He was a man never to be the same.Caecilianus plunged a wooden paddle into the horrendous stench of the dead snails he had returned to the vat. His stirring fouled the air the same way his lack of self-control had fouled their friendship. What had he been thinking? It would be far easier to coax Tyrian purple from the fermented liquor of crushed snails than to convince a beautiful young girl such as Ruth to love a clumsy fool such as he was. Of all the awkward things he’d ever done in her presence, kissing her and then acting sorry about it were the worst. He would apologize more thoroughly next Tuesday. If she allowed him the opportunity to restore their friendship, he would never again be the source of the hurt he’d seen crease her perfect face.Shouts drew his attention to the window. People rushed by. Horror on their faces. Water jugs and crocks in their arms. He dropped his paddle and threw open the door. “What is it?”“Fire,” huffed an overweight silk merchant. “Low-rent district.”Caecilianus wheeled, grabbed his water jug, and sprinted toward the cloud of smoke darkening the sky.
