Lamedon Square Market

[Envinyatar]

Bertie raised his head and sniffed appreciatively at the early morning air. ‘Aaaahhh!’ he sighed, leveraging himself up on one elbow from his bunking down quarters a short ways away from the market place. “Quarters” was a rather grand word for the pile of dusty burlap bags in the narrow alley way where he’d spent the night. Nonetheless he was grateful to have stumbled upon them when his watering place of choice last night had closed and barred its doors.

He heaved himself up, bracing his back against the alley wall as he planted his crutch firmly in the dirt. With a grimace he stretched the kinks out of his spine, and then bent down to grab up his leather bag. Reaching his hand into one of the pockets in his greatcoat he found the few coppers he’d saved to break his fast.

‘Old Bertie’s comin’!’ he called out to the source of the singular, savory smell. Mistress Fea’s lovely golden rolls, soft enough for him to chew easily, beckoned him on. ‘Might just have enough for a small cup of raisin-jack wine, too, if I work it right.’

He stopped just short of the baker’s booth, hearing the familiar voice of one he wished to avoid. ‘The Cap’n’, he muttered. ‘Lookin’ to give me grief as usual.’ Bertie melted into the shadow of a large old tree to wait ‘til the Guard had moved on.