All three foxes look curiously at the man, who’s wicked grin only spreads. He says, “I have here a rare delicacy here. Most humans won’t like it, but you are of a more adventuresome disposition, aren’t you?”
The foxes nod, encouragingly.
“So, let me show you something very special, a rare treat.” He puts his fishing line down carefully, and moves over to his cart. He keeps up his chatter, clearly trying to sell his goods to the listening foxes. He tells them, “All you have to do is eat one of these, and any ailment you care to name will be cured. Or, bite the head off and make a wish!” Approaching the cart, the old man carefully starts to untie the rope holding the canvas down. He stops suddenly and looks intently at the three Shy Folk, and asks, “Am I wasting my time? Any of you got any money?”
Aedaith says, “A little.”
Bandé says, “No, but if it is a wish, I could change that!”
“Ach, none of that!” says the man, “Cash only! If your friends want to share with you, that’s none of my nevermind, but I’ll be having coin up front!”
Larrikan reassures the agitated man, “I’ve been singing in town. I have silver, if what you have is good.”
“That’s more like it!” says the old man. He takes Larrikan by the elbow, and leads him over to the cart, saying, “Look what I have here!”
The old man pulls what looks like a quart sized canning jar from under the canvas on his cart. The jar looks to be full of a murky blackness. Only when the man rotates it, does Larrikan see the limp form of a pixie splayed across the bottom and side of the jar.
Larrikan is horrified, but before he can say anything, Bandé and Aedaith, peering over his shoulder start asking questions.
“Oooo!” they say, “Then, “Is it good to eat?”, “What is it?” “Is it dead?” “Where did you get it?” “What’s the black stuff?” “Are there more?” “What do you do with them?” and, “How much?”
The old man cackles delightedly, with a cloud of stinking breath. He tells them, “They’re pixies, fresh caught, and still alive. The magic is best that way. As to the black stuff, it is a special brew passed down through my family for generations. Knocks the little bastards silly.”
“Where did you get them all?” Larrikan asks.
“Caught ’em myself!” boasts the old man, “Big dumb bogle came to me, asked me to get rid of the pests. He gave me a hand, but t’was all my skill and knowledge! He didn’t care what I did with them, so long as they’re gone.”
“Now,” adds the filthy man, “About the price. You really got silver?”
“Yes,” Larrikan confirms.
“I was going to ask 25, but you, I can give you one for 20.” says the man, settling in to haggle.
Aedaith looks downcast, and says, “I haven’t got anything like 20 silver.” She brightens, and adds, “Maybe we could work out a trade?” She moves forward and whispers in his ear.