Bastion

wrist; it left a glistening trail of perfume behind.
    “Now to be rubbing wrists together,” the man—suggested, rather than ordered. Lena did, and Mags felt his eyes widen as the rich, dark, subtle scent reached his nose. It reminded him of . . . incense maybe. And honey. And woodsmoke. And . . . well, he understood exactly what the Scentmaster was hinting at, now.
    “Oh—my!” Lena exclaimed, her nostrils flaring. “Oh, this is . . . very . . . intoxicating. . . .” She blushed again.
    “Yes, yes,” the man chuckled. “For married ladies, yes? They will be to having exciting time if wearing, yes?”
    Lena laughed, still blushing. “It’s a good thing I’m married, then!” As the Scentmaster tilted his head inquiringly, she added quickly, “Not to Mags, he’s just a friend. To a Healer.”
    “And he is off hunting herbs and things not so interesting as scent.” The man laughed again. “So, it is my dismal duty, as I am to be having many expenses, to be asking for payment, please?”
    Lydia had named a price and given Lena the purse. Although Mags had expected Lena to bargain at least a little, after the addition of that very generous gift, Lena simply handed over the purse without a quibble. The Scentmaster opened the purse casually, counted it out without seeming to do so—Mags had learned that trick from Nikolas—and bowed, pushing the basket toward her. She took it, and hesitated.
    “Something is wrong?” the Scentmaster asked quickly.
    “I probably can’t afford it,” she said, a little sadly, “But . . . how much is the Ambar?”
    “I am devastated to say it is a silver piece for a bottle,” the Scentmaster replied, losing his smile. “The resin is difficult to find, the perfume is hard to make.”
    Mags could see Lena struggling with herself. And a silver piece was a great deal of money for someone like her or Mags, after all, for something as frivolous as a scent.
    “But . . . if the lady does not mind a fainter scent,” the Scentmaster continued, “I am to be having this—”
    He held out another bottle.
    “What is it?” Lena asked.
    “I am to be diluting perfume with distilled spirits, am to be using much less of scent. Is to be four coppers for bottle.” He smiled as Lena’s eyes lit up. They exchanged coppers and bottle, the bottle once again being cradled in a little woven pine-needle sheath. “To being very careful. Distilled spirits are to being escape into air, easy. To being sure bottle is well sealed with wax when closed. But . . .” he chuckled. “I am telling grandmama how to pluck chicken, am thinking. You are wife of Healer, you will to being know these things. Thank you, my young friends! Tell others of Efan Scentmaster! I have many fine things for all tastes!”
    Mags counted up his pennies in his mind, and asked, without hesitation, “You wouldn’t have ’nother of those, would you?” Amily wasn’t one for ribbons and the like . . . but he rather thought this would please her. It wasn’t quite her usual style; she favored scents like lavender and rosemary, but this wasn’t the sort of too-sweet, flowery perfume of the kind she didn’t care for.
    And—of course the Scentmaster had another.
    Beaming, Lena thanked him again and tucked her precious purchase into the bottom of a separate belt pouch she was wearing besides the one holding her money, one she had probably put on specifically to stow small purchases. Mags put his in his pocket—after all, he didn’t expect to have it long. She and Mags moved on to catch up with Amily and Bear.
    They spotted the pair of them in the final stages of bargaining in an herbalist’s stall; from the look of things, both of them had found what they were looking for. Mags caught their eyes, then he and Lena waited patiently off to the side until the bargaining was concluded to the satisfaction of all parties.
    Bear’s nostrils flared as Lena’s scent reached him. “What’s that you’re wearing?” he blurted, getting a little red. “It’s . . . it’s very. . . .”
    “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Lena laughed, and hugged his arm. “I’m glad you like it.”
    “I like it too,” Amily said, wistfully. “Very much.”
    “Then you’ll be glad I got you some,” Mags said promptly, grinning as he fished out the little bottle, and watched her expression brighten.
    Then they moved on just a little farther. The area for pens, inks, pencils, paints, and fine papers was