Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Tinker's Granddaughter

  Marcus kicked at the dirt and cobblestone, his face set in a deep scowl as they stood in the mostly deserted Traveler’s Yard of the Shopping District. The chaos from earlier had left the place stripped bare—students, fresh off receiving their quests, had swarmed the carriage drivers and stable hands, scrambling to claim rides. Now, all that was left for Jace and the Scooby-Gang—plus one—was the dust settling in their wake.

  They’d hit all the main stops, only to find every wagon booked, every horse spoken for. A few stragglers had already resigned themselves to walking, trudging off toward their quests with no better options.

  “I can’t believe this. Do they even know who I am?” Marcus ran a hand through his slicked-back hair, exasperated. “Beat to transport by common peasants.”

  Dex, leaning lazily against a nearby fence post, shot him a wide grin. “Welcome to reality, Your Highness. Looks like all your ‘influence’ doesn’t do diddly squat against a mad rush for transport.” He tilted his head, looking Marcus up and down. “What’s the matter? Not a fan of the good ol’ pedestrian life?”

  Marcus glared at him. “Walk? Walk? Absolutely not. I refuse to hoof it like some plebe. There’s no way I’m—“

  “Oh, poor Marcus,” Dex interrupted, his voice dripping with mock pity. “Reduced to walking like a regular person. What a tragedy. I’ll fetch the violins.”

  Ell rolled her eyes, arms crossed. “He does have a point, Dex.” She shot Marcus a sidelong glance, her tone betraying just how much it pained her to admit it. “We’d lose days if we went on foot.”

  “Thank you,” Marcus said, seizing the moment to appear smug. “For once, someone recognizes reason.”

  “Don’t push your luck, Marcus—you’re still a prat,” she snapped.

  Jace, standing off to the side, gave a reluctant nod. “I hate to admit it, but walking isn’t exactly practical. And we all have things we need to attend to before the Star Ceremony. We need a ride.”

  Dex let out an exaggerated sigh. “Alright, alright. We’ll find something. But if Marcus starts whining halfway through the journey because we couldn’t get him a gold-plated chariot, I reserve the right to leave him by the roadside.”

  They all agreed.

  Alice sighed, adjusting the straps of her satchel. “Alright, then let’s ask around. Somebody’s bound to have a cart still available. I mean, we can’t be the only ones stranded.”

  They spent the next hour winding through the alleys that twisted behind the market, asking vendors and stable hands if anyone was headed east. Every response was the same—a polite shake of the head or a muttered apology. The cobblestone streets soon gave way to dirt paths as they ventured farther from the bustle of the Shopping District.

  Eventually, a stablehand pointed them toward a modest caravan parked just on the outskirts of the market grounds. Two weathered carts stood by the side of the road, each one looking like it had seen better days. But they were intact, and right now, that was good enough. Tinkers carts.

  The carts towered almost comically with goods, crates, and barrels stacked so high they looked like they might topple with a stiff breeze. Wares of all kinds—some shimmering faintly in the fading light, others wrapped in worn cloth—teetered precariously on the edges. If you squinted just right, there might have been room for passengers. Maybe.

  An older man stood beside the carts, his posture bent slightly from years spent wandering the roads. His skin, weathered and sun-tanned, bore deep creases from countless days under the open sky. His thick, calloused hands moved with the practiced ease of someone long accustomed to hard labor, unloading goods with a quiet, deliberate rhythm. Though his arms still held the strength of his youth, his gait was slower now, aided by a cane that he leaned on with each step, a faint limp betraying the toll time had taken on his body.

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  Beside him, a girl—no older than thirteen—was directing the operation like a seasoned general, her sharp voice cutting through the bustling market as she ordered a few workers to shift things here and there.

  Jace cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Excuse me, are you headed east?”

  The man paused, wiping his brow with the back of a calloused hand before turning toward them, his eyes narrowing slightly in appraisal. “Aye, that I am,” he replied, his voice carrying the easy, measured rhythm of a man who’d spent more years on the road than by a hearth. “Name’s Loren. And that there is my granddaughter, Lara. So, what can we do for you?”

  “I’m Jace,” he said, nodding toward the horses as he spoke. “My friends and I are headed to Havenstown. We heard you might be the one to help us get there.”

  Loren’s gaze swept over the group, pausing briefly on Marcus, who stood with his arms crossed, a scowl etched deeply into his face. The tinker raised an eyebrow.

  “Havenstown, huh? Not the kind of place most Travelers are eager to visit,” Loren said, a wry smile playing at his lips. He waved a hand toward the towering pile of goods stacked on their carts. “We’re not exactly equipped for comfort, either,” Loren added.

  Marcus scoffed, folding his arms tighter. “Clearly. But we’re in a rush, and all the decent wagons were taken before we could get a word in.” His eyes flicked disdainfully toward the ramshackle carts behind Loren.

  “You don’t happen to have anything a little less... rustic, do you?” Marcus sneered.

  Loren chuckled, shaking his head with a genuine smile. “Ah, to be young and full of complaints. Look, we don’t often take on passengers, especially with all the trouble brewing out there.”

  “Trouble?” Alice asked.

  “People going missing,” Loren said, rubbing a hand over his bristled chin. “Wolves, they say. But I wouldn’t bet the farm on that. Strange stories. Not a place you’d wanna picnic, if you catch my meaning.”

  “And yet, you’re headed there?” Jace leaned in, his eyes narrowing.

  “Gotta resupply,” Loren said with a shrug. “A quick stop at the edge of the Olympian Domain. I’ll get in, get out, and keep my hide intact. Not the friendliest place, for Traveler’s, that is.”

  Before Jace could press further, the young girl stepped forward, her boots crunching on the dirt, confidence etched in every step. Her long, auburn hair framed a face smudged with dirt, yet she wore it like a badge of honor. “Ignore my grandpa,” she said, a smirk tugging at her lips. “He loves a good scare yarn as much as the next old man. I’m Lara. We tinkers don’t make a habit of turning down those in need of help.”

  She planted her hands on her hips, her gaze fixing on Jace like a crossbow bolt. “We’re not a charity, either. You pay, or you walk. Got coin?”

  The old man chuckled softly when Jace glanced his way, nodding toward the girl as if to say, She’s serious.

  Jace met her stare without flinching. “We can pay.”

  Lara gave a sharp nod, eyes glinting with approval. “Good. Our carts may look like they’ve seen better days, but they’ll get you through places that fancy wheels can’t. When the road gets tricky, you’ll be glad you’re riding with us.”

  “And how much, exactly, is this luxury ride going to cost us?” Marcus asked.

  Loren scratched his chin thoughtfully. “For the lot of you? I’d say Twenty B…”

  “Silver,” Lara interrupted, glaring at Marcus. “And you’ll help unload when we get there.”

  “Now, Button—“ the old tinker started, but the sharp look she shot him cut him off mid-sentence. It was the kind of look that said Grandpa, I’ve got this and Don’t you dare call me Button in front of our guests all in one swift glance.

  He immediately raised both hands in a gesture of defense and deference, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Twenty silver,” he repeated.

  Marcus opened his mouth, clearly gearing up for a negotiation, but Jace shut it down with a quick, “Deal.” He knew Marcus well enough—another word from him would either jack the price up or lose the ride entirely.

  Loren raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the quick agreement, but a flicker of respect lit his eyes, mingled with quiet pride in his granddaughter. She extended her hand, clasping Jace’s with firm resolve, while Loren nodded in approval.

  “We’ll take the long path,” Loren said, his tone firm. “It’ll cost us time, but it’s the safer route.”

  “That works for us. When do we leave?” Jace asked, glancing at the sinking sun.

  “First light tomorrow,” Loren replied, nodding toward the sky, now a wash of orange and purple. “You’ll want to get some rest. The road east isn’t as friendly as it used to be.”

  Jace caught Alice’s gaze—silent understanding passing between them.

  “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a ride,” Jace said, turning to the others.

  As they turned to leave, Lara called after them, her tone firm. “Be on time. We don’t wait for stragglers.”

  Marcus, still sulking, grumbling something that didn’t sound too polite, but Dex clapped him on the back with a grin. “See how us common folk get things done?”

  Marcus swatted his hand away, glaring. “Unfortunately.”

  The horses snorted softly beside the carts, pawing at the earth as the evening chill settled. Their breath fogged in the air, adding mist to the fading light. Jace eyed the towering stack of crates, wondering how they’d wedge themselves in without being buried alive in supplies. He let out a soft laugh. This was going to be interesting.