Khan waited until the old woman poured the thickened milk onto a shallow wooden tray.
Then he stood.
Miriel watched him suspiciously.
"You have the money face again."
"I am conducting research."
"You said that before buying carriage seats."
"Successful research."
"You lied about being an artifact researcher."
"Unrelated field."
He walked toward the outdoor kitchen.
The woman was perhaps sixty, broad-shouldered and wrapped in a flour-dusted apron. Her grey hair was tied in a knot so severe it looked personally offended by disorder.
Three pots sat over separate fires.
One held milk.
Another smelled faintly of grain and onions.
The third contained something Khan chose not to identify, because a hoof was visible.
The old woman scraped the thickened milk from the tray with a flat wooden knife.
Up close, the texture was clearer.
Dense.
Glossy.
Pale caramel around the edges.
Not cheese.
Not exactly candy either.
Useful.
He stopped beside the table.
"Excuse me."
The woman looked up.
Her eyes moved over him once.
Young face.
Wet hair still drying from the river.
Cheap tunic.
Then the violently pink trousers.
Her expression went through an entire economic cycle.
Suspicion.
Confusion.
Pity.
Amusement.
Khan decided to work with the useful ones.
"I was wondering what you're making. It smells better than anything they've fed us since we left the city."
The woman glanced toward the Goldleaf cooking fires.
"Does it now?"
There was pride in that.
Khan heard it immediately.
He smiled.
Not the trader smile.
Not the one Miriel called his money face.
Something easier.
Warmer.
His eighteen-year-old face cooperated with disturbing enthusiasm.
The woman's eyes lingered on him for half a second longer than before.
Interesting.
Khan had spent most of his adult life negotiating with crow's feet, permanent stubble and the general look of a man who considered sleep an inefficient allocation of market hours.
Apparently youth had advantages beyond functional knees.
"Milk sweet," the woman said.
"So I've been told."
She narrowed her eyes.
"City boy?"
"Temporarily."
"Merchant?"
Khan reviewed his current professional portfolio.
"Complicated."
[Fraudulent Artifact Researcher.]
Internet Explorer.
[Relevant employment information.]
Not now.
The woman's attention returned to his face.
"You're too young to be complicated."
"So I've been informed."
That earned the beginning of a smile.
Khan looked at the tray again.
"May I?"
Her eyebrows rose.
"May you what?"
"Try some."
"You don't even know what's in it."
"If it tastes half as good as it smells, I'm willing to accept the risk."
The smile appeared properly this time.
Behind him, Miriel made a quiet sound of disbelief.
Khan ignored her.
The woman cut a small square from the tray.
Then paused.
Looked at Khan again.
Cut a larger one.
Considerably larger.
She pushed it toward him.
"Here."
Khan looked down at the portion.
Then at her.
"That's generous."
"You're thin."
He almost objected.
Then remembered his current body had survived three days largely on bread, questionable fruit avoidance and spite.
"Fair."
"Eat."
He accepted it.
Behind him, Miriel murmured, "You didn't have to pay."
The old woman heard.
Her eyes shifted toward Miriel.
"Why would I charge him for a taste?"
Miriel looked at Khan.
Then at the woman.
Then back at Khan.
Her expression became deeply suspicious.
Khan bit into the milk sweet before she could develop a theory.
Warm.
Soft enough to yield under his teeth, but dense.
The first flavor was milk.
Good milk.
Then sugar arrived.
Aggressively.
Khan chewed.
Too much.
Not terrible.
But definitely too much.
The old woman watched his face like someone awaiting a royal decree.
"Well?"
Khan swallowed.
He could have said good.
Instead, he glanced down at the sweet, took another small bite and let himself look impressed.
"The milk is excellent."
The woman straightened.
Khan continued.
"Rich. Much richer than I expected. And you've cooked it without getting that burnt taste at the bottom."
Her posture changed.
Only slightly.
But Khan had spent twenty years studying people across tables.
He saw it.
Shoulders back.
Chin higher.
Pride confirmed.
"You know how easy it is to burn?"
"Easy enough that I'd ruin the first three pots."
That earned a snort.
"Five."
Khan smiled.
"Then I was being optimistic."
The woman laughed.
Actually laughed.
Behind him, Miriel stared as though witnessing unauthorized magic.
The woman cut another piece.
Without being asked.
Smaller this time, but still free.
"Try the edge. More caramel there."
Khan accepted it.
There it was.
Rapport.
No coin spent.
No leverage applied.
Just attention paid to something a person took pride in.
Markets were markets.
People were people.
Apparently being pretty simply reduced transaction costs.
[Host has discovered facial arbitrage.]
Khan nearly choked.
Internet Explorer.
[Terminology appears accurate.]
Never say that again.
He tried the darker edge.
Better.
Still very sweet.
The old woman watched him closely.
Khan nodded.
"This part is better."
"I told you."
"You did."
Her smile widened.
Khan let a beat pass before adding, "For me, I'd still pull the sugar back a little."
The smile didn't disappear.
That mattered.
Her pride had shifted from defensive to conversational.
"Young people always want sweeter."
"Then I am apparently becoming old ahead of schedule."
The old woman's gaze traveled from his youthful face to his pink trousers.
"Not dressed like it."
Miriel made a sound suspiciously close to a laugh.
Khan maintained eye contact with the woman through sheer discipline.
"The trousers were purchased against my better judgment."
"They suit you."
Behind him, Miriel failed completely.
Khan heard her choke on air.
He closed his eyes for half a second.
"Thank you."
The woman laughed again.
Not at him exactly.
Mostly.
He could live with mostly.
She leaned one hip against the table now, no longer treating him as an interruption.
"What would you change?"
That was valuable.
She was asking him.
Khan took another thoughtful bite.
"Less sugar. Maybe a touch more salt."
"Hm."
"Not enough to make it salty. Just enough to make the milk taste stronger."
The woman considered that.
Then nodded once.
"Could work."
Acceptance.
Not dismissal.
Good.
Khan continued carefully.
"Maybe spice, depending on who you're selling it to."
That earned another look.
"For weddings, sometimes."
"What kind?"
"Cinnamon if there's money. Star anise. Sometimes fireleaf if the family wants people to remember the wedding for the wrong reasons."
Khan nearly smiled.
Miriel leaned closer.
"Fireleaf is spicy."
"I inferred."
The woman pointed the wooden knife at Miriel.
"Very spicy."
Miriel nodded solemnly.
Then the old woman looked back at Khan.
"You cook?"
"No."
She gave him a skeptical look.
"I eat professionally."
That got another laugh.
Khan was beginning to understand the terrifying efficiency of his current face.
At thirty-eight, charm had required timing, observation and deliberate effort.
At eighteen, apparently smiling and showing interest in someone's cooking unlocked free samples and proprietary process information.
Unfair.
Useful.
He filed both conclusions away.
"How long does this keep?" he asked.
"Wrapped properly? A week easily. Longer if the weather stays cool."
Khan's attention sharpened.
"Without cold wards?"
The woman waved the question away.
"Why would I waste a cold ward on milk sweet?"
Excellent.
He pointed toward the tray.
"How much milk went into that?"
"Three buckets."
"Three?"
"Little more, maybe."
She picked up a ladle and gestured toward the pot.
"Cook it slowly. Don't let the bottom catch. Reduce it until it thickens. Sugar goes in later or you'll spend all night scraping burnt milk."
Inwardly, Khan went still.
She was volunteering process details now.
No interrogation required.
That was far better than extracting answers one question at a time.
"How late?"
"Once it's reduced by about half."
Useful.
"Then sugar?"
"Then sugar. Salt near the end."
Khan nodded as if committing sacred doctrine to memory.
The woman noticed.
"You really are interested."
"It would be rude not to be after you've fed me twice."
She clicked her tongue.
Then cut him a third piece.
Miriel's eyebrows climbed.
Khan looked at the new sample.
This one had a dusting of spice across the top.
"What's this?"
"Star anise. Made it yesterday."
He tasted it.
The spice cut through the sweetness immediately.
Better.
Much better.
Khan's eyes sharpened.
The woman saw the reaction and grinned.
"There."
"That's excellent."
Her grin broadened.
Not polite pleasure.
Victory.
Khan gestured with the remaining piece.
"If you served me this first, I'd have lied and told you the sugar was perfect."
She slapped his forearm with the flat of the wooden knife.
"Flatterer."
"Only when the product deserves it."
The old woman laughed loudly enough that one of the nearby cooks looked over.
Then, to Khan's astonishment, she called over her shoulder.
"Joras! Bring the honey batch."
A younger man glanced up from another fire.
"The good one?"
"Obviously the good one."
Khan looked toward Miriel.
Miriel looked back.
Her expression said clearly:
What the hell are you doing?
Khan gave the smallest shrug.
Due diligence.
The younger cook brought over another tray.
The old woman began explaining the difference before Khan even asked.
Honey instead of cane sugar.
More expensive.
Softer texture.
Kept slightly less well.
Sold mostly during festivals or to travelers with money.
Khan listened.
Asked only when necessary.
Praised specifics instead of throwing empty compliments around.
The browning.
The texture.
The way the star anise balanced the milk.
Each time, the woman opened another door.
Ingredient ratios.
Storage.
What sold.
What didn't.
Which batches children preferred.
Which version travelers bought because it survived several days wrapped in waxed cloth.
By the time Khan finally steered toward supply, she was treating him less like a stranger and more like an unexpectedly attentive grandson who had wandered into her kitchen wearing a fashion crime.
"And sugar?" he asked, gesturing toward the nearly empty sack beside the table. "Where do you get yours?"
"General store."
"The village one?"
"Usually. Though old Fen charges too much whenever caravans come through."
That detail came free.
Khan stored it.
"Enough for larger batches?"
The woman looked at him differently now.
Not suspicious.
Curious.
"How large?"
Khan smiled.
"Potentially inconvenient."
She barked a laugh.
"I knew you were planning something."
"Considering something."
"Same thing with merchants."
"Apparently I'm becoming predictable."
[Host has been predictable for several hours.]
Internet Explorer.
[Present.]
I hope you develop loneliness.
[Unsupported emotional state.]
The old woman pointed east with her knife.
"Village store has maybe three sacks right now. If you need real quantity, go to Rostel."
"Mill town?"
Her eyebrows rose.
"You know it?"
"I know the name now."
That pleased her for reasons Khan didn't entirely understand.
"Half a day east if the road's clear. Bigger sugar merchants there. Honey too. Molasses if you're not picky."
Even better.
"Prices?"
She gave him approximate ranges without hesitation.
Khan listened closely.
Local retail.
Rostel bulk.
Seasonal variation.
Transport premium.
By the time she finished, he had enough rough numbers to start working out whether his milk idea was merely interesting or commercially sane.
Then she wrapped two additional pieces of milk sweet in waxed cloth and shoved them into his hand.
"For the road."
Khan stared.
"I can't pay you."
"Didn't ask."
"I should."
"You listened to an old woman talk about milk for half an hour without pretending you knew better."
She gave his cheek an appraising look.
"And you're pretty."
Khan froze.
Miriel made a strangled sound.
The System appeared.
[Facial arbitrage confirmed.]
Khan's soul briefly considered leaving his body again.
The old woman waved him away.
"Go on."
Khan recovered with what little dignity remained.
"Thank you."
"And tell whoever bought those trousers that they have terrible taste."
Miriel abruptly looked away.
Khan slowly turned toward her.
She became fascinated by the cooking fire.
"I agree completely."
He had just opened his mouth to ask one final question when someone seized the back of his tunic.
Hard.
Khan stumbled half a step.
His first instinct was violence.
His second was that his combat potential was probably lower than that of everyone within shouting distance.
He turned.
Blue hair.
Lillia.
She looked desperate.
Not elegant.
Not amused.
Desperate.
Her chained grimoire was tucked under one arm.
It snapped at Khan.
He leaned away.
"Lillia."
"Help me."
Khan looked at the hand still clutching his tunic.
Then at her face.
Then toward the Goldleaf main tent.
From somewhere in that direction came Erwin Goldleaf's voice.
"LILLIA!"
Several birds left a nearby roof.
Lillia tightened her grip.
"Please."
Khan stared.
This was new.
The wealthy merchant heiress who had negotiated his price downward out of generosity, bought a carnivorous book during an evacuation and laughed herself breathless while he stood in urine-soaked trousers was now hiding behind him.
Behind him.
Khan looked down at himself.
Bright pink trousers.
Flower embroidery.
No money.
Fraudulent profession.
Apparently also human shield.
His reincarnation continued to diversify.
"What exactly do you expect me to do?"
Lillia glanced toward the main tent.
"Talk to him."
"Your father."
"Yes."
"The man currently losing over a thousand gold."
She froze.
Khan noticed.
"You heard that?"
"Your father is not subtle."
"He thinks he's being subtle."
"He's excavating the tent floor by pacing."
Lillia winced.
Another shout came from camp.
"LILLIA GOLDLEAF!"
She moved closer behind Khan.
The old woman at the cooking table watched all this with open enjoyment.
Miriel stepped up beside them, holding half of another Sunfruit she'd taken from the crate.
The old woman's eyes moved to her.
Then to Khan.
Then to Lillia hiding behind him.
Her expression became deeply entertained.
"Busy boy."
Khan chose not to engage with that sentence.
Miriel pointed toward Lillia.
"Found her."
Lillia pointed back.
"Do not."
Miriel took another bite.
"I said nothing."
Khan sighed.
"What did you do besides the book?"
Lillia looked offended.
"Nothing."
Khan waited.
She avoided his eyes.
"Lillia."
"Very little."
"Define very little."
She hesitated.
"The book."
"Seventeen gold."
"Technically fifteen."
"Not helping."
"And perhaps several other purchases."
Khan closed his eyes.
"How many?"
"That depends how strictly one defines purchase."
Khan opened them again.
"You sound like a corporation under investigation."
Miriel nodded.
"She does."
Lillia glared at both of them.
Then Erwin's voice came again.
Closer.
"Has anyone seen my daughter?"
Lillia's face changed.
Pure survival instinct.
She grabbed Khan's tunic with both hands.
"Please."
Khan stared at her.
Then toward the main tent.
Then at the grimoire.
Then at the milk sweet cooling on the tray.
An idea formed.
Not a complete one.
But enough.
Erwin Goldleaf had a dairy problem.
Khan had just confirmed a possible conversion product.
Better still, he now had rough ratios.
Shelf life.
Local ingredient costs.
A nearby bulk sugar source.
Potential spice variants.
And a village cook who had unwittingly saved him several hours of embarrassing experimentation.
He needed access to the guild master.
Lillia needed someone to steer her father's attention away from seventeen gold worth of carnivorous literature.
Those interests aligned suspiciously well.
The System appeared.
[Mutual incentive detected.]
Khan almost smiled.
Miriel noticed.
"There it is."
Lillia looked between them.
"What?"
"The money face."
"I do not have a money face."
[Host possesses the money face.]
Khan ignored all of them.
He looked at Lillia.
"I'll help you."
Relief flooded her expression.
"Thank you."
"But."
The relief vanished.
Khan smiled.
Lillia narrowed her eyes.
"You haven't even named the price."
"I don't need money."
That worried her more.
"What do you want?"
"An introduction."
"To whom?"
Khan glanced toward the Goldleaf tent.
Her eyes followed.
Then widened.
"My father?"
"Your father."
Lillia stared at him.
"Why?"
Khan held up the wax-wrapped milk sweets the old woman had given him.
Then looked toward the road east.
Then toward the distant darkness of the Corrupt Storm.
"Because while you were hiding from him, a very generous woman just gave me a free consultation on how to stop eight hundred and sixty gold worth of milk from dying."
The old woman frowned.
"I gave you sweets."
"And valuable market intelligence."
"I told you where the sugar comes from."
"Exactly."
She stared at him.
Then laughed again.
Lillia's grip on his tunic loosened.
Her expression changed completely.
"You're serious."
Khan looked down at the flower embroidered on his ass.
"I am currently wearing my last gold coin."
He looked back at her.
"I have never been more serious about making money in my life."
The System chimed.
[Financial motivation restored.]
Miriel quietly finished her Sunfruit.
The old woman cut herself a square of milk sweet and settled in to watch.
Somewhere between the tents, Erwin Goldleaf appeared.
And judging by his face, the dairy market was about to become the least dangerous part of Khan's evening.