"How much?"
How much could anyone pay for a book this precious? Makun had twenty dollars in his wallet and nothing in the bank. He couldn't afford anything of value. Can I really compete with this guy?
The veiled woman looked at Makun, then at the tall man, and spoke in a voice that was soft but clear. "Cash won't do here. What do you have to offer?"
The man closed his eyes, his face tightening in concentration, while Makun stood there with his mind racing. He needed that book. Information was the one thing he couldn't do without right now.
The man opened his eyes. "I have a demonic mirror. It lets you watch whoever you set your eyes on, wherever they are, and you can harm them through it if you're willing to pay the price." He spoke with confidence. "A great resource. I came by it on one of my adventures. What do you say?"
Makun was dumbfounded. A mirror that could spy on people from a distance, and hurt them from that same distance? He had no words for it.
The veiled woman was quiet for a moment, then shook her head. "I have no particular use for that treasure." She gestured at her blanket, the ash, the arranged bones, the painted stones. "I have plenty of ways to deal with people who want to harm me. Your mirror is good, and probably wanted by many, but it isn't useful to me. I can't exchange a book this valuable for something I don't need. Offer something else."
The man's jaw tightened. He looked frustrated but not surprised. He reached into his coat and brought out an old root, gnarled and dark brown, smelling of earth and something bitter.
"A ten-year enlightenment root. It can give you the comprehension of a third-grade Adept on the path. A decent breakthrough."
Third-grade Adept? Makun was stunned. Zuri had never mentioned anything like that. Grades, levels: this world had a structure he didn't understand yet.
The veiled woman leaned forward slightly, studying the root with what looked like appreciation. "Impressive." The man's face shifted toward hope, and then she shook her head. "But I don't need it. A comprehension aid like this is beneath me at my stage. It might even derail my path. It's better if I do everything naturally." She leaned back. "Not interested."
The man's hands clenched at his sides. "Name your price. Anything. I'll make it happen."
His voice was strained now, close to desperate, and Makun could read the rest in the set of his shoulders. He had been hunting this book for a long time, and he was stuck somewhere he couldn't get past without it. The woman said nothing.
Makun allowed himself a small smile. Did I just meet someone as unlucky as me? Or am I getting luckier? Either way, he had to think, and fast. What could he offer that she would actually want? He went back over everything Zuri had told him and everything he had seen tonight: the memory bottles, the jewelry that moved, the vague prices and strange payments. Everything has value to someone. I just have to figure out what she needs.
Then something clicked.
He stepped up to the woman, leaned down and whispered something only she could hear. Behind the veil, her eyes trembled.
"Is what you're saying true?" she asked quietly.
"It is. But I don't know how it works yet," Makun murmured. "Give me the book, and I'll pay you next week. At your stall."
She went very still and looked at him as if she were trying to see something deeper, reading his spiritual signature the way the old man had. Several seconds passed. Then she picked up the book and held it out. "Meet me next week."
Makun took it. The leather was warm in his hands and heavier than it looked.
Beside him, the tall man's whole body went rigid. His hand closed into a fist, and his jaw clenched so hard that Makun could hear his teeth grind.
"Wait."
The word came out sharp, and the man turned on Makun with eyes blazing with frustration and something darker. Months of searching, Makun guessed, market after market, and some nobody had walked in out of nowhere and taken it from under his nose.
Makun clutched the book to his chest. Time to leave. He started toward the plaza exit with quick steps, not running but purposeful, and before he had taken five of them the man moved, fast, and was suddenly standing directly in his path.
"You give me the book." It was the voice of someone used to getting what he wanted.
Makun stopped and looked up at him. The man was half a head taller and broader in the shoulders, and everything about him, from the coat to the stance, spoke of privilege and power. But for once in his life Makun had been lucky, and he wasn't going to waste it. He had been pushed around by landlords and supervisors and life itself for too long to back down now.
"What if I don't?" His voice came out steady.
The man's eyes slowly turned red, the whites flooding as if with blood. His hand darkened and flushed with heat, the fingers twitching, steam rising from the palm, and he raised it and reached for Makun.