Episode 2
On the Move
With a shrug, he shouldered his pack and began walking down the primary thoroughfare. He was confident in his decision to seek out the caravan, now that he had made it, and was glad that he’d managed to motivate himself.
The caravan had gathered several wagons and passengers near the north gate and was in the last stages of prepping to leave. Gregory saw several hired hands loading food and supplies into the back of one wagon, and a man with a clipboard checking the goods in.
The atmosphere was professional, Gregory noted with surprise. During his two-hundred-mile trek to reach Marisburg, he had traveled with four different caravans from one city to the next, and those were sloppy at best and negligent at worst.
The men working this caravan were smooth and methodical. But it wasn’t the hired help that surprised him as much as the hired protection. A contingent of thirty soldiers milled nearby, more than twice the number he might have expected for a caravan this size.
Maybe the roads were even worse than he’d thought. Gregory didn’t recognize any insignia or colors on their uniforms, but assumed they were part of the Comer military.
Whatever they were transporting must be valuable. Gold? Precious gems? No, they had entered Mulrich from the East, where there was little mining. Spices, mayhap. Many spices in his home country of Olestin were worth a fortune this far north. Masalas and saffron were locally grown herbs near his home, and yet they were considered rare here.
Dozens of crates were stacked snugly inside the wagons and varied wildly in size and shape. The boxes were too inconsistent for spices. Spices were often shipped in bulk on an individual basis.
Liquor, then, seemed most likely. The latter possibility gave Gregory hope. After choking down the harsh beers from Comer, maybe he would finally get his hands on a bottle of the sweet brandy Olestin was famous for. It would lack the nutrients and calories of a full meal, sure, but at least it would taste good.
Gregory approached the man with the clipboard with a smile. “Good day,” he said, offering a slight bow. “Might I inquire where this caravan is heading?”
“We aren’t looking for tagalongs—”
“I can pay.”
“—nor passengers of any kind,” the man finished, barely glancing up from his clipboard.
“I see,” Gregory said.
He studied the man and determined that he was a mouthpiece and nothing more. Someone who was pretending to be in charge, following a script. If Gregory was going to accomplish anything, he would have to figure out who owned all these goods and ask them.
The problem was no one else was making themselves obvious. Whoever was in charge didn’t want to stick out. Gregory scanned them over, looking for any insignias or expensive clothing.
It was only after careful observation that Gregory could confirm his suspicion: the hired hands went to the man with the clipboard for their orders, but continually snuck glances at someone else after every order. It was as though waiting to see if he would contradict the clerk.
This man was several years younger than the soldiers, also wearing a nondescript uniform. No medals or insignia; in fact, he looked to be nothing more than a bland mercenary who recently joined the company.
The young soldier sat on a pile of crates, eating a piece of thick bread and engrossed in his own thoughts. An older soldier sat next to him, attentive. He was wearing a Captain’s insignia on his shoulder and looked to be in charge.
“Have a great day,” Gregory said to the man holding the clipboard, and started walking directly toward the young soldier. The clerk waved vaguely at him, not paying attention.
