III

"Move faster."

The gruff voice accompanied the rough hand that shoved at me from behind, making me stumble into Simon.

"Watch it, Tiny." he snarled.

"He pushed me." I hissed. "I can't even see, and this bag itches. And don't call me that."

"Whine to someone who cares, Tiny." he replies icily.

"Both of you, shut up!" a man's voice growls again. Even if I didn't have a bag over my head, I would have no idea what he looked like. They always wore masks of some kind, but the escorts were the only ones. Trademaster didn't wear one, and neither did anybody in the Market.

We stumble along in the darkness, and I curse my luck as I stub my toe for about the fifth time.

"Stop." the voice comes too late, and I crash into Simon yet again, who kicks me viciously in return.

The sack is suddenly ripped off my face, scratching my skin and pulling my hair. Simon cursed as they removed his sack in a similar fashion, and I smirked as he hurried to fix his precious hair.

I wrinkled my nose. It was like they never washed the little grey room, which reeked of BO and mold. The metal table looked as dirty and as scratched as ever, with a well groomed man sitting at it.

He looked out of place in that room. He always did. The room, of course, was filthy, and even though the escorts wore masks, their clothes were dirty and torn, looking like they'd been scavenged. Or stolen.

"Simon." the polished man purred in his oily voice. "What a surprise." It was the kind of voice that you hated, but loved to hear at the same time.

"Hello, Trademaster." Simon bowed. "We wish to gain access to the Market."

"Your fee?" Trademaster idly ran his finger across the table's filthy surface. Simon and I both took off our full backpacks and set them on the table, and the Trademaster sifted through them. He'd take a few things from each bag; an apple and some clothes from my bag, spare parts from Simon's. He convinced the Appointers to give him his Temporary at the factory, where he could always manage to steal an odd part here and there.

"You may enter." Trademaster finally finished, and we took our bags back. A masked guard opened the door on the other side of the room, and we entered the Market.

The conversations and noise were all hushed, kept at a certain volume that was never broken. Customers moved about with a seeming confidence, but never met your eye for too long. The stall keepers stared at you as you walked by, willing you to come over to their stand, to buy something.

But we ignored them.

"I'm going to the Pill Keeper. Want to come?" Simon asked, like he usually did.

"Simon, I've told you time and time again, I will not take those pills anymore." I said firmly. As rude and mean as he was, he didn't push it too much, and picked up a faster pace to pull ahead of me.

I didn't care. The Pill Keeper's stall was farther than Agnes's stand, and that was the only stand I went to, besides Information.

Shifting my pack to the other shoulder, I wander along the black road, made out of this rough material Simon called asphalt. He said everybody used to use it for roads. I though it strange, but Simon's not exactly a reliable source of information.

The bright colors of Agnes's stall stopped me, and I ambled over to it with a smile.

"Hey, Agnes!" I called, and she poked her frizzy grey hair out from her chair in the back.

"Sam!" Agnes laughed, and hurried to the front of her stall. "Come on back, come on back! I have something to show you!"

I went behind the stand, and followed her to the back room. Every stand had a fake wall a few feet behind it, and walls leading all the way from the sides of the stall to the actual stone walls of the Market. In the space behind the fake wall, stall keepers had small cots, dressers, and other sorts of necessities. 

Agnes's back room was bigger than most, because her stand was by a corner, but she always managed to keep it overflowing with all kinds of junk.