The day before meeting Alric, Hal was working at the bench outside the house, where the light fell cleanest in the morning. The wood was rough beneath his hands, the surface scored with old cuts and darkened where resin and oil had soaked in over the years, as though the bench itself remembered more work than it strictly needed to. A fishing net lay spread across it, weighted at the corners with stones to keep it from sliding back onto the dirt, which waited patiently below.

  It was not a good net. It had not been a good net for some time. The cord changed thickness twice along its length, and the knots shifted style wherever someone else’s hands had once taken over the work. In places, the twine had been replaced with whatever had been cheapest that season, fibres rougher and less willing than the rest, and inclined to complain when pulled.

  Hal drew a length of twine through a torn section and pulled it tight.

  The net resisted, then gave, settling into a shape that was closer to serviceable than it had been a moment before. Not right. Just usable, which was often good enough.

  “Spine carp,” he muttered, examining the tear. “I swear they wait until you’re not looking.”

  Mara sat opposite him on the same bench, on a small corner not claimed by the net, between her knees rested a shallow bowl and a small pile of dried roots on her thighs. She worked with a knife balanced easily in her hand, trimming the roots down in careful strokes that wasted as little as possible. Sunlight caught the blade as it moved, obligingly making its presence known.

  “You say that every time,” she said, without looking up.

  “And every time I’m right.”

  She smiled faintly and went back to her work.

  The morning was quiet in the way it only ever was before the street properly woke, when even the sounds seemed to be easing themselves into the day. Somewhere nearby, a door shut. A cart creaked and moved on, apparently satisfied with its progress. The air was cool enough that Mara could feel it on her knuckles when she paused, but not cold enough to send them back inside.

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  Footsteps pounded suddenly against the packed earth.

  “Hey,” Mara said sharply.

  Her younger brother skidded to a halt just short of the bench, the others bunching up behind him as they tried to stop without colliding. One nearly did anyway, hopping aside at the last moment and looking as though he had planned it that way.

  “Knife,” Mara added, lifting it slightly so they could see it properly.

  They scoffed, exaggerated and offended, and immediately leaned closer.

  “We can see it,” one of them said.

  “Clearly,” Mara said. “That’s why you’re not bleeding.”

  They rolled their eyes and pushed past her, squeezing between the bench and the wall of the house. One brushed too close, earning a sharp look and a pointed pause that made him reconsider his path halfway through, and possibly several of his recent choices.

  “Don’t go far,” Mara said as they spilled out into the open street. “And be back before noon.”

  They waved hands over their shoulders without turning, already arguing about something else as they moved off, the matter apparently urgent.

  Hal waited until the sound of them faded before speaking. “That’s the third time this week.”

  “They’re bored,” Mara said. She tipped a cut root into the bowl and scraped the blade clean against its rim. “And it’s not raining.”

  “Dangerous combination.”

  He tugged at the net again. It held. Barely. One of the older knots slipped a fraction before catching, as though reconsidering its commitment.

  Mara leaned over to look at it. “That one’s not going to last.”

  “It’ll last long enough,” Hal said. “And if it doesn’t, I’ll know exactly which fish to blame.”

  She snorted and selected a new root vegetable.

  Her mother stepped out from the street into the narrow passage to their homes doorway, her shawl tied into place. The fabric was thin from years of use, folded carefully to hide the worst of it, and doing its best. She looked at them both, took in the net, the bowl, the knife, and nodded once, having seen all of it before.

  “Well, there you are. White Dove, tomorrow morning,” she said. “Early.”

  Mara looked up. “Tomorrow?”

  “There’s someone asking after work,” her mother said. “Strange one, from what I hear. You’ll want to be presentable.”

  Hal frowned. “How strange?” He glanced over at Mara to gauge her reaction.

  Her mother shrugged, the matter clearly already decided. “It’s coming from Monica. All I know is the man bathes daily and apparently scared her kid with some weird magic. Doesn’t matter though, heaven knows we need the copper.”

  With her message given, she turned away heading to the street without waiting for an answer.

  Mara and Hal sat in the sunlight a moment longer, letting it do its work.

  “Well,” Hal said at last, easing the net aside so it wouldn’t snag. “At least it’s not raining.”

  Mara smiled, her gaze lifting briefly toward the house. Extra coin could go a long way. Enough to keep the rain off the beds.