Autumn light entered the market differently than summer's had. It slipped through the gaps between the awnings and stretched across the road in long pale bands instead of dropping straight down from above. The market had been open for two hours, but the cold still clung to the wooden boards beneath the crowd's boots.
The air carried the familiar smell of early autumn trade, as cured leather, spice, and the damp trace of night that the traffic hadn't fully worn away yet.
Batu and Suuqai entered through the western street in plain riding coats without insignia. They moved with the flow of the crowd, neither fast nor slow, and nobody gave them more than a passing glance. Two riders in plain coats disappeared easily in a market like this.
Near them, an argument started to unfold.
