El Pregonero (The Crier)

I am the Crier, the voice that rings through the market square. I announce the caravan's arrival, the new season's routes, the special rates for early booking. I carry messages to distant cities: the merchant's letter, the invitation to the feast, the warning of delayed departure. My voice reaches every ear that needs to hear. I am the mouth of the compound.

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The Crier once shouted a warning three times — the bridge at Córdoba was broken. No one listened. A caravan of twenty mules drowned. After that, the Scribe taught me to whisper first, then speak, then shout. Now the market listens to my whisper. The Crier learned: volume without attention is silence.