《Merchants of the Wastes: Dewindalo》


 Chapter 1: The Road to Dewindalo

    Glade Rowanson needed to find shelter as the orange-coloured sky threatened darkness. The streetlights along the highway served only as a reminder, as bones, as tall concrete ribs, of a dead world. He had walked the entirety of the day, and now, exhausted, he wanted to rest. His eyes were set on an abandoned roadside diner.


    Glade crossed the empty parking lot of the restaurant and pulled at the double doors. Locked. They were chained on the other side. Glade paused and inspected the door: the glass from its thick metal frame had long been broken and haphazardly mended with wood. He selected one of the bottom corners. His foot pressed against the plywood until it yielded to his force. The wood broke, and he crawled into the abandoned building.


    The signs along the highway implied that the establishment was a family-owned operation. Now, almost nothing of it existed. Its interior had been ransacked by scavengers and torn apart by prospectors. Dust clung to the surfaces that remained, while the smell of stale grease still managed to linger in the air. His footsteps seemed to echo in the main room. Glade drew his pistol and scanned the room. He heard nothing except the rapid thump of his heart. He peered into the kitchen and saw the shadows of his own reflection.


    He tried to calm himself. The place seemed empty. He could begin a more thorough check of the location. He hoped he would be able to find something of value, something he could sell. When he approached the front counter, the place where workers once rang the cash register and sent orders to the kitchen, he noticed a slight glow emanating from one of its shelves. Glade made his way around to find a small nest of items: a patchwork sleeping bag, a dim camp lantern, and an open rucksack.


    Surprised, he began to rummage through the rucksack. At first, he searched tentatively, his semi-automatic pistol still in hand, but, after a few minutes, he felt comfortable. He placed his pistol on the counter and reviewed his loot. The bag contained a bunch of cloth-wrapped food, two rolled-up shirts, and an assortment of bullets in a fish-leather pouch. Over the front of the bag hung a worn plastic medkit. Glade carefully opened the kit and saw rolls of medical gauze and several vials of white pills tucked between them. He tried to estimate their value. With this find, he already felt wealthy enough to come home and hand these items over to his mother and his sister. They could probably sell these things, but it would not be enough to cover their debts.


    Glade felt light-headed. The fatigue of the day had reached him. He sat down and unwrapped one of the cloth-wrapped food items. As he did so, he noticed the amber glow of the sun diminish. He thought the sun had set. Then, the shadow moved. Glade quickly turned around to see an old man pointing a semi-automatic pistol, the weapon he had left on the counter.


    ¡°Slowly,¡± the old man had said. ¡°Hands in the air.¡±


    Glade complied, drinking in the details of the man threatening to kill him: the old man had a well-trimmed beard and a short-shaved head. The general effect was of a man trying to mask his receding hairline and still present himself as fearsome. Glade looked into his eyes, but, in this light, they seemed to be nothing more than pools of darkness.


    Glade tried to say something, to say anything. ¡°I¡¯m not a thief,¡± he blurted out. He felt his heart beat and his head ache. He could feel the stress accumulating in his body.


    The old man said nothing. The silence felt oppressive, heavy.


    Glade felt weak. He tried to keep his arms in the air, but the confrontation was too much. He dropped his arms.


    The old man reacted. He pulled the trigger.


    Click.


    ¡°It¡¯s empty,¡± Glade said with a cocky smile. He felt a little better.


    ¡°This one isn¡¯t,¡± the old man said, quickly unholstering a steel revolver.


    Glade placed his hand on the counter, trying to steady himself, but his strength left him. His knees buckled and he collapsed onto the floor.


    The world went dark.


    * * *


    When he regained consciousness, Glade had no sense of the time. The light of the sunset had been replaced by frail slivers of moonbeam. He tried to move but found his arms tied behind his back. Likewise, his ankles were bound before him. He sat uncomfortably on the floor, trying to steady himself mentally.


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    ¡°Hey!¡± Glade shouted from his seated position. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing?¡±


    ¡°What am I doing?¡± The old man rose to his feet and approached his captive. Glade felt a shiver of intimidation. The man loomed over him. Glade looked at the revolver holstered at the man¡¯s leg.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what I¡¯m doing,¡± the old man said. ¡°I¡¯m going to get some information from you.¡±


    Glade kept silent. His head swam a little. His life balanced upon saying the right things.


    ¡°First, the basics,¡± the old man said. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°Glade Rowanson.¡±


    ¡°Where are you from?¡±


    ¡°The Acres.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± the old man asked immediately. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s where I live.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of it.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to say to that,¡± Glade admitted. He felt a sense of stability. He just needed to keep telling the truth, and this man would believe him.


    ¡°Look,¡± Glade continued, ¡°I¡¯m from a small farming community, about a day¡¯s walk from here. It¡¯s just me and my family -- my mother, my sister. There¡¯s a bunch of other plotted land beside us, but we usually stick to ourselves. We just want to live simple lives.¡± Glade looked up from the floor to inspect the old man¡¯s face. He remained stone-faced.


    ¡°And?¡± the old man asked.


    ¡°And it¡¯s not possible anymore,¡± Glade continued. ¡°We don¡¯t own the land. We¡¯re taxed, forced to give rent. We barely grow enough for ourselves to survive. If the Overlords wanted a portion of our growth, fine, we could probably do it. It¡¯d be tough, but we could do it. The way things are now? We¡¯re out of luck. My father died before the winter, and, well, whatever deals he made were nullified.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re running away?¡±


    ¡°What! No!¡± Glade shouted. He jolted himself completely upright. It was one thing to try to kill him, to bind him up, to interrogate him. It was another to call him a coward. ¡°I¡¯m not running away! I¡¯m here to make a difference -- to make money, to make a fortune. I have a little over a month to get what I need and come home.¡±


    ¡°To make a fortune, huh?¡± The old man looked at Glade¡¯s backpack on the floor and then back at him. ¡°How are you going to do that when you have little more than some food for travelling? I mean, you don¡¯t have a single bullet to your name.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to Dewindalo.¡±


    The old man narrowed his eyes. Then, all of a sudden, he started laughing. He tried to speak, but only managed to choke on his words. He pushed his hand into the air, asking for a few moments. Finally, he caught hold of his laughter. ¡°You¡¯re joking, right? You have to be joking. No? Oh, man. Dewindalo is going to eat you up, kid.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a kid,¡± Glade responded.


    The old man crouched in front of him and grabbed his face with a pinch. ¡°Ain¡¯t much facial hair growing there,¡± he said. The man let go only to give him a light slap. ¡°You¡¯re a kid.¡±


    ¡°I shaved this morning,¡± Glade said truthfully.


    The old man smiled with silent laughter. ¡°Ah, man. You¡¯re a dead boy walking. Do you know what happens in Dewindalo?¡±


    ¡°Fortunes are made,¡± Glade said.


    ¡°No,¡± the old man said, turning back to his captive. His face grew heavy. ¡°Fortunes are lost. It¡¯s a place of poverty more than it is a place of wealth. Men, boys like you, think they can make a quick buck. They go into the city and see if they can cut a portion of the wealth for themselves. They place their mind, body, and luck against the city, and they almost always lose.


    "Kid, I¡¯m telling you right now, it is better for you to turn around and go home. Hug your mother. Hug your sister. And try to work that land. I¡¯ve taken the courtesy of looking into your bag. You have nothing. You have less than nothing. Go back to your little semi-sheltered life and live honestly. The Wasteland is going to twist your neck like I would a feral dog. Snap. Then it¡¯ll skin you, eat you, and pick your bones clean. Unsatisfied, it¡¯ll wait for the next na?ve man-boy to wander into its maw.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going,¡± Glade said firmly.


    ¡°Man, I should have killed you. If you had a single bullet in your useless pistol, you would have lived a happier life. Died on day one! I can¡¯t kill you now, not in good conscience,¡± the old man furrowed his eyebrows, ¡°unless you give me a reason to.¡±


    He paused and stared.


    Then, as suddenly as the mood took him, he leapt back into his avuncular tone. ¡°But if you¡¯re going to try to make this journey, and you¡¯re not going to listen to my advice, well, then, I guess, you can go with me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to Dewindalo?¡±


    ¡°Something like that,¡± the old man said. ¡°I have some business to conduct nearby. Once I¡¯m done, I promise you safe passage over the lake. I might as well help you meet your misfortune sooner rather than later, save you the misery of the roads. Every day you¡¯re not dead is a day you wish you¡¯d been.¡±


    The old man approached and untied the youth¡¯s ankles. ¡°Get some sleep,¡± he said as he began to untie his wrists. ¡°I¡¯ll keep watch for the first bit.¡±


    The old man sidled onto the counter and flicked out a small knife. The blade caught a sliver of moonlight. ¡°Tomorrow, you¡¯ll be on a boat to Dewindalo,¡± he said, prying a small piece of wood from his jacket pocket.


    Glade removed his work boots and cautiously approached the sleeping bag. The old man nodded in his direction. Glade sat in the sleeping bag and tried to make himself comfortable.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Glade said softly. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°No problem,¡± the old man said, without looking in his direction. He cut into the wood block. A curled wood shaving fell onto the counter. ¡°By the way, the name¡¯s Jude.¡±

 Chapter 2: The Old Man and the Highway

    Glade tried to keep pace in the morning. His body was sore from the previous day¡¯s walking, and he had not slept long enough to recover. The crisp early spring air did nothing to make him feel better. Too much of the cold of winter lingered in its breeze. Still, Glade was glad to have a companion this morning.


    In the middle of the night, Jude shook him awake for watch duty. The old man made it clear that if he found Glade asleep, he would regret it. Not that the man would kill him, but he would certainly make it hard for him to survive. Glade felt perplexed by Jude¡¯s vacillation between human warmth and Wasteland cruelty. Regardless, the threat kept him awake and gave him time to think about his journey and to daydream about coming back to his mother and sister, wealthy beyond belief.


    ¡°Exit 54,¡± Jude said, pointing toward a half-rusted highway sign. The sign had been repainted over the years. A lone crow perched atop the sign watched them as they approached the exit.


    ¡°How far until Manolin?¡± Glade asked. Jude had told him about the strange fishing village as they walked. There, he would be able to put Glade on a boat to Dewindalo.


    Glade glanced from the derelict highway to the bare shrubs and vegetation which overtook miles of asphalt and concrete. He could not even see the Great Lake behind the thickness of the outcrop despite the lack of leaves. The greenery of spring had only begun to bud.


    When his father told him stories of the world prior, he could hardly imagine living in a grey world surrounded by so many people. His father had once said this region of the world once supported a population of 10 million. Glade shook his head in disbelief. His father, rest his soul, had most definitely exaggerated the number. He could not believe the world itself held 10 million people, let alone on the shores of these Great Lakes.


    ¡°We still have a few hours,¡± Jude said. ¡°We need to take the exit and then walk toward the river mouth.¡±


    ¡°Is it really a floating city?¡± Glade asked. He sped alongside the old man, who walked with a determined and relentless pace.


    ¡°Sort of,¡± Jude said. ¡°It¡¯s more of a village, and only some of it floats. It used to be a marina -- a small harbour for the rich to dock their boats. Things have changed since then, let me tell you. I only need a day for business, then I¡¯ll get you on a boat and you¡¯ll be in Dewindalo before you know it.¡±


    Before Glade could ask another question, Jude put forth his hand. Glade absent-mindedly walked into it and was pushed back slightly.


    ¡°Quiet,¡± Jude commanded in a whispered tone. He crouched closer to the ground and looked into the distance. ¡°What do you see there?¡±


    Glade trained his eyes ahead. In the distance, there lay a long form, almost pulsing with black shapes. It took a few seconds for his mind to adjust and see it for what it was: a dead man surrounded by a murder of crows.


    ¡°It¡¯s a dead man,¡± Glade said, lifting himself back to his feet.


    ¡°Get down!¡± Jude yanked Glade¡¯s sleeve and pulled him to the ground. ¡°You don¡¯t know if it¡¯s a trap.¡±


    ¡°How can you tell?¡±


    Jude said nothing in response. His eyes scanned before glancing behind them. Then, he moved to the median of the highway, a strip of concrete barriers. He hopped over one of them and looked down the road on that side.


    ¡°It looks clear, but I can¡¯t tell.¡±


    The two of them slowed their pace, but soon they arrived at the outstretched body. Glade startled the crows, which scattered in a large cloud of soaring blackness.


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    ¡°Died recently,¡± Jude said. He crouched beside the dead body and began prodding it. The man seemed to have been in his mid-30s, plump, and friendly-looking. He had an unkempt curly beard and mid-length hair and lay sprawled against the broken asphalt.


    Glade checked his surroundings. His mind churned through the possibilities of a trap. Raiders might be waiting for them to feel at ease before they emerged from their hiding places. He had no desire to meet the same fate as the man at his feet. His eyes flickered back to the corpse. He stared at the discoloured face, and his heart dropped. His intuition told him that this man, whoever he was, had been a good man. Glade needed to look at something else. He turned his back and took a deep breath. The air seemed still and stagnant. He inhaled not the promise of spring, but the decay of winter.


    Meanwhile, Jude acted slowly and methodically. He searched for booby traps, checked beneath the body for mines, and felt the inside lining of the man¡¯s vest for anything unusual. Then, he began to rifle through the pockets of the dead man. He removed every item and laid them on the ground.


    ¡°What are you doing!?¡± Glade grabbed the old man¡¯s hand. ¡°He¡¯s dead. We should bury him.¡±


    Jude shook his head with a smile. The old man stopped his looting and stood.


    ¡°Look, I¡¯ve said it before, and I¡¯ll say it again: you need to turn back and go home.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°Then, kid, either you¡¯re going to have to learn quickly or resign yourself to being destroyed by the time you reach Dewindalo. We¡¯re not playing with cows or whatever you do on your three acres¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s closer to fifteen or twenty¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± Jude interjected. ¡°The point is: if you want to survive, you have to grow tough and callous. Is this a dead guy? Sure is. Do I know him? No. Do I care that he¡¯s dead? Yes, actually. You know why? Because he has plenty on him that we can take and plenty on him that we can sell. All the sweeter because we¡¯ve almost reached Manolin. We lug this junk for an hour, maybe two, and then we convert it into cash. Now, are you going to help me with this body, or are you going to keep your mouth open and catch flies?¡±


    Glade closed his mouth and watched while his stomach twisted. He was shocked at the total lack of care for the dead. When his father died, his family made sure to give him a prompt and proper burial in the family plot. Many of their neighbours came to pay their respects to a generous and upright man.


    When Glade was younger, he remembered attending the burial of one of the other subsistence farmers. His father taught him the importance of the dignity of the dead. ¡®Life,¡¯ he remembered his father saying, ¡®is much more than mere survival.¡¯


    ¡°Catching flies? Suit yourself.¡± Jude turned his back to the youth and continued his systematic stripping. ¡°You think people will care when we die? When I die, I¡¯ll meet the same fate. And so will you.¡±


    Glade watched as Jude lined the dead man¡¯s belongings on the asphalt and emptied the man¡¯s bag. Then, he moved toward the body. He removed the broad-brimmed hat from the corpse and took the binoculars from around its neck. Then, he flipped the body on its side as he proceeded to remove its vest and his shirt. He continued by taking the belt and removing the dead man''s pants.


    Glade felt a pang of conscience. He wanted to stop Jude from desecrating the body further. This felt wrong. It was embarrassing. He was stripping this man to his undergarments -- for what? A little bit of money. Glade wanted to have something to bring to his family, but not like this. He wanted to earn his money honestly.


    Glade blinked and shook himself from his fugue state. He must have dissociated, because when he came to, he saw Jude standing in front of him with a second backpack slung around the front of his body. All of the dead man¡¯s items were rolled and tucked away into that bag. Jude wore the dead man¡¯s hat. In his hands, however, were the binoculars and a small cloth-wrapped package of food.


    ¡°Good hunting,¡± Jude said happily. ¡°Here, I can¡¯t fit and carry everything myself, so you can take these binoculars as your own. Sell ¡®em. They¡¯ll probably fetch you a lot. Consider it a gift. As for this¡± -- he waved the food into the air -- ¡°you might be a little hungry.¡±


    Jude slapped the food into his hands and continued walking down the abandoned highway as though nothing had happened.


    Glade simply stared after the old man and then down at his own hands. The binoculars felt heavy, almost too heavy to bear. He took the faded neck strap and threw it over his head. The binoculars fell to his chest and about his neck was hung. He looked at the food in his hand. His stomach growled, but he had no appetite. His eyes moved to the nearly naked dead man on the road and then to the world around him. No humans were present. Only he and the crows.


    His eyes twitched with sorrow. He had suppressed his tears throughout his life, but now, he felt like crying. His mouth painfully curved. He would not let himself cry. Instead, Glade looked to Jude in the distance and ran toward him.

 Chapter 3: At the Gates of Manolin

    As the two men approached the gates of Manolin, Glade noticed the predatory look in Jude¡¯s eyes. The old man did not like what he was hearing.


    ¡°You heard me,¡± the guard said. ¡°You¡¯re not allowed in here any more.¡± The guard shifted slightly in his seat. He had been posted at the inspection kiosk several yards from the main gate. He held a bolt-action rifle loosely in his hands. The tip of its bayonet nearly touched the ground.


    Glade looked away from the two men as they launched into an argument. He spent his time ignoring their words and observing his surroundings. Manolin was a riverside village, which, prior to the Cataclysm, had been a marina for the rich. Their yachts and boats had once moored at these harbours, but, since the world fell into chaos, those vessels had long disappeared. Regardless, the stone fence that encircled the marina remained, its stonework reinforced, and its metal posts extended higher in the sky with reclaimed metal. Everything else, however, had been built and rebuilt using fresh wood. Only when Glade noticed the massive amount of wood in the construction did he realize how deforested the outskirts of the village had become. Its citizens had clearly logged everything they could within a short journey from their homes.


    ¡°Go get Isla for me, will you!?¡± Jude said with mounting ire.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to disturb the Queen of the Reeds for the likes of you.¡± The guard responded. At this point, the guard stood from his chair and gripped his rifle tighter.


    Glade watched Jude tense in the anticipation of combat. The old man, despite his age, contained a level of fierce vitality. He had been more than a survivor of the Wastes. He was a man shaped by it. In some ways, he loved the Wastes. It had made him into the man he was.


    Jude rolled his neck in an effort to ease his body. He removed his backpack and unclipped the worn plastic medkit attached to it. ¡°Look. See this? She requested some medical supplies, and I¡¯ve obliged. If you¡¯re going to hold me, you better be ready to explain things to Isla.¡±


    The guard stood a little straighter, his face contorted in thought. ¡°The tides for the family have shifted.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Jude said with a dismissive hand wave, ¡°It happens all the time. Nearly cyclical, ain¡¯t it?¡±


    The guard shrugged his shoulders. ¡°I¡¯m simply following orders.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m following mine,¡± Jude said, his voice raising. ¡°Isla wanted me to bring her some medical supplies and I have some medical supplies. Let me conduct my business in peace and I¡¯ll be out of Manolin before you know it.¡±


    The guard blinked dumbly at the old man and then looked at Glade. Glade could almost see his brain struggling to arrive at an original thought.


    ¡°You know what, I hate to do it, it¡¯s stupid, but so¡­ so is this situation, here.¡± Jude reached into his bag and pried out his fish-leather pouch. He unbuttoned it and shook out a few bullets. He sorted them carefully and selected two of the more makeshift bullets. ¡°Consider this a gratuity.¡±


    ¡°A what?¡±


    ¡°A sign of thanks, for all you¡¯ve done for me.¡±


    ¡°I-- I ain¡¯t done nothing,¡± the guard stammered.


    ¡°Not yet,¡± Jude said, lifting his index finger into the air. He dipped his finger toward the gate.


    ¡°Oh,¡± the guard said. ¡°Yeah, alright. Three junks and you¡¯re in.¡±


    Jude picked another makeshift round from his pouch and gave it to the guard. The guard inspected the bullets in his hand before tucking them into the square pocket over his heart.


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    Jude started walking toward the gates without another word. Glade jogged after him.


    On the outskirts of the gates was a small stable where horses and other pack animals waited for their owners. Glade saw a young woman hand the reins of her horse to a worker. She was accompanied by a large figure, a man who seemed like he had the ability to snap anyone in half.


    Jude walked through the riverside-village with determination. When he reached an intersection in the road, he stopped and realized Glade was still with him.


    "I almost forgot about you," he said with a brief sigh. "Okay, here''s the deal. I need to get some business done and pay a few calls. Once I''m done, I''ll come find you and let you know if I managed to secure you a trip to Dewindalo. Do whatever you want in the meantime. Just don''t get into trouble. This village is broken into two or three factions, depending on the day, and if you get on the bad side of one or the other, you''re fried."


    "How will you find me?" Glade asked.


    "I''d probably look for a clueless wanderer who doesn''t reek of fish. Okay, fine, look -- if you don''t see or hear from me after two hours, wait by the Town Hall. I''ll fetch you from there."


    "Where''s the Town Hall?" Before Glade had finished his question, Jude had already turned his back and left the youth by himself. Glade stared after him as he approached one of the longhouses on the other side of the road. The old man knocked on the door and waited. A woman with dark grey frizzy hair opened the door. She welcomed him with great affection and closed the door.


    Glade was alone.


    Despite spending almost the entirety of the previous day alone walking along the derelict highway, he only felt his solitude in the middle of these bustling streets. Loneliness, Glade realized, came not from being by oneself but when left by others. Glade sighed.


    When he had met Jude and overcome his initial impression, Glade had hoped that the old man would become a mentor, a guide, a companion. Clearly, this would not be the case. Jude only pitied him. He thought of him as a lost and stupid kid. He cared for him in the same way his sister would for hurt birds on their homestead.


    Glade''s throat tightened. He told himself that he didn¡¯t care. Besides, he never needed Jude¡¯s help in the first place. He would have been able to find his way to the village, find his way to Dewinadlo. J


    Jude only brought Glade into Manolin because the old man had business and decided that a little company would make the journey more pleasant. He had promised a boat to Dewindalo, not out of the goodness of his heart, but, probably, because it would cost him nothing. He had connections in the village and he would put them to use.


    Glade now know that the moment he reached the shores of Dewindalo, he would be without a guide. He would have to survive the fabled city on his own.


    "Don''t think of those things," Glade said to himself out loud. He took a deep breath and started to walk the unfamiliar streets.


    He absorbed the sights and smells and sounds of Manolin. The riverside village sprawled within the confines of the marina. When the villagers needed more room, they either built upon their wooden structures or built outward into the adjacent river and lake. The river poured into the great lake which provided the villagers with their sustenance.


    The villagers had no concerns about building their settlement into the waters. They had sunk large trees into the lake and built over those trees with sturdy planks. Many of the lakeside structures seemed to be on stilts rather than on the extended ground.


    Glade stood at the edge of the settlement. There, where the river joined the lake, he could peer across the great watery expanse. He swore that he could see the towers of the Old World cities on the other side of the lake, but vast amounts of water separated them. It could have been his eyes playing tricks on him. He hoped to see Dewindalo on the other side of this great body of water and his imagination spun those specks in the distance into a mirage.


    Then, the smell of fish filled his nostrils. All at once, Glade felt his poor sense of smell awaken. This settlement, these people, survived off the fruits of this sea-sized lake. The marina hosted a catalogue of boats: canoes, sail boats, catamarans, and sloops. The people lived on the lake as much as they lived on land. Glade turned from the water and wandered back into the depths of the settlement. He followed a train of women as they moved through the tight paths between wooden longhouses and hovels. They poured into to the market place.


    In the middle of the market place stood the Town Hall. The building had survived since the Cataclysm, although its exterior had clearly been altered by its settlers. The building once acted as the central building for the marina, a place for the wealthy to contact workers and have their payments processed and their questions answered. Since those days, it had become the political hub of its citizens. The market sprawled along its edges.


    Glade adjusted the straps on his backpack and touched the binoculars around his chest. He needed to make some money for the survival of his family. He needed to become a merchant of the Wastes.

 Chapter 4: Marketplace Lessons

    Glade entered the marketplace. He wanted to feel comfortable before trying to trade any of his items. He knew that the most important rules in the world of trade were to know yourself, to know your customer, and to know your product.


    The whole place buzzed with activity. It seemed as though the majority of the customers were women, and the majority of the stall owners were older men. Glade approached one stall worked by a thin man. The thin man smiled at Glade as he approached, revealing the large gap made by his missing front teeth. He turned back to his crafts. In his weathered hands, he manipulated metal wires. He had turned and twisted the wire into various fishing hooks. Glade had no name for all the shapes and variations, but the man knew his art: circle hooks, treble hooks, octopus hooks. Had Glade asked, the man could have talked for hours about the fish in the great lake and his time as a young man on solo expeditions. He would have listed the sizes of the salmon, of the trout, of the largemouth bass he had caught. The man placed his pliers on the stall table and picked up a file to sharpen the end of his current hook. He had nearly finished making another item for sale.


    Glade said nothing. Instead, he nodded his head and left for the next stall. It was manned by a young boy, no older than seven years. He had a piece of straw jammed between his teeth and observed Glade with a quizzical eyebrow.


    ¡°What are you looking at?¡± the boy asked.


    ¡°What do you sell?¡± The stall table had nothing on it.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you read?¡± the boy barked from behind the stall counter. He climbed onto a small stool and leaned over the empty stall table, pointing to the signage on the front: ¡®Soup 4 Sale¡¯.


    ¡°Soup?¡± Glade said.


    ¡°Mother makes the best fish soup, don¡¯t you know it!¡± The young boy beamed brightly. ¡°Only a fool would visit Manolin and not buy some.¡±


    ¡°How do you know I¡¯m not from here?¡±


    The seven-year-old boy let out a bark of a laugh. ¡°I ain¡¯t seen you, and I know everyone,¡± he said, emphasizing his first-person pronouns. The boy, despite his age, had ego enough for three teenagers.


    ¡°Maybe next time,¡± Glade said, turning his back.


    He heard the boy shout after him: ¡°You¡¯re making a mistake! You¡¯re missing out on the best soup!¡±


    Glade tried to get more distance between him and the boy. He crossed the marketplace and bumped into the back of a large man. The man spun to see the cause of the disruption. He snarled as one of his hands grabbed Glade by the shoulder.


    ¡°No, Kyren!¡± The voice came from a young woman nearby. At her words, the large man loosened his grip. He followed after the woman, occasionally casting an eye back to wherever Glade went.


    Glade exhaled. Jude had warned him to stay out of trouble, and he had almost broken that agreement. One conflict, his deal for a boat to Dewindalo would be wrecked. Wanting to forget his near brush with trouble, Glade approached a stall operated by three teenage boys. One of them had his arms bound in a wooden splint. On their counter rested a number of metal trinkets and salvaged materials. Their stall seemed more of a general store or a pawn shop than a specialty vendor like the others.


    ¡°Hello,¡± Glade said politely to the three.


    ¡°Hey,¡± they responded, almost in unison.


    The youth with the splint began: ¡°What are you looking to trade?¡±


    ¡°Just browsing,¡± Glade said. He picked up one of the strange items on the counter. It was a long black rectangle. Glade flipped it in his hands, surprised to see his reflection. He smoothed the black mirror of the device¡¯s glass and stared into his own hazel eyes. Despite the darker tint of the glass, he could see himself clearly in the reflection. His mother had done a good job with his haircut, wanting her son to look more cosmopolitan in the greater world. She didn¡¯t want anyone to peg him as a farmer boy from the start. His hair was a light brown, although, after working outside for the entirety of the spring and the summer, it would brighten to a soft blond. Glade ran a hand over his jaw and felt the first hints of the stubble after a day without shaving.


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    ¡°That device right there,¡± the youth with the splint said, ¡°gives you the power to call anyone in the world.¡±


    ¡°Anyone?¡± Glade asked incredulously. ¡°Could he call home?¡±


    ¡°Anyone,¡± the youth with the splint said. ¡°Not perfectly, not all the time, but, if you had two of these, one for you and one for the other person, no matter where in the world you were, you could call them.¡±


    ¡°Like a walkie-talkie?¡± Glade asked.


    ¡°Better,¡± the youth responded. ¡°It¡¯s a cellphone.¡±


    Glade let the words roll over his tongue -- cellphone. The idea of the device was intoxicating. Yet, he would need two of them and, without a doubt, a device like this would cost him a fortune. Perhaps, when he became rich, he would buy two cellphones. He would give one to his mother and keep one for himself. Then, he would be able to wander across the Wastes and she would not need to worry about him.


    ¡°Put it back on the table now,¡± one of the other youths said.


    ¡°Wade, please,¡± said the youth with the splint. ¡°Let¡¯s be nice to our buyer.¡±


    ¡°He ain¡¯t buying anything, Marlin. Does he look like he has bullets to spare?¡±


    Glade placed the cellphone back on the table without a word.


    ¡°Well, he does have a pair of binoculars on him,¡± Marlin said. ¡°He might have something.¡±


    ¡°You want my binoculars?¡± Glade asked. The object hung heavy around his neck. He touched the coldness of its exterior and felt a shiver ripple through his body. The image of the dead man on the highway flashed across his inner eye. ¡°How much for it?¡±


    ¡°How much are you willing to sell it for?¡± Marlin responded.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hear your offer first.¡± Glade had no clue what the value of the binoculars were. He wanted to get rid of the thing and make his first sale.


    ¡°How¡¯s five bullets?¡± Wade said. The third boy punched him in the arm. ¡°Ouch! Cove, don¡¯t do that to me!¡±


    ¡°How about six?¡± Glade countered. He would get a little more for the binoculars than offered. ¡°I don¡¯t like odd numbers.¡±


    ¡°Deal!¡± Marlin pulled out a fish-leather pouch of bullets and knocked six out of it.


    Glade took the binoculars from around his neck. As he held it, however, he felt it grow heavier. He felt sick from holding and handling it. ¡°Actually,¡± Glade said, ¡°you have any 9mm? I¡¯ll take it for six 9mm.¡±


    Marlin lifted his eyes from the table slowly. ¡°You¡¯re a pick one, aren¡¯t you.¡±


    ¡°Very rude,¡± Wade said, rolling his shirt sleeves higher up his arm and over his strong biceps.


    ¡°It¡¯s just business, boys,¡± Glade said with a polite smile. He wanted to defuse the tension of the situation. He realized he should have specified the bullets of the trade during the negotiation, as a stipulation with the one bullet increase.


    Marlin lined the bullets he had on the table, their tips pointed to the sky. He replaced one of the assorted calibres with a 9mm.


    ¡°It looks like I only have three right now,¡± Marlin said. He placed the arm with a splint on the table. The jolt from the placement knocked the six bullets onto their side. They rolled slightly before coming to a complete stop.


    ¡°I guess that¡¯s fine,¡± Glade said. He placed the binoculars on the table and picked up the six bullets. He slipped them into his pockets. He would need to find the right time and place to load the three bullets in his pistol¡¯s magazine.


    Wade, the abrasive boy, picked up the binoculars and immediately put it to his eyes. ¡°Oh, man, I can see everything with these.¡± He started to play around with the knobs. He climbed the side of the wooden stall and tried looking toward the great lake. ¡°These are awesome. They¡¯re going to be so useful out there. We can probably flip them for...¡± Wade looked from his perch and stared down at Glade.


    ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s still here,¡± Cove, the third boy said. ¡°You¡¯re an idiot.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this about flipping?¡± Glade asked.


    ¡°None of your concern,¡± Marlin said. ¡°The deal¡¯s been made and it¡¯s a good deal.¡±


    ¡°What was the deal?¡± From behind Glade, a new voice spoke.


    Glade turned around to see a young woman, the same one who had stopped the large man from fighting him a few moments prior.


    ¡°Uh,¡± Glade stammered, ¡°a pair of binoculars for six bullets.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a stupid deal!¡± the woman said immediately, almost impulsively.


    ¡°Three of them were 9mms.¡±


    The young woman shook her head. ¡°Look, guys, come on, you can¡¯t scam the guy like this.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a scam,¡± said Wade, clambering down from the stall. ¡°He made the deal, fair and square.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a fair deal when the kid doesn¡¯t know its value.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a kid,¡± Glade said to the woman. ¡°I¡¯ve had over two decades...¡±


    The woman lifted her hand. ¡°A pair of working binoculars goes for 15 bullets, minimum.¡±


    ¡°You want to renegotiate?¡± asked Wade. He tightened his hands into fists. Cove stood beside him and lifted a 12-inch fillet knife.


    ¡°We¡¯re happy to renegotiate,¡± Marlin said. In his hand, he held a sawed-off shotgun. The twin barrels of the shotgun aimed at Glade¡¯s chest. ¡°What is your counter-offer?¡±