The fire that was heating the kettle was slowly dying. Sophie leaned over from the table and opened the wood stove's little square door. Though it was as small as possible, the stove was a heavy, bulky beast that took up far too much space in the cart for her liking, but entirely necessary. She had never once been able to convince anyone to pay to drink cold tea for their fortune and didn't expect to in the future. The flames were just barely clinging to the embers. She shut the door.

Sophie leaned back and examined her sewing. Earlier in the day, she had not been able to get two minutes to put one stitch in the patch on her torn skirt without a customer, one after the other. Old Rose was a good place for her cart, constantly busy--many people had walked in with an armful of shopping. At some unspecified point in the day, the number of curious people had dwindled down to nothing. Now, her skirt was totally mended, the distressing gap in the fabric filled by a colorful green patch donated by a very generous old rag. She pursed her lips and folded it up, depositing it behind the curtain.

The kettle was not full, containing maybe enough somewhat-warm water for two more cups. Sophie imagined that it was a small trick to heat water with magic. Think of that, cooking with magic. It probably did not count as a noble use, though what a boon it would be! Sophie smiled as she poured herself a new cup of tea. As it steeped (as much as they could, she had been using the same leaves all day), she shuffled the deck she always used for herself--the heart--and laid out the cards to see what they said.

Sophie thought she might stay open for business until sunset, before putting away her cards, counting up the day's profits and feeding the kenser. It was good to build up a habit in a particular part of town. She'd be here for a while yet. She liked her work, but slow patches bored her to death.

((Just as a note, wicks are not generally as concerned with "the noble uses" as galdori.))

Three pairs of eyes watched eagerly from the alley. A trio of street children hovered in the lengthening shadows, curiously observing the woman with her cards and her cart. They'd been around most of the day, really, watching other customers come and go, begging quietly.

The oldest, a freckled, red-headed boy of barely twelve was mostly watching the kettle, working up the bravery to ask for food. A younger brown-haired, dirtier boy and a tiny blue-eyed girl who couldn't possibly be older than four or five, were busy staring at the kenser. The girl had a finger or two in her mouth, but she was still smiling shyly at the beast, longing to touch it.

While the three were just barely noticeable, Sophie had spied them once or twice throughout the day.

After a few common spreads, all disappointingly wrong, Sophie put out a spread shaped like a star, her most mystical distribution--and almost re-dealing it, she hated to read anything with a Tower in it out of sheer principal--Sophie paused to examine it as neutrally as she could. It was hard to read her own fortune, or anyone else's, really, without tailoring it. The woman that they described right now, without any of Sophie at all, was physically safe but in a terrible situation, involving an older figure that controlled her every move and would eventually drain her of any will to live. She was also going to take a voyage across the sea.

Sophie snorted and swept the cards back into the deck with a single movement, shuffling them a bit out of habit. She set the deck down and knocked back her tea like a shot, swallowing hard. The rest she swirled and turned upside down on the saucer. She peeked underneath, curious to see if the leaves were any luckier. There was a horse, she thought, or maybe a kenser. Or a long-necked dog. And a narrow little line to the right. A person? It looked like maybe it had arms.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the beggar child, the tallest one. He was young, a boy still, and rather dirty. There were two others, little ones. Sophie peered back into the cup. Just the one. She used her littlest finger to nudge two more small figures into place, one on either side. There. It was fate, even.

Sophie put down the cup. She picked up an empty bucket and took a half step out the cart, staring dead at the oldest. "Oy! You, boy!" she shouted, so her voice might carry to the shadows in the alley. "Come here a moment, got a job for you! A bit of bread in it for you, no?"

The older boy blinked, shrinking away at first as if he was afraid to get caught and further yelled at. He perked up again, peeking cautiously from their hiding place, at the mention of bread, but only took a few steps closer.

"Y'ent messin'?" He grunted, cautiously. The girl clung to his over-sized shirt and stared wide-eyed at the woman, but the other boy apparently had gone to hide already.

The red-headed eldest considered for a moment, thought process almost visible in his green eyes. With a brave sort of sigh, he pat the girl on the head and made hand motions for her to stay before sauntering over like a frightened puppy, a blank expression slowly coming across his dirty face. He was lean, but not entirely gaunt. There was the hint of a small knife on his belt. Apparently, the three of them mostly got by, but obviously not well enough.

"Um ... You mean it, 'bout bread?"

"Yes, I mean it!" Sophie said briskly. She waved him closer, setting down the bucket in front of her. She felt sympathy for the child, understanding to an extent the bleakness of poverty. She also understood the dangers of foolish charity. A cold tone of business warned that she was not going to be overly hospitable or inclined to part with anything else.

"You know the pump five streets down, y'know, for water?" She jerked a thumb in its general direction. Earlier that morning she had trekked for water more than once to wash and make tea, and while it was not a terrible journey, Sophie already hated to make it. "Fetch me a bucket or two and I'll make good on my end. But be quick, you hear?"

The young red-head's green eyes widened with a bit of trusting excitement. Underneath the grime and the freckles, the boy might even have looked relieved.


He picked up the bucket with a slightly gap-toothed, cautious grin, "Yes, ma'am. I can do that for ya. Promise." The boy looked over his shoulder at his two friends, then back to Sophie, asking quietly, "Can they pet your kenser while I'm gone fetchin' your water? Please? I promise they won't bother nothin' else."

Sophie huffed and pressed her lips together. It seemed innocent enough, and the other two were rather young to be devious, if they were indeed. After a moment, she sighed and nodded. She shut the cart's little door behind her and stepped out around to Sale.

"Fine then. But no mischief, I ent going to tolerate it," Sophie warned.

The other two children had of course been eagerly listening. The tiny girl squealed with unabashed delight, fingers flying from her mouth as she practically floated from the shadows of the alley towards the kenser, hands outstretched in complete abandonment of caution. The brown-haired boy was perhaps a bit more jaded, and he hovered in contemplative silence for quite some time, staring at his red-headed elder as if waiting for permission.

The older boy grinned at him, "Mind th'lady, both of ya. Or else." He sounded serious, but only somewhat. With another flash of his impartial set of teeth to Sophie, he turned and sprinted down the road towards the pump, bucket swinging at his side.

"Th-ankth, ma'am." Muttered the other boy, finally moving to stand behind the now-drooling, overly excited young girl, watching her enjoy petting the large beast of burden with a distanced sort of protectiveness. He didn't smile, but there was a hint of enjoyment underneath the dirt on his face.

The tall Gioran slowly paced the market street, a heavy looking duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He was tired. It had taken far too long to get to Old Rose from Knowles. Some part of him was vaguely aware that should he try to take his boots off, he would find them too tight to budge.

A burbling motion rumbled in his stomach. Loudly. He sighed and adjusted his bag. Just as he did, a breeze tugged on his attention, pulling his eyes to a multicoloured cart. A wick woman stood by the cart, with two small children by her kenser. "The Future Revealed!" Seretur smirked at himself. It was certainly the time for new fortunes. Maybe the kind of fortunes that had food involved?

There was something drawing him to the cart, maybe it was the wind. Maybe Vita had something important to tell him. Maybe he was hoping the thin trail of smoke from the cart's chimney indicated food. Either way, he found his feet taking him closer and closer.

"Don't scare him, now," Sophie said, barely containing her grin. Children and kensers universally seemed to go together and Sale was a particularly mellow animal. "Go with the coat, don't pet him the wrong way. He doesn't like that much, see."



"You can pet 'im too," Sophie said, nodding to the little boy. Perhaps this child had become forever wary--from the street or his people? Sophie could hazard a guess at what his day-to-day life might be like, that he was so cautious around a grown person.

She patted Sale's back affectionately. The wind picked up, blowing stray hair into her face. Sophie wrinkled her nose, reaching up to push it back behind her ear. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a man--Gioran, she guessed--approaching. He was tired, to her eye, like he'd been traveling. Sophie wondered what sort of fortune she'd give him. A traveler implied a destination, or maybe a search or a chase. Was he arriving at last, or just passing through? A wanderer, like her?

Sophie raised a hand in greeting. "Hey, stranger. Would you glimpse into the future?" she called, amiably. "See beyond the veil, peer into the unknown?"

The boy hesitated another moment before joining the tiny girl in touching the kenser. He might have enjoyed it, but his expression became blank instead of cautious. He wasn't very good at smiling. The youngest was beaming snottily, both hands rubbing the kenser's thick coat in the direction instructed with the kind of abandon only small children were fully capable of.

Somewhere down the street, the eldest boy could be heard whistling a tune to himself, carefully trying not to slosh a bucket full of water onto the dirty cobblestones as he swaggered back into view. At first glance, the red-headed, freckled boy looked far too scrawny to be supporting such a large, full bucket, but apparently he had plenty of hard-earned muscle.

He clomped along in shoes too big for his feet, over-sized old shirt hanging off one shoulder, whistling through his missing teeth without a care in the world, thoughts of food warming his little heart.

Seretur waved with his free hand at the witch, then chuckled as he heard her offer of future reading. "Aye, if yah have the time."

As he got closer, it was easier to tell the children were more likely street rats than any relation of the wick. There was a glimmer of amusement in the expression on Ser's face, watching the children pet the kenser. When he reached the cart he shrugged off his bag, letting it hit the ground with a solid thump, small wisps of dust poofing out from under it. There was very obviously something (or things) that were very heavy in it.

"What kind o' future-tellin' can yah do?" He clapped his hands together, causing the dust that had gathered on them to fly off. The broad man laughed at himself, holding his hands out for inspection, "I don't think yeh can see much un'er all that dirt, so's it'd be best if it wern't readin' my hands."

"I interpret the stones, the cards, and the tea leaves," Sophie said, listing off with her fingers. She winked. "But I reckon if I tried, I could divine from the dust on yer palms. The third eye, for those thus gifted, works even under the direst circumstances. I've just a touch of my own business to attend to first. I must attend on a bargain, see."

Sophie unlatched the door, letting it swing behind her. From a lidded basket, she fetched a thin, somewhat flattened loaf of bread. She checked around it for spots or insects picked up off the road; satisfied there were none, Sophie broke it into roughly equal pieces for the boy to pass between the three of them. Sophie lamented that she had no jam or butter to give them--she didn't like sweet things, and butter was a luxury reserved for incredibly good fiscal weeks.

Back by the cart, Sophie distributed the loaf among the two small children, withholding the red-head's for a proper trade. She eyed the bag discreetly, noting the displaced dust around it. A fortune began to formulate in her head; it always did to have these things planned in advance.

"MUH-DAM, SO-FEEE-A'S," Murmur read clumsily, squinting through her vita-be-damned bad eye, "THE FOOT-CHA RE...RE." she shook her head. Her reading had never been all that good, even from this distance- but she'd gathered that this cart was wick and peddling fortune readings.

It had been a very long time since Murmur had seen a cart like this one; in Old Rosie business was not good for something as frivolous as the future even with all of the sailors and their superstitions. In a way, it reminded her of home, when the wicks would set up cart at home and her brother's would do their very best to send as many as they could back to their tribes in floods of tears.

The witch herself was almost a beacon in the dull spot she'd chosen. Her green hair was adorned with bright bows and something shiny in her nose glinted at Murmur.

The witch, who must have been Madam Sophia already had a customer, a great big man who looked like he'd been made of bricks and it was then that Murmur approached. She could barely afford the present, let alone the future, but was never one to miss a show.

The two children immediately stopped petting the kenser and happily accepted the offered bread. The youngest practically shoved the entire piece in her tiny mouth, perhaps unused to being handed such a portion at a time. She warily eyed the man as he approached, finally wiping her nose on the back of her dirty hand. The brown-haired boy was a bit more methodical and calm about his bread, eating it with a calculated sort of enjoyment, as if he knew it was something to be savored. He stepped in front of the girl protectively as the woman approached, bread clutched eagerly in his hands even as he narrowed his hazel eyes like a frightened animal.

"Your water, ma'am!"

Shouted the red-headed youth as he rounded the corner, beaming happily. The boy spotted Sophie headed into her cart and nervously rushed to catch her, afraid she'd given up on his loyalty. He spied his friends, eating with an eagerness afforded only by the poor.

Clunking the heavy bucket down at the witch's doorstep without spilling a drop, the boy grinned his gap-toothed smile, putting on his best salesman voice, "I ent tired yet, if'n you need more."

With that, his expression turned expectant, and he hovered wordlessly waiting for his share.

A warm smile cracked the man's face as he nodded, "O' course. Shoul'n't be interruptin' yer business." Bowing to the two children who were already in attendance, "I mus' beggin' yer pardon, I dinna' mean t' be so rude, Sir, M'am." Seretur said this very solemnly, as if he were talking to someone of high rank, though there was a glimmer of laughter in his eyes. He winked at the young girl, as if letting her know he wasn't really that scary, at the same time as holding out one hand to the boy, "My name's Seretur, o' Knowles." By comparison, his hands were huge compared to just about any part of the children.

As the young boy moved infront of the girl, Ser glanced over to see if he wasn't the cause of their shift. Indeed, there was another person joining their rag-tag assembly. Perhaps she was related to the children? Although on second look, none had skin close to hers, and even she looked raggedy when compared to the lot of them. And smelled much worse he quickly realized.

The water would be good for a bit of rice, a full kettle and if she felt like washing her face before bed; Sophie didn't think she'd need much more until the next morning, when she'd need yet another kettle and a wash and a bit of rice . . . Sophie nodded to the boy as she exchanged the final third for the bucket.

"I don't want for more now, but come by in the morning and jus' see if I don't have something for you then, eh?" Sophie said. She smiled at him, a open concession of sympathy. She was a little fond of the boy, now. Something about him reminded her of a younger cousin or a nephew, always eager for a chance to earn a fort from his dabeata. Or anyone else, for that matter.

She looked to Seretur of Knowles and realized that he might not fit into her cart. Not easily, at least.

"My business concludes, Sir." Sophie bent her neck in the same serious fashion. "D'ya wish to toss the stones, or turn the cards? Or swirl of a cup of leaves, given as soon as it heats up?"

Murmur chuckled, she liked children, being little more than a child herself in many respects. Indeed as she blinked at the kenser, she too felt the urge to ask if she could pet it- but suspected that she would be turned down.

As the large man solemnly introduced himself to the children, Murmur curtisied in the background to show them she wasn't the sea monster her smell might suggest.

"Gettin' yerself proper jobs," said Murmur looking at the children and nodding, smiling her much prettier closed mouth smile, "at yer age is somethin' te be commended. An' not a luxury all of us can afford," Murmur pointed at the redhead, "this one, is gonna grow up te be somethin very special...a politician, a lawyer or," her voice swelled with pride, "a fishmonger who owns his own shop."

Murmur barked at herself and turned to Sophie, "There yer are...a future readin'! An' for free! P'raps I oughta set up here...in direct competition!" she smiled and spread out her hands to show she was joking, "In all seriousness, though miss...would ye maybe tell th' gentleman's fortune out 'ere an' not in the cart...s'bin a while since I sawed a wick doin' tricks- an' i'll bet the chillun want te see it too."

"For free!" Sophie laughed. The girl--she supposed that she was a woman grown, but it didn't seem to stick--smelled rank and her face was battered to a mush, but she had an earnest kind of character that Sophie rather liked. "Nothing in this world is free. Fishmongering is fine and well, but it takes money to make the future as well as read it. 'Sides it's the gentleman's discretion as to audience, as well as method."

Sophie smiled at Seretur of Knowles. "For three tallies I can read the cards out my hands or throw stones on the street. The leaves are a bit dull for a show, but less cost to you."

"I dunna mind 'avin' my readin' out 'ere." The Gioran glanced at her cart, one eyebrow raised and a wry grin on his face, "I... like the fresh air." He fished his coin sack from inside his duffel bag, trying not to frown overly much at the lightness of it. With the bag slightly open, some clothes were visible, along with a wooden handle.

"Can yeh read the cards for me?" Seretur handed 3 tallies to the wick.

Three tallies were cheap for the sort of show Sophie had in mind, and rather lenient when she recalled what she made some pay, but this fellow didn’t seem to have much. She collected them in her offhand, pinched between her finger and thumb. With a flourish, Sophie did some vodundun with her other hand, revealing their disappearance to her audience with a grin. It seemed as though the coins had vanished into thin air, though she had only children, for whatever reason, adored this trick, and she had done it for their benefit.

“I fetch the cards,” Sophie said with a shallow bow, dipping nimbly back into the card to fetch the low deck. Usually she offered a choice, but the show was rolling well. She didn’t think it mattered to Seretur, either way. She shuffled briefly, in two hands and then only one, to loosen her fingers.

Sophie had not read out of her hands in a while. She still practiced the various card-tricks with the idea of passing them on to an enterprising child of her own, as her mother had to her—though as time passed, Sophie was growing less and less sure that there would ever be such a thing. Perhaps if the redhead asked her, she might tell him how to find a card in a deck.

Sauntering back outside, Sophie offered the deck to Seretur. “The querent traditionally cuts the deck first,” Sophie instructed. “Cut it as many or as few times as you like; it’s only the touch of your fingers that’s important, see.”

Seretur nodded, taking the deck from her. He cut the deck three times, once close to the top, once close to the bottom, and the third time just about the middle. Seemingly satisfied, he handed the deck back to the witch.

He watched the cards like a hawk, though undoubtedly his journey had made him weary.

Over a long career of cards, Sophie had developed a few theories about the way people cut cards. In general, the wary ones cut more than those who were either indifferent or comfortable. Friends of hers--usually other wicks--merely tapped the deck. Extensive deck-cutters were an old puzzle. Sophie rarely fixed the deck for a reading, and even if she had a mind to, she wouldn't leave the card in to begin with.

Seretur cut it three times, which was hardly excessive, but he cut it in varied amounts, which spoke to his character. Easy-humored with children, amiable to her and the girl. Perhaps the sort given to contemplation at sunset. A thorough man, with dust covering the many burn scars on his hands, and strength enough to lift a bag that probably weighed more than she. The handle through his bag could be a hammer's handle--a blacksmith? A blacksmith long away from any anvil, and probably looking for more work.



Sophie smiled her most enigmatic smile--a tiny tug on the left corner of her mouth, suggesting the beginning of some grand adventure. She sprung the cards from one hand to the other, ostensibly warming up. With a flourish she drew the first card as soon as it was in her hand, holding it face up between her forefinger and middle finger.

"The Ghost!" Sophie said, not half as surprised as her voice sounded. Any card was as likely as the other. This card depicted a little child sized void outlined in stars against a misty night sky that Sophie found to be a rather sad image. Her opinions on the cards varied, but The Ghost she felt of as being an old, familiar friend of similar background and experience. She widened her paint-rimmed eyes, an effect that Sophie knew was somewhat disconcerting, somewhat desperately urgent, on her unusual face.

"I rarely draw this card; it tells me that you dwell on something that must be resolved and quickly. Something in the past persists to this day--" here she drew the next card, neatly between her thumb and forefinger so that they appeared side by side. She only had a split second to come up with a reading this way, but Sophie found the draw, which shaped the two cards like a fan, to be particularly pretty. To her genuine surprise the next card was Temperance. "--something that will grant peace of mind only when--if--it is resolved before it is too late."

Sophie folded the two-card fan and added the third, spreading it again to reveal the seven of cups. Temperance had been luck. It was unusual that two cards went together so well, much less three.

"Ah, you are lucky! Your life yet shows you the possibilities of resolution--perhaps too many, for the world is wide and no man may see all of it before he dies." Without missing a beat, Sophie flipped the next card into the fan with her finger tip, catching it neatly between her fingers. Her tone became a little melancholy upon the sight of it--she always considered the ace of cups to be an unhappy little card.

"Indeed, you may lose yourself to this terrible burden--" there, she had said it. Initially inspired by the heavy bag, which he had carried all the way to Old Rosie, apparently from Knowles. "--which you carry with you, always."

Reserving the fan of cards, Sophie offered the deck again. "Cut the remaining cards, please, and give me any three cards you please, one after the other, without looking at their faces."

The large man watched the witch draw the first card. Her expression made him slightly uneasy, watching as she showed him the card. A very slight frown passed over his features as she gave the reading, "Resolved quickly? How can I find..." The train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of a second card.



Unconsciously, his hand went to the carving around his neck. His fingers passed over it's worn surface as they had a hundred times before.



There was a brightening in his expression, a little spark of hope.



The dark, almost brooding frown reappeared. "So, that is the way of it..."

Seretur rubbed his lightly stubbled chin, looking at the rest of the deck. He took it gingerly, as if it suddenly knew more than it was telling, "Aye," Again he cut the deck in the same strange fashion, once close to the top, once close to the bottom, and the third time just about the middle. Without pausing, he took the top three cards in order and handed them to Sophie.

Sophie noted with masked interest the act of touching the little figure. It was a cheap little thing, a carving in the shape of a raven, and clumsily produced, as if by a novice. Sophie doubted that such a thing had been created by this man, who was so careful in all other aspects. It seemed old, like a beloved piece--this cemented her opinion that he had not made it himself. He did not immediately display the sort of pride she would expect in someone who would wear a shoddy carving he had made himself or seek comfort in it long enough to wear its edges smooth. A gift from a friend or relative? That elicited such a sudden, unguarded response?

His distress, at least, was evident. Sophie rarely concerned herself with how precise her readings were, but the interpretation had chanced on a very real nerve. That did happen. The first card of the cards handed to her was not another cup--three of one suit in a seven card reading was considered unlucky by some--but the two of swords. The other two were the five and four of rods. Sophie smiled in unexpected delighted.

"Yes, it does seem grim, doesn't it?" she said sympathetically. "You are at a crossroads, seemingly without any answers or means to acquire them. But do not lose hope, for these cards tell me that you are stronger than this burden is heavy, and more determined than the journey is long."

Sophie folded the fan of cards so that the Ghost was situated on the bottom with Temperance on the top, showing it face up. "Though you are haunted--" She flipped the diminished stack over and showed the top card. It had, to the audience, turned into the Ghost. "--at every turn--" She turned the card back over and cut four times quickly. Sophie showed the Ghost at the bottom again. "--by this unyielding spectre--" Sophie falsely drew the top card once more, reliably having turned into the Ghost. "--of your past, you can be assured that one day, you will confront it and you will defeat it, and that when you do--"

Sophie put the Ghost at the top of the deck and smoothly double-lifted to reveal the placidly beautiful woman holding cups of wine and water that depicted Temperance.

"--that happiness and serenity which has eluded you these long years will be, at last, yours."

It was truly the four of rods that ensured this happy ending, but Sophie felt that it was shabby little card to end a reading on.