Cassandra and Damon emerged from their hiding place to find Athena already investigating her pack.

  "Don't mind her," Democritus said. "She's checking for threats."

  She pulled out their remaining bread and ate it.

  "How did you know we were there?" Cassandra asked.

  "Athena told me." He patted the her neck affectionately. "She's excellent at sensing people who don't want to be found. Much better at it than I am, actually."

  "You saved our lives," Damon said.

  "Did I? Well, that's nice. Usually when I help people, things go sideways somehow." Democritus began repacking his scattered belongings. "Are you really a prophet, then?"

  "I..." Cassandra hesitated. "It's complicated."

  "Oh good. Simple things are boring."

  He started walking north. "Coming?"

  They followed. What else could they do?

  As they walked, Democritus maintained a steady monologue about his surroundings.

  "What sort of prophet are you?" he asked suddenly. "Entrails? Dream interpretation? I tried entrails once, but it turned out to be someone's lunch. Very embarrassing."

  "I don't really do entrails," Cassandra said carefully.

  "Sensible. Messy business, entrails. I stick to bones mostly. Much cleaner, and you can reuse them." He patted a pouch at his belt.

  "Why bones?" Damon asked.

  "Why not bones? They're portable, they don't spoil, and they make interesting clicking sounds when you shake them. Plus, Athena seems to approve." The donkey's ears twitched at the mention of her name. "She has excellent judgment about these things. Usually. There was this one trading post. Lovely place, very organized. First time there, I predicted their grain shipment would arrive safely. Which it did! Everyone made a tidy profit." He smiled at the memory. "So naturally, when the next shipment was due, they asked for another reading."

  "Let me guess," Damon said. "It didn't go well."

  "The spirits were so confident! Lots of humming, warm feelings. Told them to invest everything. Buy up all the cargo space, really commit." Democritus shook his head. "Terrible storm. Ship, cargo, crew, all lost. The captain seemed like such a nice fellow too."

  "People lost everything?" Cassandra said.

  "Most kept their houses. Though some had to sell those for debts." He brightened. "But they learned about diversifying investments! Very educational. The spirits work in mysterious ways."

  "Educational," Damon repeated flatly.

  "Oh yes. I always say, a prophecy that teaches you something is never truly wrong." Democritus patted his pouch of bones. "That's why I prefer vague guidance now. Much less chance of specific disasters."

  They walked in companionable silence for a while. The trail was winding upward now, offering glimpses of the sea far below and the distant mountains ahead.

  The trail crested a hill, and suddenly they could see their destination spread out in the valley below. The trading post was larger than Cassandra had expected. Not quite a town, but more than a village. Wooden buildings clustered around a central square, with merchant stalls and temporary camps spreading outward like ripples in a pond. A sea wall surrounded the harbor.

  As they made their way down the hillside, Cassandra noticed people starting to point in their direction.

  "They remember you," she said.

  "Do they? How flattering!" Democritus waved cheerfully at a group of merchants who immediately began packing up their stalls. "Look how efficiently they work! Very impressive organization."

  Cassandra's stomach sank. Of course.

  Damon caught Cassandra's arm. "We should split up. Find somewhere to stay separately."

  But it was already too late. A man in expensive robes was striding toward them across the square, and even from a distance, Cassandra could see the tension in the way he moved.

  "Democritus!" the man spat out. "What a surprise to see you here!"

  "Ah," Democritus said mildly. "That would be Philus. He invested quite heavily in that second shipment, if I recall correctly."

  Philus had reached them now, and Cassandra could see the careful control in his face, the kind of restraint that came from years of dealing with bullshit. It wouldn't last long.

  "Democritus," Philus said, his voice perfectly level. "How unexpected. I thought you'd learned to avoid this particular trading post."

  "Oh no, I love it here! Such interesting people!" Democritus gestured at the square, where more stalls were closing. "Look how busy everyone is!"

  "Yes," Philus said. "Busy. Packing up, mostly." He turned his attention to Cassandra and Damon. "And who might your companions be?"

  "New friends! This is..." Democritus paused, looking suddenly uncertain. "You know, I don't think I actually caught your names."

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  They'd been walking together for hours.

  "Cassandra"

  "Damon."

  "Lovely names! Very... pronunciation-friendly." Democritus beamed. "They're also prophets! Well, she is. He's more practical."

  Philus's eyes sharpened. "Another prophet? How interesting." He looked Cassandra up and down, taking in her foreign features, her travel-worn clothes. "What's your specialty?"

  "Numbers. Patterns."

  "Numbers. How refreshing. The last prophet who visited claimed the gods personally guaranteed our investment."

  "The spirits were very clear," Democritus said. "Lots of warm feelings!"

  Cassandra closed her eyes.

  "Clear enough to recommend we mortgage our warehouses," Philus said, control cracking. "Clear enough to promise divine favor."

  A small crowd was gathering now. Cassandra recognized the particular quality of attention, people drawn by the promise of conflict.

  "The spirits had been right about the first shipment," Democritus said reasonably. "Seemed logical they'd be right again."

  "Logical." Philus's laugh was ugly. "My daughter," he said, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "had to marry a man twice her age because I couldn't afford her dowry anymore. My son gave up his apprenticeship to work in the docks. My wife..." He stopped, visibly collecting himself. "My wife collapsed that day and hasn't spoken since."

  Democritus blinked. "Oh. That sounds unpleasant."

  "Unpleasant." Philus addressed the crowd. "Friends! Neighbors! Look who's returned to grace us with his wisdom!"

  The murmur turned hostile.

  "Now, the interesting question," Philus continued, his voice carrying easily across the square, "is what brings our beloved prophet back to the scene of his greatest triumph. Surely not to share more divine wisdom?"

  "Actually," Democritus said brightly, "I was just passing through. Though if anyone needs advice, I'm always happy to help! The spirits have been quite chatty lately."

  The crowd's murmur turned uglier. Someone shouted, "Keep your spirits to yourself!"

  Damon shifted closer to Cassandra. "We need to leave," he said quietly. "Now."

  But Philus wasn't finished. "And what about you?" he said to Cassandra. "Are you here to share your gift of numbers with us? Perhaps calculate the odds of lightning striking twice?"

  "I'm just traveling," Cassandra said, but even she could hear how weak it sounded.

  "Just traveling. With a prophet. To a trading post." Philus smiled. "How wonderfully innocent."

  "Look," Damon stepped forward, "we don't want any trouble. We'll just..."

  "Oh, but I think you misunderstand," Philus said. "Trouble has already found you. The moment you chose to travel with our dear friend Democritus, you became part of his story." He gestured to the crowd. "And we have some unfinished business with that story."

  The merchants were closing in now, forming a loose circle around them. Not hostile yet, but getting there. Cassandra could see the calculation in their faces.

  "Athena doesn't like crowds," Democritus observed, patting his donkey's neck. "She's getting nervous."

  "Smart donkey," Damon muttered.

  Philus raised his voice again. "What do you think, friends? Should we extend our traditional hospitality to these traveling prophets? Perhaps invite them to demonstrate their gifts?"

  "What did you have in mind?" someone called out.

  "Well," Philus said, his smile widening, "if they're truly blessed with divine insight, surely they can predict their own immediate future."

  The crowd pressed closer. Cassandra could smell sweat and anger, see the glint of knives at several belts. These weren't angry villagers anymore. They were people who'd lost everything and finally found flesh to extract in payment.

  "I can answer that," she said suddenly.

  Damon shot her a warning look, but it was too late. The words were already out, and the crowd was listening.

  "Can you now?" Philus's eyebrows rose. "How enlightening. Please, share your divine wisdom with us."

  Cassandra's mind raced. She could see the pattern forming. The way crowds moved, the psychology of mob violence, the careful balance between fear and action. Her Academy training had covered this: social dynamics in primitive civilizations, the mathematics of group behavior.

  "You're going to let us leave," she said with more confidence than she felt. "Because attacking prophets brings bad luck, and you're all merchants. You can't afford any more bad luck."

  A few people in the crowd shifted uncomfortably. She was right about that much. Merchants were superstitious by necessity.

  "Besides," she continued, warming to her theme, "we haven't actually done anything to you. Your anger is with him." She pointed at Democritus, who was still scratching Athena's ears, oblivious to the tension. "And attacking us won't get your money back."

  "No," Philus said, his smile turning ugly. "But it might make me feel better about losing it."

  "Look around you." Cassandra gestured desperately at the half-empty market stalls, the nervous faces. "Word has spread that he's here. Half your customers have already left. You've already lost today's business just by having this confrontation..."

  "Exactly," someone in the crowd called out. "Day's already ruined. Might as well make it worthwhile."

  Murmurs of agreement rippled through the merchants. Damon's hope died a quick death.

  "Wait!" Cassandra stumbled backward as the crowd pressed forward. "If you really want prophecy..."

  Damon grabbed her arm. "Don't," he hissed, stepping between her and the mob.

  But Cassandra had already committed. The crowd was listening, Philus was watching with sharp interest, and her mouth was moving before her brain could stop it.

  "I can tell you something about your next grain shipment," she said. "The one arriving next week from the southern ports."

  The crowd went very quiet. Even Democritus looked up from his donkey.

  "There's no shipment coming next week," Philus said simply.

  "Isn't there?" Cassandra's divine education included trade route analysis, shipping patterns, seasonal variations in Mediterranean commerce. She could see the logical framework, the inevitable convergence of factors. "Storm season's ending early this year. The southern merchants will be sending their first test runs to see how the routes are holding up. Small shipments, careful captains. They'll arrive here because this is the first safe harbor north of the Aegean straits."

  She was making it up as she went along, but it sounded good. More importantly, it sounded possible.

  "Even if you're right," someone in the crowd called out, "so what? We don't have money to buy cargo anymore. Thanks to him." They pointed at Democritus.

  "You don't need money," Cassandra said. "You need information. Leverage. Get to the harbor early, find out what they're carrying, then spread word to the inland settlements before anyone else knows what's available. First information means first choice of trading partners."

  This was actually solid advice. Her Academy training in primitive economics was proving surprisingly useful.

  "And why," Philus asked slowly, "would you share this valuable insight with us?"

  Cassandra's confidence evaporated. Why was she helping them? Because she felt guilty about Democritus's past failures? Because she wanted to prove she was different? Because she was an idiot who couldn't keep her mouth shut?

  "Because," she said, scrambling for an answer that wouldn't make everything worse, "prophets who help people prosper tend to be... better remembered than ones who don't."

  The crowd was nodding now. This made sense to them. Mutual benefit, practical arrangements.

  "Very reasonable," Philus said. "And if you're wrong? If no ships arrive, or if your advice costs us more money?"

  That's when Cassandra realized what she'd done.

  "Then I suppose," she said, her mouth suddenly dry, "you'll know exactly where to find me."

  "Yes," Philus said, his smile returning. "We will."

  The crowd began to disperse, merchants heading off to discuss this new development. Within minutes, the square was nearly empty except for the three travelers and a few curious onlookers.

  "Well," Democritus said cheerfully, "that went much better than I expected!"

  Damon stared at Cassandra. "What in Hades just happened?"

  "I think," Cassandra said, watching Philus's retreating figure, "I just made us responsible for predicting the weather, the shipping schedules, and the economic prosperity of an entire trading post."

  "Ah," Democritus nodded sagely. "First time?"