The alley leading to Old Maera's stall was even narrower and gloomier than Rhys had anticipated. Refuse choked the gutters, and the air hung thick with the competing smells of pungent herbs, chemical reagents, and stale despair. Rhys moved cautiously, keeping to the shadows, his senses on high alert. Boulder melted into the deeper darkness near the alley entrance, becoming just another indistinguishable shadow among many, yet Rhys could feel his steady, watchful presence like a silent anchor.
Maera's stall was less a stall and more a cave carved into the alley wall, cluttered with bundles of dried plants, jars filled with murky liquids and preserved specimens, and shelves overflowing with grinders, alembics, and stained tools. Behind a counter fashioned from stacked crates sat the herbalist herself – a figure seemingly as ancient and weathered as the ruins around her. Her face was a roadmap of deep wrinkles, eyes like chips of obsidian glinting shrewdly from shadowed sockets. She watched Rhys approach without a word, her posture radiating suspicion.
"Looking for Crimson Root Powder," Rhys stated plainly, keeping his voice low and even. No pleasantries, no preamble. Directness often worked best in these environments.
Old Maera sniffed, a sound like dry leaves rustling. "Never heard of it," she rasped, turning back to sorting a pile of gnarled roots.
Rhys didn't react to the blatant dismissal. He scanned the stall subtly with his Echo Sense. He detected numerous potent botanical energy signatures, some soothing, some volatile. And deep within a locked wooden chest behind the counter, he felt a distinct, fiery resonance – consistent with the properties Kaelen had described for Crimson Root. She had it.
He leaned forward slightly, placing a small, sealed pouch on the counter. It contained carefully filtered, relatively pure water – a valuable commodity anywhere in Meridian, especially here. "Perhaps this jogs the memory," Rhys said. "Or perhaps knowledge is more valuable? Safe passage through the Whisperwind Foundry sector. Detailed hazard maps, locations of minor salvage."
Maera's eyes flickered towards the water pouch, then back to Rhys, her gaze sharpening. "Foundry passage? Lotta good that does me stuck here." But the mention of it clearly registered. She knew its reputation, its potential value. "Crimson Root… dangerous stuff. Needs careful handling. High price."
"I know its properties," Rhys countered, letting a hint of his knowledge show. "Used in specific body tempering techniques. Requires precise catalysts to avoid… adverse reactions." He watched her reaction closely. A flicker of surprise? Respect?
The negotiation began in earnest. Maera probed, trying to gauge his knowledge, his desperation, his resources. Rhys parried, revealing only what was necessary, emphasizing the value of his hazard maps – information she could potentially sell to scavenger crews for far more than the water was worth. He used his Echo Sense delicately, trying to read the subtle fluctuations in her Aether signature, looking for tells, signs of deception or acceptance. It was like playing a high-stakes game of mental chess, each word weighed, each pause calculated.
Finally, after a tense silence, Maera grunted. "Alright. Map data first. Verify."
Rhys cautiously transferred the encrypted map data from his datapad to hers, ensuring he included no information revealing his own routes or hideouts, only the general hazards and minor salvage points he'd charted. Maera scanned it quickly, her expression unreadable. Satisfied, she unlocked the wooden chest with a key worn smooth with age and retrieved a small, tightly sealed leather pouch. The fiery resonance pulsed faintly from within.
"Genuine," she stated, placing it on the counter next to the water pouch. "Handle with care. Bite is worse than its burn if you ain't prepared."
Rhys quickly secured the precious Crimson Root Powder, relief warring with the tension of the transaction. As he turned to leave, another figure emerged from the deeper shadows of the alley further down – a wiry youth who approached a different stall owner nearby. The youth made a quick, subtle hand gesture – fingers tapping the wrist in a specific pattern. The stall owner nodded almost imperceptibly in acknowledgment. A coded exchange. Rhys filed the gesture away mentally.
Moments later, a hooded courier slipped into the alley, moving with quiet efficiency. The courier approached Maera, handing her a small, flat package sealed with dark wax. Before Maera tucked it away, Rhys caught a glimpse of the seal's impression: a stylized bell shape bisected by a horizontal line. The Bellweather symbol. Sera.
His blood ran cold. Sera's network extended even here, into these grimy fringe alleys. Maera was likely one of her countless information nodes or suppliers. Had his transaction been noted? Reported? Did Sera now know he was seeking rare catalysts, specifically Crimson Root? The water he'd traded, the Foundry map data – traceable commodities within her intricate web of information brokerage.
A prickle of awareness ran down his spine. The feeling of being watched intensified, but it felt different now. Less like the cold, impersonal scanning of the geometric-mark watchers, and more… focused. Aware. Like multiple pairs of eyes tracking his specific movements from nearby rooftops or shadowed doorways. Were they Sera's agents, alerted by Maera or the courier's arrival? Or had his presence here attracted the attention of the other watchers as well? Or, chillingly, were they one and the same, Sera somehow connected to the 'grey ghosts'? The ambiguity was maddening, amplifying his paranoia tenfold.
He signaled Boulder with a prearranged, almost invisible gesture. Time to go. Now.
They didn't walk; they melted back into the labyrinthine passages bordering the Undermarket, moving swiftly and unpredictably. Rhys pushed his Echo Sense, enhanced by his recent body refinement, trying to pinpoint the watchers, but they were ghosts, leaving no clear signature, just the persistent, unnerving feeling of being observed.
He clutched the pouch of Crimson Root Powder, its faint warmth a stark contrast to the icy fear gripping his heart. He had the second catalyst, a vital step forward. But the cost might have been exposing himself further within Sera Bellweather's inescapable orbit and potentially confirming his existence to the even more mysterious watchers. The city felt like a closing trap, its web tightening with every move he made.