Page 44 of A Dark and Drowning Tide

MILK—1.00

EGGS—0.25 (EACH!!)

NO REFUNDS, NO COMPLAINING

“With that advertising,” said Ludwig, “how could wenotinquire?”

“How curious! The milk is almost certainly produced by a bahkauv. As for the eggs, perhaps an erdhenne?” The interest in Sylvia’s voice was unmistakable. “I can only imagine what effects consuming them might have.”

“Nothing good,” Lorelei snapped. Honestly, she could not fathom how the woman had survived this long.

Bahkauv, although they looked like cows, came armed with sharp fangs, claws, and a priggish hatred for drunks. Sylvia’s first book had included a lengthy interlude in which she befriended one living in a fountain outside a pub. It had attacked no fewer than forty men as they attempted to stumble home. As for erdhenne, they were rather skittish creatures, said to have escaped from the coops of more powerful wildeleute. When they took up residence in mortals’barns—andwere well cared for, ofcourse—theyclucked to alert the household of danger. Her skepticism remained unchanged.

Wildeleute were not mentioned in any Yevanisch dietary laws, which naturally meant that scholars had spent centuries arguing with one another about it. Was a bahkauv kosher if it looked like a cow but hunted men? Could any of the wildeleute be slaughtered without unnecessary suffering? Werethey—withtheir strange, potentmagic—containersfor the divine? As far as Lorelei was concerned, the justification did not matter. No sensible person would bother with them at all.

“Only one way to find out,” Ludwig said as he pushed open the door.

A bell chimed as they entered. Inside, it was warm and cozy and smelled blessedly of coffee. Dried herbs hung from the rafters in thick, fragrant clusters. If she was not mistaken, Lorelei spied a few shards of bone knotted up amid the lavender sprigs. A tight spiral of stairs led up to what Lorelei assumed was the owner’s living quarters. A door behind the counter, studded with iron nails, rattled ominously. She caught Sylvia staring at it longingly.

The shopkeeper appeared at the top of the staircase with a shawl drawn over her shoulders. Lorelei absently noted the silver clasp at her throat, engraved with the image of a saint. The woman’s shock at seeing Sylvia there was plain, and she narrowly avoided stumbling down the stairs in her eagerness to attend them. “Your Highness, you honor me. What can I do for you?”

“We’re collecting supplies for ourjourney—andstories,” Ludwig interjected. “Do you know any about the Ursprung?”

“What do you want children’s tales for?”

“We’re scholars,” Sylvia said brightly.

The shopkeeper’s answering expression was entirelybemused—almostpitying, as if she thought them terribly daft. “There’ll be a woman at the festival who tells the tale much more prettily than I ever could.”

Lorelei filed that information away. With any luck, this detour would not be a complete waste of time.

“Excellent,” Ludwig replied. “Now tell us about these enchanted goods of yours.”

She was evasive in a practiced sort of way, sharing just enough to remain mysterious. But Ludwig kept up a steady stream of inane chatter as he pointed out what he wanted. Lorelei could hardly track their conversation. It flitted from harvests and rain patterns to business, the wildeleute in the area, a glade just north of the village where a plant that could summon storms grew (at this, Ludwig seemed genuinely intrigued), as well as the many virtues of her six unmarried children. Lorelei almost admired her bald-faced opportunism.

Finally, when she finished wrapping everything in paper, Ludwig laid Heike’s ring before her. The sun, evidently sympathetic to their plight, chose that exact moment to lance gloriously through the window. Its rays struck the gemstone and scattered in tiles of multicolored light.

The shopkeeper stared at it as though he had emptied a bag of snakes on the countertop. “That isn’t enough.”

He whistled. “Well, then. Your prices are considerably higher than I expected. What flexibility do you have?”

“Significantly less now,” she groused. “What can I do with a ring that fine?”

Ludwig winked. “It once belonged to the princess of Sorvig, the most beautiful woman in the world. A suitable dowry for one of your children, wouldn’t you say?”

“You certainly can’t put a price on that,” Lorelei said drolly.

The shopkeeper seemed unimpressed. “Throw in ten marks, and it’s yours. That’s as low as I can go.”

“Across the way, I saw a man selling produce for much less.” He leaned across the counter and lowered his voice as if sharing a secret. “But I didn’t like the look of his wares quite as much, if I’m honest. And he certainly had nothing enchanted.”

“Andthat,” she said, with no small measure of pride, “is precisely why I charge more.”

“But, with our funds as tight as they are . . .” He shook his head with a grave air. “We lost so much to the lindworm, and our Mondscheinprinzessin needs to eat. We’ll settle if we must.”

Sylvia opened her mouth, clearly ready to object. Lorelei kicked her ankle.

“Fine.” The shopkeeper sighed resignedly. “I’ll take your trade.”