you take the carriage now or will you come back later? I can help you put the yoke on your… Oh, right, you said you were in need of oxen, too. I recall that the Burnsey had two young ones they wanted to rid themselves of, but I don't really know the reason, so it may be a hit and miss, but you won't find others in Turn at the moment. Still, tell them Gino sent you. They owe me a little favour, they'll offer a fair price.”

  The old couple looked at each other. Lazar smirked.

  “Thank you, young man! Well… where can we find the Burnsey, now?”