Episode 3
Sampling Greatness
Ten steps away from the crates, Gregory heard scrambling behind him. He had finally realized where Gregory was heading.
“Stop!” the clerk shouted, somewhat frantically, as he rushed to catch up.
The soldiers exploded into motion as Gregory’s destination became clear, and he knew that he had been right in his guess. This young man must be the merchant of this caravan, perhaps a dignitary from a rich family, and the soldiers were here to protect him.
He was the one in charge, for sure.
At least the guards were efficient. Gregory paused six feet away from the young merchant, crossing his hands passively in front of his stomach and giving them plenty of time to react.
Except they reacted much more aggressively than he had expected. In seconds, Gregory was surrounded, and all the soldiers had weapons drawn.
“Is that necessary?” he asked, forcing himself to relax.
“What do you want?” the Captain asked, fingering the hilt of his sword. He hadn’t moved, but his eyes bored into Gregory in a way that made him uncomfortable.
Gregory tucked his thumbs into his belt, pulling his coat out of the way to show his sides and hips. He was unarmed—except for a dagger he kept tucked in his boot—and he wanted them to know it.
“Just to ask a question,” he offered softly.
“Then speak quickly and get lost,” the captain said, with only the slightest edge of contempt in his voice. Gregory saw him nod to the guards behind Gregory, and he heard footsteps draw away. A few swords were put away, but not all.
“Not of you,” he said, then nodded at the young man sitting on the crates. “I was hoping to speak to him, since he’s the one you are here protecting…”
His voice trailed off. There was a sharp intake of air from several of the guards behind him. Gregory realized that something was wrong. The merchant had a lock of shock on his face that quickly shifted to fear, and the Captain slid his fingers a little lower down the hilt of his sword.
That blade, Gregory decided, would be better remaining in the guard’s hilt than buried in Gregory’s stomach. Time to backpedal.
“I seem to be mistaken,” he said.
“Dangerously so,” the Captain said. “Move along.”
There was a finality in his voice, and Gregory said nothing else.
This was not the exchange he had been hoping for, and his plan to impress the merchant had backfired. The young merchant still had a look of worry on his face and was staring down at his feet. Gregory bowed to the Captain as calmly as possible and walked down the road to the south, further into the city.
“Damn it all,” he muttered.
How could he have guessed that the caravan wouldn’t want passengers? Since when did a caravan or any merchant turn down a paying customer? He cursed his luck. He would have to wait a few days, maybe weeks, until another caravan passed through the city, and then hope that things went better the next time around.
Now he needed to find some way to keep busy during his extended stay in Marisburg. He would have to lie low, but he had little money. Maybe he could find work in the city for a merchant; he was good with mathematics and fair at scribe work, and both those traits were in high demand in a city like this.
It might even turn out to be a positive venture in his monetary situation. His funds were running low, and he’d been hoping to find somewhere to restock, anyway. Plus, adding a few weeks to his trip wouldn’t have negative consequences unless Olestin was looking for him, and there was always the possibility that they weren’t searching for him after…
Lost in thought, it took him a few minutes to realize that he was being followed. Two of the caravan guards were shadowing him, and obviously so. No discretion at all.
Which meant they probably meant to kill him.
Gregory’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt his stomach tighten into a knot. Who, he wondered, did I just piss off?
He drew a deep breath to calm himself and slipped down a side street, turned a corner, and circled back to the spot where he first noticed the men following him.
Sure enough, they were still there.
“Uh oh,” he murmured.
Where to go? Could he outrun them? Maybe, but he didn’t like the proposition of running through the streets chased by uniformed soldiers. The city guardsmen might intervene on their behalf just in case he was a criminal.
Maybe he could slip into one of the many shops lining the street and hide and then find somewhere he could lie low until the caravan left the city.
His two shadows were about thirty feet behind him, not increasing their pace. He doubted they knew the layout of the town any better than he did, so they might not know where to look if he slipped out of their sight.
He walked at a leisurely pace to the other side of the road and turned the first corner he came to. As soon as he was in the alley, he took off at a sprint toward the next corner, slipping around it before his pursuers could catch up.
In another street, he sprinted across, dodging pedestrians and horses, and dipped into another alley. He heard shouts behind them but didn’t stop to apologize.
