Clariel: The Lost Abhorsen (The Abhorsen Trilogy Book 4) Read Online Free PDF

and shouting back from the buyers, and yelling from the cart-pushers, a cacophony of sound such that Clariel had never experienced before.
    To cap it all off, there were no bright fish. Such things were sold from time to time by the fish merchants at the northern end of the market who specialized in live eels, fish, and exotic fare like rays. But none of them currently had the bright yellow or orange fish that Roban said were the ones the King favored. Indeed, it was unclear where such fish came from, save that every now and then a sailor or a fisherman would come in with one or two, and more often dead than alive.
    “You could try over at the Islet,” said one of the sellers, who wore a bronze badge above his ringmail apron that identified him as an Undermaster of the Guild of Fishmongers. “They pick up oddities from time to time. In any case, I’ll spread the word.”
    “I need one soon,” said Clariel. “It’s to be a gift for the—”
    “Oh, look at that eel!” screeched Valannie, pointing at a huge, toothy eel that was flicking and coiling itself out of a nearby barrel. At the same time, Roban said, “We’d best be getting on, milady. It’s almost noon.”
    “Uh, yes,” said Clariel. “Thank you. I will try the . . . uh . . .”
    “The Islet,” said the fishmonger. “It’s a little rocky island, not far past the South Tower. Outside the walls. Bit rough and ready, but safe enough in daylight.”
    “Thank you,” Clariel repeated. “If a fish does turn up here, please let me know.”
    The fishmonger inclined his head. Before Clariel had even turned around he was shouting at one of his workers, “Get those eels sorted, you lazy gudgeon!”
    It was a little quieter outside the fish market, but still much noisier than Estwael ever was, even on its biggest market day, during the harvest festival. And the people walked fast, as if whatever they had to do could not wait a moment. Clariel felt that if it were not for Roban, she would be swept up by the tide of hustling, shoving, catcalling people and carried away into some crammed alley, to be trapped there for all time.
    “Shall we go to the Islet now?” asked Clariel. She was very tempted, because it was outside the walls, and anywhere outside the walls had to feel better than being within them.
    “Oh, no time for that now,” said Valannie. “We simply must get you some proper clothes!”
    Clariel sighed and nodded, and held to the thought that this was all only temporary. Soon enough she would be free of all the people, the noise, the smells, and be back in the cool green world of the forest. She just had to figure out how she could earn her own living. She was honest enough about her skills as a hunter, and the difficulties of that life, to know she might survive a summer well enough, but winter would be another matter. Besides, bare survival had little charm. She would need at least a moderate sum of coin to get herself set up, with title to a lodge or a cottage on the forest edge. Her parents could well afford to purchase this for her, of course—
    Roban interrupted her daydreaming with a hand on her elbow, as she almost put a foot through an iron grille covering the access way to a sewer below. Despite being well-flushed with water from the aqueduct that bordered the fish market, the tunnel below carried with it a noisome mass of fish guts, offcuts, and scales, and she could easily have broken her ankle in the broad mesh of the grille.
    “This way, milady.”
    Roban led them up the broad avenue of Summer Street, which Clariel was slightly heartened to see was lined with trees, though they were thin, bare, and grey compared to those in the forests she knew. The trees were some kind of ash, she thought, but neither Roban nor Valannie could identify them to Clariel.
    They left Summer Street before it began to climb through the somewhat elevated valley between Beshill and Coiner’s Hill, turning east instead into a narrower way. A hanging