Fea looked about her. It was the quietest first day of open Market that she could remember. No whispers of thieves, no haggling over prices. Not even any good gossip, and after the hubbub of the morning with those silly young actor fellows, even Erchan was nowhere to be seen. But with the constant thump and thud of kneaded bread, she knew the boy was pounding dough for her, beating his small fists into the giant wooden bowls. She mixed the dough just after lunch, combining ingredients with her strong arms, and as it rose in the afternoon heat, blooming up like a fat pig's belly, the boy punched it back down.
Of course she could do it faster than him and still have time for the shoppers, but it gave him a project, and meant one less thing for Fea to do herself.
When the sound was off, a bit too wet and sticky, she yelled through the door, "More flour, boy!"
She leaned her round hip against the edge of her table and hurrumphed. It was a boring day.
But maybe now that the general shopping for necessities had gone by, and the household servants had brought wares back to their masters, the folk with more money and more time might start wandering with loose wallets and loose lips.
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