Sheriff Cronk tells me that Manver Teeg used to be a caravan guard. Back when Fort Reach was still a camp, Teeg took a job watching over four wagons on their way to Bull’s Tavern. Bandits struck on the way back when the wagons were carrying crucial supplies. Teeg, the sole survivor, came back with a single wagon — the one with the food stuffs. Everybody in Fort Reach got to eat and Manver Teeg was hailed a hero for fighting his way free. If he hadn’t, the expedition would probably have been abandoned as, at the time, there wasn’t enough food to continue otherwise. The adventurers would have had to return to Bull’s Tavern to resupply.

As it was, it was a near thing. Half the camp left the next day to buy wagons and restock on critical supplies while the other half split again to guard the camp or explore the nearby ruins. Investors saw enough of a profit to stay interested and what was a camp eventually became this town.

Many regard Teeg as nothing less than the savior of the whole place. Gorminiel made him the chief of security for The General Store and he serves his boss as the principal agent with the caravan guards.

“Bandits again,” I say when Cronk’s done filling me in.

The sheriff shrugs. “They’re an old problem for everybody.”

“Kobolds?” I say.

Cronk shakes his head. “Teeg’s always said they were a mishmash. A little bit of everybody.”

“How many bandit groups are in the area?”

“Hard to say. The kobolds hit us regular. I think they’ve got to have a den around here someplace.”

“A den?”

“Where kobolds live,” says Cronk. “They often find a spot near civilization to wiggle into and then, when we find them, we burn them out.”

“So they’re monsters?”

Cronk shrugs. “Do monstrous things and win monstrous prizes,” he says.

It doesn’t sit right with me but I let it go. I’m the newbie here.

“So, Teeg was the first one up the stairs to find Crocus?” I ask.

“Yep. He said he was on his way to work when he heard the crash and came running. Others corroborate. He was first on the scene and went right through the door. No hesitation.”

Which there wouldn’t be if Teeg knew that everybody inside was already dead. Or if he was indeed the fearless hero of legend.

“He could’ve hit the door and run off,” I say, but I’m shaking my head.

Cronk smiles. “I doubt it. Too risky. Maybe he had an accomplice do it. Still risky but there are alleys to duck into.”

“Nobody saw Crocus yesterday and thought he might be sick because he never opened,” I say, going over it again. “Did anybody see Teeg?”

“He says he was out of town. Teeg does a lot of work for Gorminiel, inspecting his various projects in and around town. He takes a lot of trips to Bull’s Tavern too.”

“What else does Gorminiel have going on?”

“Oh, he’s got a camp or two in the woods nearby. Tapped some trees for sap to make syrup. Mushroom harvesting. Some hunting parties he funds. Teeg looks after them all,” says the sheriff.

“Did he say where he was all day?”

“Says it’s confidential,” says Cronk. “Pertaining to Gorminiel’s business interests but that he can produce a couple of witnesses that’ll say he was with them.”

“Do you think he did this?” I ask.

Cronk says, “I know somebody did. Teeg looks good for it, yeah, but there are problems with that, the least of which is his popularity and connections. We have to follow the evidence, Mark. Wherever it goes. Otherwise you’ll start fitting facts to fit your conclusions. It happens to all of us and we got to guard against it. We need more to go on.”

How’d he, or whoever, get away from the door so fast? That’s the sticking point. The witnesses Teeg says he can supply are of his choosing. His people. They might lie. Hmm.

“Sheriff?” I say. “What makes you think Teeg could do a thing like this? Kill a man and hang out all day with the corpse?”

“When I came here, the caravan I was in was attacked. Teeg was in charge of the guards for that trip and I saw him fight,” says the sheriff. “Teeg was enjoying himself. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a man who was happier to have another man’s life’s blood on his face. But he never got mad. Never lost his cool, even when he took a pike to the groin.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“Why so many bandits?”

Cronk shrugs. “Grig thinks it’s the temptation of a serious payday. We ship a lot of valuable stuff to and fro. Bandits get the right shipment and they could be set for life.”

“And what do you say?”

“Same thing that drives the Pollies,” says the sheriff. “You want a society that follows the rules then you’d better set it up so that’s lucrative. Most families need more than two incomes to make it. That leaves a lot of folks left out and desperate.”

“Makes sense.”

 

 

We spend more time examining Crocus’s office and home. Both of us go over his ledgers, something I was keen to do anyway because of the caravan problems. Looking at the numbers, I can see that just about all of the most highly insured shipments made it to Bull’s Tavern. Those insured for four hundred to even one hundred gold less than that were almost all snapped up and those on the bottom tier were about fifty percent as likely to be lost. At first, that doesn't seem random to me at all, but then I think about it. A bigger shipment is probably going to be more attractive to bandits, right? More loot. When transporting the truly high-end stuff insured for thousands, well, you’re going to have more guards, right? Too many for the bandits so that shipment get left alone. That makes sense and I’m a little disappointed that I don’t find anything more conclusive.

Cronk and I agree that nothing of note seems missing. There’s an intact safe set into the wall behind the desk, some money upstairs, and downstairs in his desk. The rapier and daggers in the barrel are well-made and valuable. Our best bet is that maybe Crocus knew something he shouldn’t and this was done to shut him up.

“Maybe something came for him in the caravan,” says Cronk. “He was murdered the night you got here with Captain Gray.”

“I think she left this morning, didn’t she?” I ask.

Cronk nods. “Should be back tomorrow or the next day. We’ll have to ask her then,” he says with a sigh. “She'd know. She handles deliveries like that personally. Leave it alone for now, Mark. Keep your eyes and ears open but don’t go asking questions, especially Teeg or any of Gorminiel’s people. We don’t want to tip Teeg off, okay? Let him think we buy his story. It is a plausible one, after all.”

“You think he’d run?”

“No, I think he’d fight,” says the sheriff. His tone is definite and bleak.

 

 

I head back to the sheriff’s office to check in with Wendy and Caedi, but the healer comes out and intercepts me in the street, her face serious. She takes me off to the side, asking to speak with me for a moment.

She says, “I know you’re concerned about last night. Please, don’t be.”

“But—.”

She holds up a hand. “Mark, what happened is between Wendy and myself. She didn’t do anything wrong. Of course she didn’t. I know you’re confused but everything is fine. Nobody is upset. You and Wendy are both wonderful. Please, let it go.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

Yes, I do.

“Okay, Caedi. If you say so,” I tell her. “It was your skirt we were under, after all. I’m sorry if—.”

“Please,” says Caedi, blushing. “It was my idea. There was no harm done.” She clears her throat.

“Have you heard from Sinda yet?” I ask. I shouldn’t have asked. She blushes even more and coughs.

“No, I…. Well, it’s probably too soon, right?” she says. “It was only last night.”

“I have no idea,” I say. “I’m just as new at this as you are.”

We’re both quiet for a moment.

I say, “I’m your friend, Caedi. I’m not going to push or ask questions and I don’t want to upset or embarrass you. You say you’re fine with the whole under-the-skirt adventure right now. If you change your mind or want to talk about it…. If you need me to talk to Wendy or sit us all down or whatever, well, you’ve been very kind to us and I want to help, okay? Whatever I can do.”

She tears up and I’m appalled at myself. I said I wasn’t going to push and I wasn't meaning to but thinking over what I just said, I can see how she might think I was. But she leans down and gives me a hug. I’m so tiny and there’s so much of soft Caedi that the hug is wonderful. It’s over before I’d like it to be and then she straightens and walks off into the town square without a backward glance, hips swaying. I have no idea if I did something really wrong or really right. 

“She gives the very best hugs.”

I jump.

It’s Wendy. She’s smirking at me. “Watching her walk away?” she says.

“I think I may have upset her,” I say. “I’m not sure. She told me not to bother about what happened last night. Not to talk about it. I won’t. She said you did nothing wrong. Of course you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” she says. “Of course.”

Well, now I think she might’ve but I gave my word.

Here’s the thing. I trust my wife. If there’s something I should know, she’ll tell me. I find I’m pretty sure Caedi would too, now that I think about it. Huh. I guess I trust our healer just as much. That’s kinda snuck up on me.

I expect Wendy to tease me about the whole thing, the secrecy, the sexiness, whatever. It surprises me that she doesn’t.

That's a little frustrating because if she gives me any more information at all I might be able to figure it all out. Which is probably why she avoids doing so. 

I tell her about meeting up with Ms. Armstrong and what she told me.

“Going off to her behind my back,” she says, grinning. “You cad. You lecher.”

“You wish.”

“I kinda do,” says Wendy with a wink and she’s caught her lower lip deliciously between her teeth.

We’re back on familiar ground now. I’m glad. She’s glad. We both let it be.

 

 

Wendy wants the tent city area to explore today. She tells me that Caedi’s taken the merchant’s quarter, which leaves me with either the residential or industrial areas. Nobody’s been to the latter yet, so that’s where I go.

The district is split by the river. On this side is the blacksmith and the armorer, a couple of carpenters, a mason, and some leather working establishments. On the far side, because they stink and the wind tends to carry the smell away to the east, are the tanneries and the slaughterhouses. There’s a long, thin wooden bridge connecting the two where the river narrows a few yards by the wall. When I get up there and look down I see that the strong current has washed away everything but the solid rock of the cliff there. The water there is full of boulders and white with foam as it rushes toward the falls.

I meet the smith, Harlan the Red, who’s nice enough. He’s only a year or two older than I am, redheaded, which means polar, I guess? Freckled and grim. Just short of grumpy. He shakes my hand, his engulfing mine. Harlan’s a big man.

Farther down the street is the armorer, Elowen Frea. She’s tall, muscular, with black hair flowing straight down her back. On Earth, folks would assume she’s Asian but here she’s temperate. Her face is broad and her demeanor is quiet and thoughtful. The weapons she has on display are exquisite.

I meet the carpenters, the mason, the leatherworkers, then the tanners and slaugherhouse workers. Everybody’s busy. Most of the animals aren’t killed in the city but brought here by adventurers from the woods or the ruins. I learn a few things. I know that leather armor on Earth never really became a thing, despite movies and television. Here, some of the monster hides are thick and supple enough to warrant the effort and it sells almost as dearly as chain. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about it.

I’m surprised when I'm told that the waste isn’t directed into the river. There are burning pits out by the wall on the cliff and the waste water is directed away from the river and lake below as best they can. It’s their main source of fresh water after all.

Everybody is nice. Everybody is busy.

It’s extremely boring.

Then it’s time to meet up with Wendy and Caedi for dinner, which I’m sure won’t be awkward at all, and I decide that maybe I’m undervaluing times that are boring.