The carriage lurched. A wheel caught a rut, the whole cabin swaying, and then came the driver's shout, half curse and half prayer, followed by the shriek of brakes biting stone.
"A child, my lord! Ran straight into the path!"
I stepped down into a wall of bodies and noise. The market had stopped haggling all at once, the way a field of grass goes silent when a hawk passes over it. Dust hung in the hot afternoon light.
A small boy lay crumpled near the front wheel. Skinny limbs, patched shirt, a face streaked with dirt and tears. His chest fluttered too fast. His eyes found mine and clung there, drowning.
"Please... save my mother."
Then his head lolled and he went slack in the dirt.
The words hung in the air between us. My mother. I raised one eyebrow at the quiet absurdity of it. The brat was half dead under my wheels and his last thoughts were of someone else.
Around us the crowd had already started its serpentine whispering.
"That noble is picking the boy up."
