Snow ✓

The Tinker

Mat waited until the day before FestiFae to hook a cart to a speckled gelding named Jude and stock it with beets, ginger, squash, carrots, and all other sorts of root vegetables that would get many a Mystian through a harried winter. Under the pretense of going into town to barter, Mat would grab disguises for himself and Snow.

Winter hung in the air like a promise. The day was grey, the clouds fleecy, the air crisp in his lungs as he steered Jude into Myst. Hoarfrost kissed all nooks and crannies, wreaths hung on doors, and the glow from fireplaces as patrons pushed through shop doors assured warm welcomes. The occasional whiff of mulled wine, spiced cider and herbaceous treats warmed his senses, making his mouth gummy. The road and side corridors were packed with patrons scuttling to and from shops, stalls and carts with fare and fairy-inspired clothing that was little more than fashionable burlap sacks and strips of animal hide branded with gibberish runes. Folks were already shoving hay into their own torn clothes, props that would be used in the mock Great War at the Witching Hour.

For one night every twelve moons, the humans played pretend and switched places with their long-dead adversaries.

Mat kept Jude moving, looking for a spot to park his own cart, when a boy ran out into the road. Mat jerked the reigns, bringing Jude to a startled halt.

The boy with unruly, bronze hair, came to an abrupt stop beside a girl a good head taller with the same burnished hair tied back into a thick plait and an older couple whom Mat could only assume were their parents.

"Look, Chloe! I bartered for a lute," the boy exclaimed, and handed the worn but polished instrument to the girl.

The boy rubbed at his runny nose as Chloe turned the instrument over in her hands and ran her fingers over the strings.

"It looks near identical to the one I used to have."

"That was very sweet of you, Iver," the woman said, placing a hand on the boy's head.

Iver flashed a toothy grin.

Chloe strummed the strings.

"Needs some adjusting, sounds like," the man said.

"I may be a bit out of practice," Chloe said, "but I can practice for you, can't I, Iver?"

The boy nodded, beaming. The girl played a clumsy tune as they moved on down the road, leaving Mat to look on, rubbing his numb fingers through his leather gloves before leading Jude to a post outside Cat's Crumble.

He tried to ignore the sweets in the window as he set up shop, but quickly realized his mistake; all he could smell and think about were those flaky, golden-brown pastries as he haggled over the grumbling of his own stomach.

"I dare say ya need some o' the eats yer sellin'," Whistling Wil said, hand wrapped around the pully of his wagon full of plump watermelons.

"I'm holding out for something sweeter," Mat said as the bakery door swung open.

They watched a pudgy child with one hand in his mother's take a big bite out of a steaming apple crepe. A chunk of gooey apple squeezed out of the bottom and hit the dirt. The child looked down at it with indifference and stepped on it when his mother pulled him along. Something inside Mat groaned as he stared at the dirt-encrusted lump.

"Ah," Wil whistled. "Mistake o' ah place to set up shop, eh?"

"No kidding," he said in tandem with another stomach burp.

"I' trade ya two watermelons for a bag o' those red potatoes."

"Deal."

Midafternoon, Mat loaded up a crate and left Jude, who had been known to bite strangers that ventured too close, to guard the cart as he joined the winding river of customers that were looking for the best deals now that the day was old. Mat bartered for the essentials they didn't grow at the cottage and no one had yet traded him: artichoke hearts, apples, melon rinds and pears for pickling; oats, sugar and flour for baking, and an assortment of seeds for snacking. When he walked into Lamb Chops, it was so packed, he felt like a sardine fighting a current while he was jostled, waiting in line. Holt, the bald and hulking owner of the place, and the lithe red-head with the harsh countenance were manning the counter. When it was Mat's turn, he got the red-head.