By midmorning, Zephyr Town had become a sea of voices.

They rolled through the Grand Bazaar in overlapping waves, rising above the clatter of wagon wheels and the steady shuffle of hundreds of feet moving between the stalls. Merchants called out their prices from beneath colorful awnings while customers drifted from table to table with baskets tucked beneath their arms. Somewhere near the center of the bazaar, a musician had attracted a small crowd, though his melody had little hope of competing with the merchants advertising fresh vegetables, handmade jewelry, wool, cooked meals, flowers, tools, and practically anything else a person might think to bring to market. Children darted between their parents, travelers stopped to consult maps of the stalls, and the wonderful smell of freshly prepared food occasionally swept through the crowd whenever the breeze found its way between the buildings.

Hans stood behind his counter in the middle of it all with a hand bell raised above his head.

He gave it several enthusiastic rings.

"Fresh produce! Eggs! Milk! Everything straight from the farm!" Hans called, lowering the bell just long enough to catch his breath. "Come take a look! If you don't see what you need, just ask!"

A woman carrying a woven basket immediately changed direction and approached his stall. Hans grinned and placed the bell beside the register before leaning forward to greet her. She was looking over the vegetables with the intense concentration of someone who had already visited several other merchants and was determined to make the correct decision.

"Those tomatoes were picked yesterday," Hans said, gesturing toward a neatly arranged row. "And if you're cooking with them, I'd recommend these."

The woman glanced toward another basket. "Those are better?"

"Depends on what you're making."

"Stew."

"Then definitely those. They're a little softer, but that's exactly what you want. Save the firmer ones for sandwiches or salads."

She considered his advice before selecting several. "I'll trust you."

"I promise I haven't ruined anyone's stew yet."

"Yet?"

Hans laughed. "Important word."

The woman chuckled as she handed him the money. Hans carefully packed her purchase, thanked her, and watched her disappear into the crowd before immediately reaching for his bell again. There wasn't much time to stand around during the Grand Bazaar. An empty space in front of his counter could fill within seconds, and Hans had learned long ago that a merchant who quietly waited for customers would usually spend the afternoon watching those customers buy from somebody louder.

The bell rang again.

"Fresh farm goods! Come take a look!"

Several heads turned.

That was better.

Hans had become rather good at this.

There had been a time when the bazaar was nowhere near this busy. Hans could still remember those earlier market days, when every successful sale seemed important and the dream of restoring Zephyr Town's famous bazaar felt almost impossibly distant. The stories people told about its glory days had sounded larger than life: merchants coming from far away, enormous crowds filling the grounds, and customers traveling considerable distances simply because Zephyr's bazaar was the place to be. Back then, Hans had spent plenty of mornings looking across a much quieter marketplace and wondering how something so modest was ever supposed to become that again.

Now he sometimes wished everyone would stop arriving at once.

"One at a time!" Hans laughed as three customers approached his counter together. "I've got plenty. Nobody needs to fight over the potatoes."

"I was here first," an older man insisted.

"You don't even want potatoes," the woman beside him replied.

"I might."

"You came here for milk!"

"I can want two things."

Hans bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as he began sorting through their orders. "Good news. I have both."

The next several minutes passed in a blur. Coins changed hands. Vegetables disappeared into baskets. Bottles of milk vanished from the counter almost as quickly as Hans could replace them. Someone wanted eggs but needed them packed carefully for the trip home. Another customer asked whether Hans would have more onions at the next bazaar. A young man couldn't decide between two items and somehow managed to turn a simple purchase into a lengthy discussion about what his mother might prefer for dinner. Hans answered every question as best he could, never allowing the growing line to push him into treating anyone like they were merely the next sale.

That mattered to him.

The bazaar might have grown enormous, but Hans never wanted it to feel enormous.

People didn't travel to Zephyr Town merely because there were things to buy. They came because the bazaar was alive. They came because merchants remembered them, because neighbors encountered one another between the stalls, because someone might arrive looking for turnips and somehow spend twenty minutes discussing the weather with a person they hadn't seen since spring. The Grand Bazaar had become a destination again, but underneath all the visitors and commerce, it remained part of Zephyr Town.

Hans had spent years helping make that happen.

"Thank you!" he called as another satisfied customer stepped away.

For the first time in what felt like an hour, nobody immediately replaced them.

Hans exhaled and rolled his shoulders. "Whew."

He looked down at his counter.

Half of what he'd brought that morning was already gone.

"Not bad."

He reached beneath the stall for another crate and began moving its contents onto the counter, filling the empty spaces left behind by the morning rush. His hands moved almost automatically. Put the better-looking produce toward the front. Keep similar items together. Make the display full without making it difficult for customers to see what was available. Hans had repeated the routine so many times that he barely needed to think about it anymore.

A few years ago, he would have celebrated a morning like this.

Now it was simply Saturday.

That thought made him smile.

Hans straightened and looked beyond his stall at the bazaar he had helped build. Colorful banners fluttered overhead, stretched between posts and buildings. The paths were crowded enough that people occasionally had to turn sideways to squeeze past one another. Merchants who once worried about whether Zephyr Town could attract enough customers were now worrying about whether they had brought enough merchandise. Visitors came from neighboring settlements, while others traveled much farther. The railway brought passengers into town specifically for the market, and by afternoon there would probably be another wave of people pouring into the bazaar.

The Grand Bazaar.

It had actually happened.

Hans rested his hands against the edge of the counter for a moment, allowing himself the smallest measure of satisfaction before the familiar sound of approaching footsteps reminded him that admiring his accomplishments wasn't going to sell anything.

A pair of customers stopped nearby.

Hans immediately grabbed his bell.

Ring-ring-ring!

"Welcome! Fresh produce straight from the farm!"

One of them smiled. "You're certainly energetic."

"Occupational requirement."

"Do you have any good eggs left?"

Hans pointed toward a basket near the side of his stall. "Plenty. How many do you need?"

And just like that, he was working again.

The hours of a bazaar day had their own strange rhythm. Hans rarely noticed individual minutes passing. Instead, he measured time through empty crates, lighter shelves, and the gradual movement of the sun above the market. The morning crowd became the midday crowd, and the midday crowd would eventually thin as visitors began carrying their purchases home. Until then, Hans rang his bell, called to passing customers, answered questions, offered suggestions, accepted payment, and tried very hard not to accidentally sell something he had already promised to the person standing beside them.

It was exhausting.

Hans loved it.

There were sacrifices, of course. There always had been. A farm didn't run itself, and neither did a successful bazaar stall. Building Zephyr's market into the Grand Bazaar had consumed years that seemed strangely short whenever Hans looked backward at them. There had always been another field to plant, another crop to harvest, another product to prepare, another bazaar goal to reach. His days had been full enough that he rarely had reason to wonder whether something might be missing from them.

Hans wasn't married.

He wasn't dating anyone either.

It wasn't because Zephyr Town lacked wonderful people, nor because Hans had made some grand declaration that romance would interfere with his ambitions. Life had simply kept moving. Every time there seemed to be room for something else, another season arrived, another harvest began, and another Saturday morning found him standing behind this counter with a bell in his hand.

Someday, perhaps.

For now, someone was staring at his strawberries.

Hans watched the young customer pick up one basket, inspect it, put it down, pick up another, and repeat the process with such seriousness that he finally leaned across the counter.

"They're all from the same patch."

The customer froze. "I know."

Hans nodded solemnly. "Just making sure."

"I'm choosing."

"I can see that."

"This is important."

"Absolutely."

The customer returned to studying the strawberries.

Hans lasted approximately three seconds before laughing.

The customer finally laughed too, selected the original basket, and handed it over. Hans accepted the money, wished him a good afternoon, and watched him leave before shaking his head.

"Big decisions at the Grand Bazaar."

He reached for his bell once more.

Ring-ring-ring!

The bright sound carried over the marketplace.

Hans raised his voice with it, calling to the stream of people moving past his stall as another ordinary Saturday continued in Zephyr Town.

At least, Hans assumed it would be ordinary.