Lamedon Square Market

[Anguirel]

Angelimar narrowed his eyes in surprise at Mistress Fea's last piece of help. "A fellow from Bree? That village in the north? Well, such a man would be an interesting curiosity, at any rate...thank you, Fea, and may we meet some day when I am in...better health...and you less beset by industry..."

But it was towards Charl's stall that the young man now hurried, too busy even to take in that old chunk of walking wounded, and his pair of small familiars. Once he had reached his objective, he fell in to easy conversation with this butcher, who had that most reassuring attribute of resembling his products in his appearance. He bought several rashers of good bacon.

Nor, apparently, were Angelimar's desire for mustard, or his inquisitiveness, strong enough feelings to detain him into waiting for the Breelander, when pitted against his hunger and his frenetic way of life; the moment he had both bread and meat, he scarpered from the Lamedon Square Market, less conspicuously, but much more quickly than he had come to it.

[piosenniel]

As Bertie eyed his fine feathered friends, Goran nudged Garan, nodding his head toward the rich looking fellow who’d just passed by. ‘Now there’s a plump little pigeon who could stand a few less coins weighing him down!’ He smiled, a devilish light playing around his face. He cocked a brow at his brother.

‘Uncle – you go on down to the Compass Rose and have a cup. Me ‘n’ Garan’ll bring you back a nice fresh roll to keep your ribs from knocking together.’ Goran linked his arm through his brother’s and hauled him toward their quarry. ‘Hurry now, he’s quick on his feet.’

~*~

Posy turned the corner, her baskets of violet nosegays perched on her hip. ‘Now where are those two off to?’ she wondered aloud at the sight of the two quickly receding figures. ‘Bertie, did they say what they’ve gone to do? ‘Sposed to be helping me out today!’

[Anguirel]

About to leave the Square behind him, Angelimar became aware of the twin urchins he had barely noticed earlier homing in. He came to a dead stop as they neared, assessing his surroundings. As luck would have it, close by was 'Nimloth's Stall of Sweeteries, white toffee apples, Bon Bons and wizard floss sold here' - perfect.

It was well equipped with a bag of treats that the sleight-handed popinjay prepared to meet his distinguished pair of challengers. For he was sure enough what they were up to...and quite curious, too, to find what would be in their pockets at this stage of the morning's routine. He strolled up to Garan and Goran, whistling with a competent enough harmony.

"Good day, lads. I just happen to have a bunch of sweeties here. Seem to have picked it up somehow, and don't have much of a sweet tooth myself, unfortunately...would either of you be interested in them?"

He surveyed the twins keenly, assessing the feelings that would be jangling in their heads. He had surprised them by seeing them, by stopping for them, most of all by speaking to them, and they were a little afraid. They were surprised at the sudden appearance of the treats - truth be told, Mistress Nimloth would have been even more surprised, and it was a good thing he had intercepted them out of her range of notice. But uppermost in the minds of the boys was greed, and, as they started to calculate the size of the bag and to turn their eyes on each other, envy, too.

"It'll be a hard time dividing them up," he confessed. "I only seem to have one white toffee apple, for example, and everybody knows they're the best ones. Perhaps you'd care to join me in a game of chance to determine the winner...?"

[piosenniel]

‘Some pigeon you picked!’ Garan hissed in a whisper to his brother. Goran shrugged his shoulders as he glanced from the proffered sweets to Garan. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his breeches and looked back at the gentleman.

‘Sorry, sir, you’ll have to eat that apple yourself, I guess.’ Goran sighed and looked quite sad at the thought. ‘Me and my brother got nothing to play with.’ He pulled out his pockets, both empty save for a bit of lint, a few old crumbs, and one broken wooden button. Garan pulled out his pockets, too – as empty as those of his brother.

‘And besides, our big brother’d give us both a hiding if he caught us playing games of chance.’ Garan nodded solemnly at this pronouncement.

Goran cocked an ear and furrowed his brow as if just barely catching some sound. ‘It’s Sis,’ he said, elbowing Garan . ‘I think she’s calling us.’

With a nod of their heads to the gentleman, and one last look at the bag of sweets, the two took to their heels and ran off . . . like little mice bent on escaping a wily fox.

[Anguirel]

The thieflings receded to the soft melody of the young man's laughter.

An object would rear over their heads in a neat arc. In this bright morning, its whiteness was not especially conspicuous, though the twins had, of course, much-practiced sight. With barely the mildest of thuds it came to rest, a yard or so ahead of them.

If the pair were to look back, they would find their new acquaintance's exit complete - but he had had the basic kindness to them, if not to Mistress Nimloth, to leave his white toffee apple behind him.

[Formendacil]

Having taken the early morning shift, watching the Market from the pinkish hours of dawn, Captain Formendur was technically off-duty once the bells rang from the Tower at noon, but he rarely left the Marketplace while it was still daylight--and sometimes not at night. He had given his early adult life to the Tower Guard and had never found a wife. Now that he had grown older--and larger--he had bestowed his pent-up paternal concern on the marketplace that formed the centre of his military ward.

As usual, once the bells rang, Captain Formy made a final, lazy loop of the marketplace, and then settled into one of his favourite pubs. The Bastion and the Badger Inn was one of the few inns that opened directly onto Lamedon Square, rather than one of the side-streets, and Captain Formy had established it as his base of operations in the afternoons largely because of its easy access to the street. The fact that they had one of the best tavern cooks in Minas Anor didn't hurt either.

IT IS NOW APPROXIMATELY 1:00 IN THE AFTERNOON

[blantyr]

Bragel wasn't entirely sure of mixing mountains and horses. On the good green earth, everything was much of a level. Everything was where it should be, and where you can put it.

But when you put a horse in a city and the city on a mountain, you had to move stuff. The people with money to ride wanted to live up high, while the room for pastures and barns was outside the walls. What went into the front of the horse had to constantly be moved higher, while what came out of the back would go lower. This was here, and that had to be there.

Furthermore, there was supposed to be some fair queen way up somewhere who enjoyed singing to a tree. Somehow, Bragel, with his shovel and his cart, was responsible to make sure the tree smelled good. Well, at least the part of the tree nearest to the Bastion and Badge. He'd do what he could, but it would take a lot of boys with a whole lot of shovels if the entire tree was supposed to smell good enough for this queen.

Bragel. Shoveler to the queen. Would the Queen of the Riddermark need so many shovelers?

But it wasn't all shoveling. They did really need people who knew horses. Even the city folk knew how to handle a shovel. They didn't know horses, not to speak of. Tree or no tree, queen or no queen, Bragel figured to keep busy. Keep busy, and one could have a full stomach and maybe even a roof to sleep under.

Meanwhile, he'd stand watch. In his pocket, a carrot. By his side, a shovel. And he wasn't watching just the horses. Those with two legs could make a mess too.