“Isn’t anyone going to do anything?” Karigan demanded.

“Old Garl will be along to pick up his body,” the shopkeeper said.

“But the thief—”

“Who’s gonna run after him? You?”

Karigan blushed with shame.

“No one wants to risk their hide. I see you are sensible and carry a sword. Not common on a girl, but sensible. What can I do for you this morning?”

It took a moment for Karigan to shake off her sense of disgust at how easily the shopkeeper slid from murder to commerce. She couldn’t think about it. She had to carry out her own mission, and there was no time to dwell on North’s problems. She suspected that if she didn’t get to Sacor City soon, more people would die.

She chose dried meat and fruit, tea, bread, and cheese from shelves, and some grain for The Horse from a hogshead. She set them on the counter in front of the shopkeeper.

“Two silvers,” he said.

“Why, that’s—” Robbery she wanted to say. She held her tongue, the price raising bile in the back of her throat. But she was, after all, a merchant’s daughter, and not without bargaining skills. “Half a silver,” she said.

The shopkeeper smiled in appreciation. He was a bargainer, too, and looked so smug that few probably got the better of him. “Two silvers is how it stands.”

Karigan furrowed her brows together. “Half a silver is all those goods are worth, but I’ll raise it to a silver. I can see it is difficult to earn a living in a town such as this.”

The shopkeeper nodded. “A fine offer, but a man needs more to make a living. A silver and a half, plus a copper.”

Karigan shifted her stance. The man didn’t give in easily. She wondered how many people were taken by bargainers such as him. When she lowered the price to one silver, the shopkeeper scratched his bald head as if not sure how it had happened.

“One silver is still ridiculous for these goods, but I’ll accept the price.” She passed the precious coin across the counter. As she did so, something gold glittered in a basket of trinkets on display on the far end of the counter. “How much for the brooch?” she asked.

The shopkeeper brightened. “Why, one silver. Not so much for such a fine piece.” He placed the winged horse brooch in the palm of his hand for her to look at.

“A deplorable price,” Karigan said. “A cheap trinket. One copper is generous.” She knew full well that the brooch was just as much pure gold as her own, but chances were that the shopkeeper saw it as a gaudy piece of costume jewelry, as had Torne and Jendara seen hers.

The shopkeeper raised his brows. “That ring you’re wearing . . . a clan ring?”

Karigan had forgotten about her mother’s troth ring. It probably wasn’t something she should wear openly, with its gold and diamond, in a town such as North. She sensed, however, that the shopkeeper was suddenly intimidated. Rarely did she ever use the traditional clan bow, but she did so now. She placed her hand on her heart and dipped low. “Clan G’ladheon at your service.”

“Merchant clan?”

“Yes.”

“I should have known. I wondered how you managed to outbargain me.” He chuckled good-naturedly. “A copper it is, for the brooch.”

Karigan couldn’t believe her good fortune. She thought she would end up having to pay at least half a silver. She pushed the copper across the counter and took the brooch. It was heavy and cold in her hand. All of the blood hadn’t been polished off. The folk here were no better than Torne and Jendara, picking valuables off the dead. She dropped the brooch into her pocket, collected her goods, and left just as a bewhiskered man dressed in buckskin strode in, beaver, fox, and mink pelts swaying over his shoulder.

The body of the shopkeeper had been removed. Farther down the street, a crowd assembled. Most folk were garbed in the colorless textiles or buckskin of the town. A few merchant types added a splash of color. Karigan loaded the saddlebags with her newly purchased goods, and mounted The Horse. The sooner they left town, the better.

They plodded carefully toward the assembly. Members of the Anti-Monarchy Society formed a barrier around Lorilie Dorran who stood atop an overturned apple crate addressing the crowd. Not everyone likes Lorilie’s ideas, Karigan thought idly. Or they just don’t like Lorilie.

“You say the king protects you?” Lorilie demanded.

A man shifted uncomfortably in the crowd. “That’s right.”

The crowd jeered him. He was well dressed, perhaps a merchant, and definitely not local.

Lorilie held her hands up to quiet the crowd. “I suppose the king does protect and favor the wealthy. The wealthy can afford it. Your merchant’s guild is as bad as the governors’ council, trying to control entire villages with your trade, and your rules.

“But what of the folk here in North?” Lorilie’s eyes seared those of her audience. “A man was killed this morning in the street. No one was here to prevent the crime. The king didn’t protect him. The king won’t fund a constable to keep order in this town. He will fund constables to guard the warehouses of rich merchants in Corsa.” Her hands flew as she spoke. “The only time we see a representative of the king is at tax time.”

A low grumble circulated among the gathered. Karigan tried to guide The Horse around the fringes of the crowd without drawing attention to herself, but people blocked the entire street, and were too transfixed by Lorilie to move out of the way.