"Hey, Edna," his voice reverberated, filling the empty air as the two of them walked down the paved stone in silence. "In the end, it was up to a hundred and fifty crowns; what was the point of my haggling then?"
Her steady step slowly subsides, leaving a scratch of her existence on the paved stone, "Haggling?" She said, her voice nearly quiet and chilling—a blizzard in the middle of summer heat.
She turned her body around, facing Erik, who walked behind. "That's not haggling! It's literally extortion!"
"Isn't calling it extortion a bit too much?"
She grimaced, her shoulders hiking up slightly as if to hide her neck. Her cheek flushed, not from anger but from the wave of secondhand embarrassment that visibly washed over her. The recollection crept out from behind her mind along with the words that came out after, "Who starts at quarter, and then down to fifty-five?!"
Erik weathered her words with a wry smile, shrugging as if her logic was a passing breeze. His eyes flitted to the side, looking at the non-existent excuse for avoiding her penetrating gaze. His mind has already wandered, her voice fading into a dull hum as another memory plays.
'Gramp's gaze looked weird,' the thought surfaced, the old man's weary recognition—a gaze of understanding of something even Erik didn't understand—now feeling heavier than Edna's annoyance.
'I just went with the logical answer, ....Hope he didn't raise the price because I mentioned a war. Maybe if I'd just—'
"Anyway!"
Her voice hiked—sliced through his internal monologue like a cleaver. Erik blinked. The scene faded as her voice snapped him back into reality, as Edna turned her body back to the path, decisively ending the conversation. Her hands folded into her chest as her step steadily moved forward.
"I'll handle the haggling," she declared as she shifted her head just enough to peek at him over her shoulder. Her expression made it clear that it's not a request, but a verdict. "So just stand still and give me the list you needed."
Erik fell a step behind her, a silent spectator to the one who now manages his funds. The next hour was gilded by a blur of the market's noise and shifting sun. Switched from the cutlery shop into a vibrant, choking artery of the market bazaar.
The air was thick with the smell of overripe fruit, the peppery smoke of sizzling street-side lamb, and the honest sting of oiled leather from the stall beside the cobblestone road. Bodies pressed in, forcing Erik closer to Edna's back as they walked, surfing the crowd at the sea of shoulders and elbows.
"Juicy meat!" The merchant's cry vibrates around the crowd, undercut by the thwack of his cleaver on a wooden block.
Another was a merchant's promise: "Buy one, get one for free!" Nearly drowned by the clatter of poorly stacked pottery at the next stall
Edna, however, moved nimbly like a fish through familiar current. She didn't push; she flowed as her hand darted out to snag two plump fruits from the fruit seller's cart, her other hand putting a shilling in the man's palm without breaking stride.
One of the fruits was then tossed back to Erik, " For your silence," she said, her eyes peeking over her shoulder as a smile crept from her mouth.
A while they walked down the path, looking at the stalls one by one until they stopped in front of an old door.
The screeching sound chimed as she came in. The smell of herbs and ammonia seeps through the wooden door, leaving the mark of its decade-long existence on the world. Greeted each person who walked past the wooden frame door.
"Welcome," a warm, shaky voice came like a morning sun.
The shop is a dim, cozy cave, a stark contrast to the sea of people outside, with only the oak door as a barrier to the two different worlds.
Shelves bowed under the weight of countless jars, each containing things that smell like earth's embrace.
From behind the counter, cluttered with delicate scales and mortars, an elderly woman at the end of her nose looks up. Like tangled roots in ancient soil, her hands folded together on the oak table. The wood itself is a testament to its trade, the dark stains and subtle aroma—a library of earthy scent where the ghost of dried, ground herbs lingered.
"Grandma, do you still have an antidote and a salve?"
"Oh my,..... Such a hasty one we have here," The raspy voice lingered through the air for a moment.
"What kind of antidote do you seek, dear?"
Her steps are steady, coming closer to the old woman who is standing like an ancient tree, "One for common poison and one for a strong venom."
The old woman's hands, which had been stilled, began to move. Slow and deliberate as she reached the rack beneath the counter.
A tap can be heard when the old woman places the vial on the counter. Her eyes slowly slide, looking at the girl in front of her with milky sight.
"And the salve?" She asked.
"The one that has a numbing effect when applied, and one for internal injuries."
The gestures were slow, yet moved with the certainty of her experience—uncorking, measuring, sealing, each motion flowing without wasted effort, with the last wet thud marking the sealed salves landing on the countertop.
With her raspy voice, she asked, "Preparing for an expedition?"
"Yeah, not me, but for him," she said, her finger pointed out towards her back where Erik stands still.
Giggles escaped with a mirth still lurking beneath the wrinkles. Her hand moved, so nimble, packing it all up in a single move.
"What a lucky lad to have a thoughtful girlfriend like you," she said.
"Right?" Edna said, a smile spread across her face like a full moon as she said, "Then do you give a couple's discount?"
The mirth still laced, slowly bloomed into a smile for a second time, "I'll give you one just because you're charming, dear."
The door groaned as they stepped back, leaving the sanctuary of herbs in silence. For a moment, the market roar felt distant, muffled behind the door that caged it away with precision. Then, it crashed into them like a gushing wave.
Heat. Noise. The press of bodies giving way to the world of living, with only a glance. Indifferent to the transaction that occurred inside.
Edna tucked away the vial, her hand slowly tracing the line of the package she held as if to confirm its existence.
Neither of them spoke; only silence accompanied them as they walked.
After a dozen steps, her eyes darted, glancing at him.
"What do you think of my performance?" She asked.
Erik went silent for a while as if giving it a serious thought on her way of haggling back there, "Your experience really showed there for a moment."
Her cheeks puffed, "You're the one who talks."
"It's actually a compliment," he said, the crescent slightly crept from the tip of his mouth, "The experience came with age."
"Fine then," she said, with her arms bent forward on her hips, making a proud stance as they walked, "You should be grateful that I came with you."
"I can do that alone, though," he said, "It's not that difficult."
Her eyes, looking at the boy beside her, "You really think your way of haggling is good?"
A genuine question came from her mouth, a question that she couldn't believe she really needed to utter aloud.
"What?" Erik's brow furrowed, puzzled at her statement, "As far as I know, it's effective and gives the same result."
Edna stopped mid-step, her head turned slowly, mechanically, like a door hinge that forgot to be lubricated in years. Her eyes locked onto him in disbelief, usually reserved for people who tried to eat soup with a fork.
"You really need to stop, Erik," She held up a finger. "Or else." Another finger. "You will make enemies." Third finger. "Out of all merchants."
Erik blinked a few times at the fingers inching away from his face. He leaned back slightly, eyeing them as they would attack at any given moment.
"That's.... so very specific," he said.
Her hand dropped, "It's not specific, it's inevitable. You can't just—" She gestured vaguely at him, flapping her hand in frustration. "—exist the way you do in front of a merchant."
"I exist the same way everywhere."
"And that is the problem!"
He scratched the back of his neck, looking exactly lost as if she were talking in a different language.
He tried to open his mouth, but—
"Don't." She pointed at him, "Don't you dare say 'if it works, it works'."
Then he closed his mouth.
They stood there for a moment, frozen in the middle of the market path. A merchant pushing a cart of fabric without looking to the front. No regards towards people who might collide. Erik caught her elbow as he tugged her to the side, making her out of the way.
She let him, but her eyes still laced onto him like a predator.
"You really don't see it, do you?" She asked, her voice much quieter now. "The way they look at you when you're haggling like that."
"Err, no?" He admitted.
Edna sighed. The banter drained her out as her shoulder slumped in surrender, more than she expected. She reached up and slowly rubbed her temple with both hands. A gesture that made her look, for a moment, as old as she really was.
"Okay," she said, her hands dropped as she talked. "Okay. New rule. From now on, when you want to buy something, talk to me. You just need to stand behind me. Look intimidating. Say nothing. Capiche?"
He didn't blink, so Edna. Their eyes locked into each other, flat as the silence lingered between them.
"Well, I can stand behind you," he said, his voice came with consideration.
"And say nothing?"
"...I can try."
Her gaze was piercing, looking straight at him with a demanding look.
"That's the best I can get, isn't it?"
"So you know," she said.
She turned and started to walk again as Erik fell into step behind her.