"I'll take it—three hundred and fifty," the innkeeper announced as Annabelle's small voice chirped, "Agreed!" "Three hundred and fifty?" Liu counted the notes out loud, fingering the stack like he could feel the weight of the whole market. "For the cured hams and jars?" "Yes," Annabelle said. "Two jars of fig preserve, three smoked hams, and the extra churn of butter. I'll take them all. Put the lot on that stool." A hushed ripple moved through the stall rows. Voices that had argued over cabbage prices went quiet. A woman two stalls down dropped a basket; apples rolled. The bully from the lane, Martin Cole, shoved through with his elbows up, mouth already forming a sneer. "You've got a child bargaining big," Martin said. "Where's the money coming from? Murray keeps strange company." "My money," Annabelle said. "My father's coin. If you have a problem, say it to his face." "She's five," Martin said. "She shouldn’t be making deals like a grown person." Annabelle blinked slow and wide. "Then prove you're not stupid enough to lose to a child." Her voice was small and steady. "You don't get to laugh when I make the market richer." Liu set the notes down in one neat stack and slid them across. "Payment received," he said. "You'll pick up tomorrow, miss?" Annabelle measured the distance between the notes and her palm like she was sorting beetles. "Tomorrow morning at first market