There is a difference between seeing a city and living in it.

This morning I followed Emera and Izrah into the Market Ward before the fog had lifted. The tavern was still half asleep when we left. Chairs were still upside down, a few coals under ash, and everything was quiet.

Outside, Skelderheim was already moving.

I thought I knew how markets worked. In East Bay you walk past neat rows of shelves and trust the date on a plastic wrapper. Today I learned what it looks like when you do not have that luxury. Emera showed me how to press the side of a tomato, how to listen to the sound bread makes when you tap the bottom, how to tell if fish is still firm under the salt. Izrah provided opinions. Of course she did.

Six honey rolls for the table. Two candles for rooms that burn late, and gifts for the boys.

The part that stayed with me, more than the smells or the noise, was how many people knew Emera by name. The carrot seller, the butcher, the baker who promised to set aside loaves for the tavern, the man with the barrels of ale who already knew how many she would need by evening. It was a normal morning for her, but it was a brand new experience for me.

I walked through it with a basket on my arm and a list in my hand, but the whole time I kept thinking about the observatory and East Bay and how many mouths one day of work can feed on either side.

In the full entry I wrote it all down. The way the harbor sounded from inside the market. The exact shape of the map I chose. What it felt like to thin our rope money for someone else’s coat. The look on the boys’ faces when they finally saw what I brought back.

If you’ve ever been curious as to what goes on in the Chapters between Chapters of a book, this is one of those. Read the full “Market Day” Journal Entry now.