Hands off my cat! Tension between medievals and ancient Egyptians over role of pets. "Cats are too intelligent to be eaten," Pharao says
The veggie market beckons. I go there frequently, even though I have a love-hate relationship with the place. One can find absolutely everything and almost everyone there, but it's awful for getting in and out quickly. Lately, I've been hanging around, establishing lines of hushed communication, spreading true rumors to gain trust. I've put out some false rumors too, but only to see how they make their way through the oral web. The whole "person wanted" thing makes me a little queasy now that I'm about to go into the belly of the beast again. They're not looking for me because I let one lie spread, are they?
The veggie market lies at the very heart of where the lands of the different eras meet. The modern era makes up the western land pie, then there's the jungle east of it, followed by the medievals, and finally the people from back-then to the north. If a city planner is responsible for this layout, they ought to be fired. Or declared a genius. Really, I can't decide.
"Veggie" market is a bit of a misnomer, only the most central part has fruit and vegetable stands. With no strict divisions between modern, medieval, or back-then era fruit and veggies, one can stroll through the ages unhindered. It's like a time machine that way.
The modern era non-vegetable section offers old and new furnitures, clothes, toys, gadgets, handcraft and food. The stands have perfected the art of appealing displays, and the manicured gravel on the ground takes beautiful hues and shapes thanks to the market artists. As an added bonus, there are bins and a very common understanding that not using them equals older era, and therefore barbaric behavior. It probably helps that a small flock of policing drones hover, too.
The main attraction of the medieval non-vegetable section is a field for jousting, beheadings and witch burnings. There's also a blacksmith, a couple of farriers, basket weavers, cattle traders and other stands. More than anything, there's mud. I don't know what the deal is with the medievals and filth but they seem to love it. They even sit in it while waiting for more customers.
I enter the market from the modern era side, mostly because, slow as it is, it's still the fastest way to get to the medieval produce. There's a modern stand with absolutely delicious sourdough waffles that I cave to, every time; my advance reward, if you will, for putting up with all the mud.
In order to buy something from the medieval fruit and veggie stands one needs coins. These coins can be exchanged at small booths specialized in inter-era monetary conversions. It's surprising how expensive medieval petty cash is. I've concluded that it's probably the most lucrative business in the entirety of the market, since no-one can objectively say exactly how much modern era money is worth to those who don't use it. What a retirement fantasy, to have one of these booths and charge a ludicrous admin fee, just like they do!
I change enough money to buy a box of blueberries and go past the modern era veggie stands through to the medieval ones, mentally prepared to haggle. It's during these long-winded negotiations that I insert my rumors, all while trying to buy as little as possible. Simply put, I don't trust their produce, and I trust their spices even less. The berries and mushrooms, however, are often supplied by the hunter gatherers, and I want to support their inclusion in the economy. Thanks to the conversion rate, it's sometimes a lot more expensive to "help" them in the medieval section, but since I'm there anyway, it's the best of bad options.
"That feudal overlord who went into the jungle to bring back a dino, has he returned yet?" I ask one of the plum sellers. Her fruits are past their best before date, but she pretends it's supposed to be that way.
"Haven't heard anything. How many went with him?"
"Probably a dozen poor bastards." I make an effort to keep a straight face. From a modern era perspective, all the medievals are poor bastards, just not in the sense she thinks I mean. Besides, if said accompanying poor bastards had any last wit left, they wouldn't go very deep into the jungle, just enough to knock their feudal overlord out and leave him to his fate.
"Nah, they're dead, then. Dangerous place, that jungle is. I tell my sons all the time. "Don't go there," I say to them. "You've got everything you need here.""
"Quite right. I heard some feudal overlords wants to burn it down. Not all of it, just enough to build another castle."
"They want more than just one castle, love." She looks at me slyly and leans closer over the fruit baskets. "They want to take land from the back-thens too, you know. Those fancy buildings and all."
"Really? That's a mission impossible!" Though I'd like to see them try.
Last time a bunch of medievals came under the spell of hubris and tried to storm the Parthenon, they were swiftly struck down by a swarm of chariots. Since then, prisoners of war had been exchanged at a glacial pace, accompanied by aggressive threats from both sides. The ancient Greeks and the ancient Romans teamed up, and they're likely to win again should it ever come to another blow. But the feudal overlords all suffer from overinflated egos and weren't, and still aren't able to cooperate. Despite being outnumbered and out-strategized, they continue their shrill barks like cornered chihuahuas, defiantly denying defeat. It's probably why they've set their sights on the jungle instead.
"Well, good luck to them, ey. I'm happy as long as I can keep my sons out of it all, and put food on the table."
I try not to make a face. The medievals don't have many culinary choices, it's either home cooked badness, or slop served at inns for those with extremely numb palates and a high tolerance for exotic bacteria.
Further into the medieval veggie section, the shift is obvious. For one thing, the produce gets progressively worse. Monks rub shoulders with nuns, and crusaders do the walking equivalent of manspreading in the increasingly narrow lanes. Chickens hang upside down, tied by their feet, over the same stands that sells flowers. None of them have thought to do it the other way around: hang the flowers upside down to dry instead of the fowls. They put on an apron or coat when leaving the market to appear clean instead of dirtying outer cloth that can be removed. They rinse the produce grown in the ground such as potatoes, and brush the fruit until they look rugged. It's like they insist on being backwards, despite seeing the alternative on display a literal stone throw away.
I stroll slowly, pretending to inspect the goods while eavesdropping. Most of the gossip is mundane and thoroughly uninteresting, just like small-talk in any era is. Nevertheless, I need to sift through the sand to get to the gold nuggets, and so I linger and offer "news". More than once, I've considered installing modern era spy devices to reduce the amount of time I need to be here. The closer proximity to the chatter the better the intelligence, though; I can't probe further if I'm not there. It'd be even better if I could think of a reason to go into the non-veggie part of the medieval market. I've considered buying a horse, but my landlord and neighbors might have something to say about it. I doubt they'd be happier if I brought home a pet pig or cow. Either way, it's the farriers and the blacksmith I want access to, because they're like the canary in the coal mine for what I want to know. When the medievals make their move for territory expansion, they'll want iron weapons and shoe'd horses.
The one thing I can't do is flirt my way into their good graces. Inter-era couples have happened, but success stories are rare. A modern man is unlikely to have anything in common with the illiterate everyday medieval women, possibly apart from the wish to procreate and keep the lights on. A modern woman would only very rarely put up with the filthy, unhealthy and subordinate living conditions of this era. I certainly wouldn't want manual labour and birth-giving as a full time occupation, surrounded by dogmatic religious practices and disease. Even if I did, flirting with a farrier or a blacksmith is more likely to end up with me defiled, accused of being a witch, and then stoned or burned alive. Snatching any eligible medieval bachelor requires the negotiation by a father or brother, and that's if they remained clueless as to when I'm from. Putting on an old lady's wig and shawls gets me access to gossip. Dressed up in era-appropriate clothes as myself, they'd assume I was a tourist at best, but not truly one of them, at least not for long. Too old to be virgin marriage material, too clean to be a maid on an errand, the only thing I can think of that'd get me close to my target sources is bribery. But I don't know what to bribe with, and casually dropping by to demand that they share customer orders is not exactly the done thing. I could try; it might work. It could also go wholly wrong.