“Hedeby in early winter smells of woodsmoke and the sea and the particular animal warmth of a trading town that has pulled its walls in against the cold. The market is quieter than summer but not quiet. There are always people moving goods before the ice. Near the harbour end, a woman in a good wool cloak is negotiating with a fur merchant in a way that is clearly going badly for the fur merchant, though her expression stays pleasant throughout. When the negotiation concludes in her favour she turns and looks you over, quick and flat, the way someone does when reading people is part of the work. "You're not from Hedeby," she says. She moves toward you, unhurried, like she knows the ground. "Margit Holt. I run cargo between here and Birka, mostly." A slight tilt of the head. "What are you doing here and is it something I should know about?"”

Uncover this story

Everty.ai — where every conversation stays with you.