Free Troubled Waters by Sharon Shinn

trousers and a tunic, he wore an overrobe so long it fell to his ankles; it had been sewn from a garish fabric that had softened over many washes in hard water, but it still looked like the sort of thing few people would choose to own. His smile was wide enough to display several gaps between his teeth.
    “Welcome!” he said in a raspy voice. “You’ve come back for a second night.”
    “I have,” she said. “I find the river pleasant, and I have no other home to go to just now.”
    “The river is happy to have you back,” he said. “My name is Calvin.”
    “I’m Zoe,” she said, not having any reason to hide it. “Are you the one who left me food this morning?”
    “My wife,” he said.
    She offered him the bag of candies. “May I repay you with something equally delicious, though hardly as nutritious?”
    He laughed and happily took two pieces. “No repaying necessary, but I do love sweets,” he said. “Would you like to join us tonight for dinner? We eat simply, but there’s enough to share.”
    She offered her bag of apples, lighter by the three she had reserved for herself. “Only if you will let me bring something.”
    “Gladly,” he said and waved her to her feet.
    She had so few possessions that she just bundled them all into her carrying bag before she stood up. The jingling shawl she tied tightly around her shoulders, since it was the thing she could least afford to lose. “The nights can be so chilly,” she explained, and he nodded.
    “My wife wraps herself in piles of covers so deep I can’t even tell if she’s there under all the layers,” he said. “Some days I wonder if she’s crept away to amuse herself with a handsome young man, while I make conversation with a stack of blankets!”
    His silly words were so charmingly uttered that Zoe actually laughed aloud.
    She couldn’t remember the last time she had done that.
    Calvin’s wife was not, in fact, swathed in blankets, though she was snugly wrapped in a heavyweight wool robe that covered a worn and faded set of clothing. She was as thin as Calvin, with a seamed brown face and black hair so short it was scarcely more than a fuzz of color along her scalp. She moved efficiently through a campsite that had the faintest air of permanence about it, as if it had been set up in this exact same spot for years, though it was obvious it could be dismantled in minutes. The low tent, barely big enough to hold two people, was stretched over a couple of sleeping mats. Two enormous soft-sided bags were half-open at the front of the tent—one holding Calvin’s possessions, Zoe guessed, and one holding his wife’s. A small round brazier was surrounded by a tattered collection of seating mats. None of those items was so valuable that it could not be abandoned if it became necessary to leave camp very quickly, or if it was stolen. Calvin and his wife had accumulated a few luxuries, but it was clear they were not weighed down by them. Zoe guessed there was nothing here they could not walk away from with very little regret.
    “Zoe, my wife, Annova,” Calvin introduced them. “Annova, our guest has brought apples to complete our meal.”
    Annova looked over and smiled, but did not step away from the brazier, whose small grill was crammed with two pots and a few potatoes, baking over the heat. “Excellent. I have cinnamon, so we can flavor them.”
    Her accent wasn’t from any of the regions Zoe was familiar with—Chialto, the northern provinces, or the far western villages. She guessed Annova was from one of the southern cities near the ocean where the Marisi ended its journey. “Thank you for inviting me to share your meal,” she said.
    Calvin stepped closer to his wife and tapped her lips. She opened her mouth and he dropped the second piece of candy onto her tongue. “Zoe brought us another gift,” he said. “Isn’t that delicious?”
    Annova closed her eyes in a mock swoon. “Very! You must have been at the Plaza of Women today. I