The Market and the Bullying

Around four or five in the morning, the sky was still pitch-black, and most people were still asleep. Yet the market in Edusburg was already bustling with activity, as the hardest-working people in the city toiled away.

Bare-armed laborers shouted in rhythm as they strained to haul carts piled high with fruits and vegetables through the market. Vendors shivered in the chilly morning wind, their hands moving like knitting needles as they quickly and methodically arranged their wares. Young men with fuzzy chins brushed spices onto skewers of meat as thick as their forearms, surrounded by the smoke of burning charcoal and the aroma of roasting meat. Livestock merchants pointed out the animals bleating in their wooden pens and haggled stubbornly with customers whose faces were red from the cold.

Roy squeezed past several large crates of bright green parsley and watercress, freshly picked from the fields and still caked with mud, and came to a stop near an herb stall.

The stall owner was a middle-aged man in his forties. He wore a thick felt hat and a gray cloak, and rhythmically rubbed his hands together inside his sleeves. His honest-looking face was covered in orange-peel wrinkles, and his dark, cloudy eyes held the shrewdness common to merchants.

"What can I get you, young man?" The merchant's gaze swept over Roy's youthful, handsome face. He rubbed his fingers together in a secretive, leering manner. "Medicine for hemorrhoids and anal fistulas?"

Hemorrhoids and anal fistulas? Why would he say that? Roy froze for a moment. Did he think I...? His face twisted as if he'd swallowed a fly. "I'm not here to buy herbs... My name's Roy. I only recently came to Edusburg, and I'm looking for work. I heard the market was short-handed, so I thought I'd ask around."

"I see... Roy." The merchant nodded, folded his arms across his chest, and gave him another appraising look. "You don't look strong enough, so we can rule out most physical labor. Can you do arithmetic? Read and write? What else are you good at? Tell me."

"I'm fine with arithmetic, but I can't read Common Script." Roy glanced over the herbs on the merchant's shelves, using Observation to identify dozens of them. A faint smile crossed his lips. "Besides, I know herbs well. For example, the oldest herb on your shelves is that five-year-old Mandrake Root in the middle compartment. Mandrake Root works very well for rheumatism, sores, and wheezing coughs."

The merchant looked surprised. He hadn't expected such a young boy to have such a keen eye, and Roy had been spot-on. "Take a closer look. What herb is this?" He pointed to a yellow-brown, cone-shaped tuber in the compartment to the left of the Mandrake Root.

"That's aconite." Roy winked at the shopkeeper. "It's about three years old, and it's used to treat... well, it works wonders for impotence."

The merchant quizzed him on more than a dozen herbs on the shelves, and Roy answered every question without hesitation.

"You even recognize the flowers on this Bidens? You really know your stuff, young man." The shopkeeper held out his hand, full of admiration. "Roy, right? Just call me Tross. I've run an herb shop in this market for over a decade, and both my shop and I have a good reputation. How about working for me? I can tell from your accent that you're not from Edusburg. The other stall owners aren't as easy to deal with as I am."

"Could you be more specific?" Roy asked calmly, feeling relieved. "For example, what the work involves and how much it pays..."

"Young man, I'm forty-three this year. To run this shop, I have to get up every morning at four or five, then brave the freezing wind to buy stock and set up my stall. This life is exhausting. I might drop dead before I even turn fifty. I'm looking for someone to cover that time slot for me. It'd be best if you know herbalism and arithmetic, and have a good memory, too."

"Mostly, you'd watch the stall from four in the morning until eight, when I come to take over. If everything goes smoothly, the pay's five Crowns and fifty Copper Coins a week."

Getting up before four every day wouldn't be hard for Roy. Now that Meditation had completely replaced sleep, he only needed five hours of rest each night. But five and a half Crowns a week came to just twenty-two Crowns a month—not even enough to cover rent outside the city.

"Uncle Tross, you can't take advantage of me just because I'm young and from out of town..." Roy pressed his lips together. "Ten Crowns a week, and I can start right now."

"Young man, you can't ask for the moon. When I was thirteen or fourteen, I worked myself to the bone and still couldn't make that much in a month." Tross narrowed his eyes, then changed his tune. "How about this? Seven Crowns a week, plus a meal at the roast-meat stall next door. I guarantee no one else will offer you better."

Roy stared into the merchant's eyes for a long while. Just as Tross was about to lose patience, Roy nodded. "Uncle Tross, how about we start counting from today? Tell me exactly what I'll need to do. What are the going prices for herbs right now?"

Roy spent the whole morning at the herb stall, asking the prices of every kind of herb.

Herb prices fluctuated often, so Tross wrote down the latest information on a sheet of parchment beside the shelves every morning for Roy to consult and memorize. He also taught Roy how to use the basic weighing tools and went over a few things to keep in mind.

Finally, Tross reminded him to come in before four the next morning to cover the stall, then let him go.

Roy continued wandering around the market. His work at the herb stall ended at eight in the morning, leaving him plenty of time to find a second job.

The ideal job would, of course, be an apprentice butcher—he'd earn both Experience Points and Crowns. But as the miller outside the city had said, Edersberg wasn't Kaye Village. None of the butchers here were related to Roy, and they weren't about to let some outsider share in the profits.

He had no chance of getting work slaughtering pigs and sheep outside the city, but Roy had his eye on a similar job in the market: vendors who specialized in handling live chickens, ducks, geese, and other poultry for the townspeople.

Poultry were worth only one Experience Point each, one-fifth of the amount for ordinary livestock, but there were a lot more of them.

The poultry stall stood beside the wooden pen for livestock. Its owner was an elderly local man with white hair named Rul. Roy shamelessly recommended himself and demonstrated his skill with a knife, dispatching a squawking, fat-headed goose cleanly and efficiently. After removing all its feathers, blood, and entrails, Rul agreed to hire him.

The pay was extremely low: just fifty Copper Coins for every thirty birds he processed. But he could work as much or as little as he liked, and leave whenever he got tired.

Roy didn't haggle. The main reason he wanted this strenuous job was the Experience Points. According to old Rul, he had to process at least fifteen birds in the morning alone, which meant fifteen Experience Points. That worked out to more than Roy had earned back when he'd pushed himself to the limit.

That was one advantage of living in a big city: there were more opportunities and more ways to earn Experience Points, without constantly risking your life.

Roy sighed with relief, set down the bloodied knife in his hand, and brushed the disheveled poultry feathers off himself. That afternoon, he'd dispatched twenty squawkers, earning twenty Experience Points and some proficiency in Slaughter.

More importantly, he now had a foothold. He could survive in this big city even without relying on the Witchers' charity. Once he'd settled into his jobs in a few days, he'd find somewhere to continue his studies.

As the last light of sunset faded, Roy returned to the watermill outside the city. The scents of earth, grass, and fallen leaves greeted him, and he finally felt refreshed after spending the day surrounded by the stink of poultry droppings. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his mood lifted.

A hundred paces from the mill, Roy suddenly stopped and peered curiously into the distance.

Outside the old wooden warehouse, a group of boys and girls had gathered around a pile of hay and firewood. Their faces showed a cruelty beyond their years as they pointed at the petite figure sitting on the ground in the middle of their circle, mocking her without pause.

"You ugly freak, you look like a camel... Why don't you stay hidden inside like you're supposed to? How dare you come out and wander around? Just looking at you kills my appetite. How am I supposed to eat?!"

A tall, skinny boy with a face full of freckles kept poking her hair with his index finger, spitting out one vicious insult after another.

"Hmph! She's not a camel. Camels are adorable..." Another girl, pretty and wearing her hair in two little braids, gripped a forked branch in her chubby little hand and slammed it into the girl's hunched back. The girl flinched and wrapped her arms around her knees, pressing her face tightly against them. "She's a monster... That hump is full of poisonous filth. If she hates someone, she'll secretly poison their food... My grandma must've been poisoned to death by her, just like her own mother!"

"She's an old witch, a freak. That's what the books say. She curses people and uses evil magic every day. We should get a Witcher to deal with her... Only mutants can handle freaks."

"Waaah..." The girl in the middle suddenly whimpered.

"Ugly freak, and now you're crying... Think we're bullying you?" The freckled boy smacked her on the back of the head. "We're doing what's right, just like the Revolutionary Army, and she's one of the bad ones on the baron's side! Hit her!"

Some children yanked her hair, while others punched and kicked her back. Others beat her with branches or pelted her with stones and mud.

"Hey! You little brats! What do you think you're doing? Stop it right now!"

A shout suddenly rang out nearby. The children who'd been tormenting her jumped at the sound and looked back. Without even checking who it was, they scattered in every direction. In the blink of an eye, only the girl remained, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.

Her old white apron was covered in muddy footprints. Beneath her brown hair, patches of bruising and swelling showed on her exposed neck.

"You're Toya, right? The miller's daughter. How are you feeling? Did those little brats hurt you?" Roy came over, crouched beside her, and held out his hand.

The hunchbacked girl merely turned her face to look at him, her eyes timid and wary.

Two bright-red handprints stood out on her pale little face, as if someone had splashed two buckets of dirty paint onto a beautiful oil painting. She pressed her two hands, covered in chilblains and calluses, against the ground and silently pushed herself upright. Her frail, bony body was bent beneath the weight of her enormous hump. Limping, she went into the warehouse and shut the door.

Roy couldn't imagine what kind of life she must have lived to wear such an expression... But he felt he should do something for her. He took some prepared Calendula from his inventory, wrapped it in cloth, and left it outside the door. "Toya, I left you some herbs outside. Crush them up and rub them on your wounds later... Trust me, they work really well."

At the dinner table, Roy angrily told the miller and his wife what had happened.

"I saw a bunch of little brats bullying Toya. Five or six of them surrounded her, yanked her hair, beat her with sticks, and slapped her face until it swelled up. Aren't you going to do anything about it?"

"Oh, young man, you don't know the girl. She's tough as leather. A few hits don't hurt her, and they keep her working obediently." Mana gnawed on a greasy piece of fatty meat, her plump face wearing an expression of complete indifference.

Roy sucked in a breath. There was no doubt about it: this fat woman had to be the girl's stepmother.

"I know you mean well," Henk chimed in. "But we're just an ordinary family. We can't protect Toya like she's a princess, can we? That's just how the world is. With a face like hers, people will gossip wherever she goes. She needs to face some hardships and grievances, suffer a little, if she's going to survive. She's been through it for over a decade, and she's strong now."

A little hardship and a few grievances?

Roy understood. This couple didn't even let Toya eat at the dinner table. They didn't consider her their daughter at all. She was probably just free labor they could hit and scold whenever they pleased.

"Forget about that girl. Young man, you spent most of the day in the city. Did you find a job?" Mana asked curiously. She was more interested in that than in Toya.

"I did..."

Both husband and wife looked pleased. If Roy had steady work, he'd have enough money to keep renting the room...

After dinner, Roy went to check outside the warehouse. The Calendula was gone, and he breathed a sigh of relief. But when he returned to his room, he was surprised to find a fresh, cleanly wiped apple on the water bucket by his door. The blue cloth he'd used to wrap the herbs had been placed underneath it.

"Is this a thank-you gift?"

It seemed he'd found a way to communicate with the girl.