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The woman's face changed. Not agreement. Something more fragile. Kesta treated the infection, explained the dosage twice, then drew simple symbols on the packet after discovering the woman could not read imperial medical script. When they left, the mother still held two batteries.

At the edge of the awning, Dreven stood talking with an elderly trader. He had seen the exchange. Kesta knew because his eyes met hers briefly across the crowd. He did not praise her. She was glad. Instead he gave the smallest incline of his head before turning back to the merchant. The gesture warmed her more than praise might have. Market day also showed Kesta why Ash Camp followed him. Dreven remembered people.

Not simply important people. He knew which trader had cheated the school on cloth the previous season and which family needed a replacement heater before the next cold cycle. A child with blue feathers climbed directly onto his tail while he negotiated over metal fasteners. Dreven continued the conversation as though nothing unusual had happened until the child's mother appeared, horrified. Kesta had to look away to hide her smile. A tyrant would have been much easier to understand.

A man who carried everyone else's problems around in his head was more complicated. The argument at the water stall began just before midday. Pela's voice reached the infirmary awning before Kesta could see her.

“You changed the conversion after entering the gate.”

A Red Basin quartermaster stood opposite her with both hands braced on a water wagon. He was broad through the chest, with pale stone-colored skin and one eye covered by a metal plate.

“Transport loss,” he said.

“You arrived with sealed tanks.”

“Evaporation.”

“Through ceramic?”

The male shrugged. Kesta had already started walking.

Sera called after her, “Where are you going?”

“To become unpopular.”

“You should be excellent at it.”

Pela shoved a slate into Kesta's hand as soon as she arrived.

“Tell me whether I am losing my mind.”

Kesta examined the figures. Tank volume. Declared load. Conversion rate. Number of blue ration chits. She recalculated once, then again because the theft was almost elegant.

“They buried a surcharge inside the unit conversion.”

Pela's ears flattened.

“How much?”

“Twelve percent.”

The quartermaster folded his arms. “Then don't buy.”

Kesta looked beyond him at the line of people waiting with containers. Children stood among them. The man knew exactly where his leverage lived. Kesta handed the slate back to Pela.

“Pay the posted rate from entry.”

The quartermaster laughed. “And if I refuse?”

“Record the difference as disputed trade debt, then announce publicly how much promised water Red Basin withheld after entering under the posted agreement.”

His expression changed. Kesta continued before he could interrupt.

“Include the wagon numbers. Someone here will trade with you next season. They may appreciate knowing whether your measures change after they open their gates.”

Pela slowly smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. Dreven appeared behind the quartermaster.

“Use her calculation.”