The slow channel ran through a fruit-seller two streets from the Sealed Step, and the fruit-seller did not know he was the channel.
He sold Tobian Marrow the same three figs every fourth day. Every fourth day, one of the figs was sometimes not a fig.
"Three again, scholar?" the seller asked, already reaching for the cloth.
"Three again," Alistair replied. "My landlady insists they help her joints."
"Figs don't do anything for joints."
"I know that, and you know that. However, she takes a little off my rent whenever I bring them, so the figs help my joints."
The seller laughed and pressed the wrapped cloth into his hand. "Then may her joints never improve."
At that moment, two Justicars passed the stall in their grey coats, unhurried, their eyes moving over the stalls one by one.
Seeing this, the seller lowered his voice without seeming to notice it. "Fourth patrol since sunrise. Somebody important must be losing sleep."
