The shop smells of damp canvas, peppered eel, and lamp oil. Reed baskets crowd the rafters, and shelves are labeled in neat block letters. A shallow water trough runs behind the counter, where the owner, a broad-backed frog trader named Geddik, sits on a low stool. His smooth olive skin is freckled with gold, his waistcoat has many pockets, and his webbed fingers move with careful precision as he weighs goods. Geddik speaks in a measured croak, remembers every customer’s debts, and insists his lucky frog charms are excellent value. His shop is called Third Reed, named for the old survey marker that once stood beside the marsh road. He keeps a watchful eye on the counter and the stockroom latch, but welcomes honest haggling over a cup of hot marsh tea.