Getting down from his carriage, he made his way through the Isle Valley before taking a left where he continued to walk for some distance until he entered the black market. It was ironic that both the posh as well as the place that wasn't spoken about out in the open was built and located next to each other. Isle Valley and the black market, it was as if the older generation had built the posh town to hide the dirt they were involved in.

Continuing to walk, his eyes scanned the area. It wasn't noon, yet there were people here. Walking and hustling around to buy things which they couldn't find elsewhere. Finding a man who was sitting in the corner with his hand raised forward holding an empty bowl who looked as if he were blind. The man wore ragged and torn clothes, a beard around his jaw and his hair messy and filled with dirt. 

Damien dropped a gold coin into his bowl. 

At the feel of heaviness in the man's bowl, his head looked down and at his bowl. His eyes falling on the gold coin and then to look up at Damien. 

"I have some questions. Care to answer?" Damien asked and walked away from the market. Going to the alley he stood there waiting for the man who arrived after a minute. 

"Master Damien. I didn't know you were going to grace here today in the market," the man came limping, his shoulder t.i.tled as he walked into the alley. 

"There's no one here, you can stop limping," Damien said chewing something in his mouth, "Don't you get tired of acting blind? There are other professions and disabilities you could choose from," he walked towards the little bins which had been cleared of garbage that morning. 

The man chuckled hearing Damien's words, letting one see his dark teeth which looked decayed, "It works the best. No one doubts a blind man."

"It is why I was the one to catch you the first day you arrived here at your spot," Damien rolled his eyes, "How is the little boy?" 

"He is doing well. Sometimes sits and cries a lot but he should be alright," answered the man, walking near Damien but not too near. People in the black market exchanged things easily and readily but that didn't mean that they trusted one another. At least not in the alley's where a third person couldn't witness what was going on. There was no saying when a person could be killed to have his or her body found by a complete stranger where there was a possibility of the body to continue to be left alone. The black market was a shady place.

It was told that once upon a time, the black market was a town where people lived in before it started to flood with things that were considered to be illegal. Some of the families migrated while others never left because they were killed. There was some part of the alleys and lanes which still looked like people could live but no one lived here. The buildings were usually vacant and was left for public use.

The council had never done anything about it, the previous council management had overlooked a lot of things which made one wonder if they were really good people back in the old days. The slave establishment continued though humans were part of the council and it continued to exist with the black market which didn't seem like it would be pulled down any time soon in the coming years. Why would one decide to pull it down when there were many benefits from it.

"Would you like a cigarette?" asked the man trying to be polite. 

Damien didn't bother with it, "Did any of the black witches contact you?"

The man shook his head, "Why would they?"

"Because you are their only supplier for the in and out when it comes to ingredients," the man chuckled. 

"I heard old Bathsheba ran away from her usual spotting."

"It was a witch hunter who attacked her. She killed him. Where did you hear about that?" Damien questioned the man, his back leaning against the stoney-brick walls. He lifted one leg to place the foot against the wall.

"It was one of the white witches," hearing this Damien t.i.tled his head. 

"Since when did the white witches keep a tab and know the sightings of the black witches? Who was it?" 

The man shrugged his shoulders, "I don't remember her face clearly. She wore " the man raised his hand and waved them above his head, "A hood. But she was a tall lady. Like really tall," before Damien could dissect the information by posing more questions, the man said, "She came in search of a man and didn't stay for more than two minutes. Asking if he had stepped in here. She obviously knew I wasn't blind so I couldn't make a lie."

"Your disguise is s.h.i.+t. Did she give a description of that man?" 

"Someone who was buff, this size," he moved his hands again in front of him, "Black and straight hair, square jaw which was firm and an eye patch," Damien narrowed his eyes at this little detail. There was one person whom he knew who wore an eye-patch over their eyes. 

"Did she mention anything else?" 

"Nothing that I could remember," the man answered, "She was pretty though."

Damien narrowed his eyes, "You said you didn't look at her. Do you want me to hang you like one of those clothes up there?" his voice turned low. The clothes above them were old and dusty that didn't belong to anyone who was alive anymore.