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.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “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?”