Free Wordscapist: The Myth (The Way of the Word Book 1) by Arpan Panicker Page B

I didn’t mind, given just how rowdy they were with the other girls my age. I had been spared all that and more. I was Papa Loon and Andy da’s adopted daughter after all. That was enough weirdness to ensure that most norms gave me a wide berth. But I had never been out on a date either. Being from a gypsy family was bad enough. But Andy da was one of the Goan Free wordsmiths. To the local norms, for some flummox inducing reason, that translated into him being close to the Russian mafia. That kept the boys away. Tourist norms, unaware of the history and intending to get friendly, went through a crash course with one of Papa Loon’s bouncers. It was ironic that I was probably the one girl in the neighbourhood quite capable of taking care of myself, and I never really had to. It was good, in a way. I was in charge despite my age and had no authority issues. But then that, along with the fact that I was a Free wordsmith, ensured that I didn’t have many friends. I rarely met anyone my age, and when I did, they were of the hard-eyed fanatic class of wordsmiths the Free Word usually attracted. I had my share of angst, but wearing it as a burning ribbon on my sleeve wasn’t quite my style. I noted that the norms were almost done with their work. It was time for me to check mine. I got up, tying my hair back with a band. It would probably be all out and bothering me again in a couple of minutes. I never quite managed to tame it. I should try weaving something up for it.
         I walked around the flea market’s narrow aisles, strangely spacious in the early hours with hardly a soul around. There were enough boards pointing to our shack to ensure other norm vendors didn’t suspect our real purpose here; the convention. But what I was looking for were the invisible weaves leading Free wordsmiths to the location. There was the one on the entrance gate, quite satisfyingly woven into the night market board, merging with its loud age-old aura. Through my signature scape I could see its faint glow, invisible to everyone else.
         I walked into the parking lot and there was another weave, nudging Free wordsmiths in the right direction, melded into a huge tree in the centre of the lot. For some reason, this one nudged norms to the public facilities at the other end of the market. I had to fix that or there would be utter chaos with every norm rushing straight from the parking to the barely sufficient restroom facilities at Ingo’s. I quickly brought up my scape view to look at it. As space warped and gave me a view to the guide centre, I noticed something I had never seen before; a tinge of mossy brown-green all around the place. There were faint striations that were barely perceptible, moving much like near-invisible flotsam in the eye. It blended with the earth and greenery, but still coloured everything a different hue. This was not something I had done; it seemed to be everywhere. And yet, it affected my scape in the weirdest way possible. I wondered if someone was working mischief. I ran a quick probe to search for anyone else working the gift in the area. Nada. I was the only gifted one there. The day was getting brighter, and the tinge dissolved into the light until I could barely see it. I decided to ignore it and ran a double weave on the guide sign to take out the norm anomaly. No more restroom urges. I stood back to admire my handiwork. Neat and efficient, as Andy da always used to say. I was slow, but I was reliable. I allowed myself a tiny smile as I walked back to the stall. Time to wrap up. The night market wasn’t until the next day, but I always tried to prepare way ahead of time. I hated leaving things to the last minute. I looked around the place as I walked past the empty stalls. I could hardly believe that the next evening would see the most powerful Free wordsmiths in the world flocking to this place. I wasn’t sure if I would get to see all them together, but I would definitely try to catch one or two