Once he was seated across from Mr. Law, he started talking, trying not to have his voice show his nervousness. “First off, I have questions about elves.”

“About elves?” Law repeated. “What would you like to know?”

“What…is their status, in the kingdom?”

Law pursed his lips in thought for a moment. “Put simply, they are outlawed. No elf is allowed to live in Baria. It's a decree from the king. You might know that the king's brother was killed in the Elf War?”

Tom hissed air in through his nose. “I did not know that. Are there supposed to be no elves at all in this kingdom?”

“Not quite. An exception is made for slaves. All elves in the kingdom must be enslaved by a human. There are a very small number of them in Rivermarch; I'm not sure how many exactly. In fact, one is an advisor to Lord Rivermarch, and owned by him.”

Tom blinked. “An advisor? How did that happen?”

“The previous Lord Rivermarch purchased him as a tutor for his son, so the current City Lord grew up with his instruction, and continues to value his knowledge and insights.”

“So…being a slave doesn't have to mean they are treated badly.”

Mr. Law spread his hands. “Well, to some, enslavement itself is very bad treatment, while to others, in agreeable circumstances and with the right temperament, it is much less of a burden.”

“What about human slaves?”

“Those are more common, but there still aren't many. Generally, they are convicted criminals with some useful skill who were to be punished not quite severely enough to warrant death.”

Tom nodded. That made sense to him. “What are the requirements for treatment of a slave?”

“Well, the Empire practices what is called ‘chattel slavery’, which means that the slave is essentially treated as a thing, as property, in all ways, and not at all as a person. Here in Baria, we have a lesser form of that; a slave owner is expected to keep a slave reasonably healthy and to meet their basic needs, as a matter of public hygiene, if nothing else. To enforce it, the guard is empowered to confiscate a mistreated slave, and resell them to a more responsible owner. Since slave owners don't want to lose their investment, it is generally considered better to meet the minimum standard. Of course, there are violations hidden away, but when they come to light, they will face some consequences—at least, a hefty fine.”

Tom cautioned himself not to get too distracted. “So…supposing that someone was offering to sell me an elven slave, I would have to treat them decently with food and clothing and shelter and the like. What else?”

“In the cities at least, you would be responsible for their behavior: if they broke laws, or spent money, you would be held responsible. The slaves must be magically collared at all times.” Mr. Law stared at the ceiling for a moment. “I believe that is all.”

“Thank you.” Tom digested that for a moment. “How do the slave collars work?” he asked out of curiosity.

“I'm not familiar with the details. I only know that there are different versions, with different amounts of magical control.”

“Is there a limit on how many slaves one person can own?”

“No.”

“So, I could come into town with a bunch of slaves and have them serve me with no problems, so long as I kept them well. Are there taxes?”

“Only if you intend to sell them in the city.”

“I see. What about other countries, bordering on Baria? If I wanted to travel with slaves, are there places I shouldn't go?”

“Undoubtedly, but unfortunately, I could not tell you which ones. I am less familiar with the laws outside of Baria, excepting the Empire, of course. Jalvan Gessa might know more—that's the elven advisor to Lord Rivermarch.”

“Hm.” Not sure I want a noble to know I'm asking.

“Mr. Walker, may I inquire as to the reason for your interest?”

Tom hesitated. “I have another topic to ask questions about first.”

“By all means.”

“Salvage rights. What are the laws in Baria on that?”

Law's eyebrows rose. “Can you be more specific?”

Tom nodded. “Suppose I found, say, an abandoned wagon with…wood or furniture in it or something. A merchant's wagon. If I take that wagon and bring it to town, does it and the cargo belong to me?”

“Not always. If someone can prove ownership later, they would be entitled to its return. However, you would be entitled to one-tenth of the value for your trouble, if a judge so ruled.”

“And if the owners were dead and had no heirs?”

“You would owe the city a tax of one-tenth of the value on items you sold.”

“And if I just kept it?”

“No tax in that case.”

Tom breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Mr. Walker, I have sworn not to repeat any of this to anyone else so long as the city or kingdom are not threatened by so doing. May I know the details of why you need this information?”

Tom hesitated. Do I trust him? For myself, I would, but I'm gambling with the lives of all the elves if I do this wrong.

Mr. Law cleared his throat. “Perhaps your decision would be easier if I tell you what I already have surmised?” Tom held his breath, but gestured for the man to proceed. “You have come into possession of some cargo, possibly including one or more elven slaves, that you have reason to believe was abandoned or their owners killed.”

“I'm not saying you're right, but…what would be the consequences of that?”

“In that case, there was likely one or more major crimes committed, and the city guard should be informed of the details. It's a matter of public safety.”

Tom nodded. “That makes sense. I was going to stop by the guardhouse later anyway, for…” Tom hesitated. “For a matter of public safety.”

“Mr. Walker. I do have one important question for you, and remember that I cannot tell others your answer.” Mr. Law faced him squarely, his gaze boring into Tom. “Did you murder the owners of the cargo?”

Tom was about to blurt out a denial, but made himself stop and think. “Just as imagination, suppose I…avenged the owners of this imagined cargo. Would that be a problem?”

“It is basically impossible to prove what did or did not happen in the wilds, Mr. Walker. That said…if bandits were to murder some merchants and take their cargo, the murderers would be fair game for you to kill. And if that resulted in you being the only one with a claim on the cargo, then so be it.”

Tom let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank you, Mr. Law.”

“That is what I am here for. May I know the details?”

Tom chewed his lip a moment. “I am slow to decide things on behalf of others. I expect I will be able to give you all the details sometime soon, but not quite yet.”

“Very well.”

“I do have a third issue to bring up.”

“Yes?”

Tom steeled himself, and admitted, “I cannot read.”

“Yes?”

“I have recently come into possession of some pieces of paper with writing. I would like to know what is on them, but kept in strict confidence.”

“I can certainly help with that.”

“Thank you. You…” Tom paused to phrase it carefully. “You might find …inspiration… for your guesses in them, though I have not actually said that anything happened.”

“Understood. You are an intelligent and cautious young man. I stand by my oath. Your secrets are safe with me.”

“Thank you, sir.” Taking a deep breath, Tom handed over all the papers. The lawyer flipped through them briefly first, then took them one by one and scrutinized them. After a while he pulled out a rock light and shone it on some of the pages. Tom did his best not to fidget as he waited. The man was smart, and worked slowly and carefully. Tom disciplined himself not to jog the man's elbow.

Finally, Mr. Law cleared his throat. “Interesting.” He pulled one of the pages to the top. “I'll begin here.

“This is a list of grain deliveries. Some of them are marked as paid, others not.”

“Oh, I should memorize those, then.”

“I will recite them for you once we finish.”

He moved on to the next sheet. “This is a list of ironwork for delivery to Hooper and Drum. They're a general store here in Middle Town. It's marked as paid in advance.”

Tom heaved a sigh. “Ah, well. So be it.”

“This is not advice, young man, but I will point out the possibility of charging them a recovery fee.” Mr. Law actually looked a tiny bit guilty. “It's a bit petty of me, but they aren't the nicest of people.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Mr. Law set it aside and moved on. “This other one is almost impossible to read because whoever wrote it has absolutely horrible handwriting. But it's a long list and I think it refers to alcohol. I see ale, ale, something, something…hmm. No prices listed, and nothing is marked as paid that I can tell. If you sell it, the tax might be significant, so be sure to pay it promptly.”

“No comment. Yet.”

“Very well. This next one is written in Eastern. Fortunately, I read it fluently.” He took a deep breath. “This is a list of eight… items… with prices marked as follows: 11, 13, 15, 10, 19, 17, 16, 35. Those prices are in gold. That's 136 gold in all.” Mr. Law looked up at Tom to gauge his reaction.

Tom took a deep breath, and let it out. 136 gold! I would have been set for life with that much! Rotten luck that it had to be the slaves. “Oh, well,” he muttered. “It's a moot point.”

Mr. Law made an interested sound. “Hm.”

Tom raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Oh, nothing, pardon me.” He set down the slave manifest and picked up the next set. “Now, these are interesting.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Why is that?”

“I don't know what language they are written in. I would have expected that I could at least recognize every language in this part of the continent. The only bit that is translated is the address: High Pass Temple.” At Tom's puzzled look, he elaborated. “It's a famous temple up in the mountains, in Red Tors. The Red Tors Kingdom borders Baria in the northeast.”

“Ah. Thank you.” That must be the black cases, everything else is accounted for. Why are those going to a temple?

“And finally, we have these.” Tom looked over, and realized that there were a few pieces of paper left. “These belong to Sir Kurt of Briarwood.”

Tom's jaw fell, and he blurted without thinking, “But he told me not to call him ‘sir’!”

“He was…retired, shall we say. Has Sir Kurt been killed, then?” Law's voice was grave and intense.

Tom hesitated, then nodded. “One week ago. He fell surrounded by a pile of his dead foes, defending others.”

“I would expect nothing less of Sir Kurt. I will need to notify the capitol of this, however. The rest I will keep in confidence, but I strongly urge you to inform the guard of everything that happened, and the sooner the better.”

“Will that…” Tom paused to think his question through. “Do you think the cargo will be taken from me?”

“Do you have the rest of the cargo with you?”

“No, I only brought the one wagon into the city to start.”

“Hm. Others might find the cargo if it is unattended, and of course, some might try to take the cargo and claim it for themselves. But legally, if you bring it into the city, and matters are as you say, then you have the legal claim. I would so argue in the city court, if needed.”

“Thank you, sir. I'll bring the rest as quickly as possible.” Tom drummed his fingers on his knee a moment. “Maybe I can give the guard a…simplified description of what happened, and correct it in a few days?”

“That might be for the best. So long as you report everything relevant to public safety right away, I see no need for the guard to know about the disposition of some wagons before you are ready to arrive and make your claim.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Tom hesitated, then added, “He was a good man, sir. His warning saved my life.”

Mr. Law nodded, then took a breath and lifted a sheet. “I find my mind is put a bit more at ease by this paper. It is a contract between Sir Kurt and one Jeffrey Parson, to guard a caravan of six wagons from Middleton to Rivermarch. It lists seven employees as guards serving under him. Your name is among them. Did you work for him for very long?”

“Regrettably, no. I was the new guy. I would have loved to get more instruction from him.”

“Are all the merchants dead, Mr. Walker?”

Tom nodded. “To my shame. We got nineteen of the bandits, but it wasn't enough.” He bowed his head. “I already delivered Mr. Whistler's wagon to his widow.”

Simon Law froze. “Philip Whistler is dead?” he asked very precisely.

“Yes.”

Law sagged back against his chair and put one hand over his eyes. “Demon shit,” he whispered, so quietly that Tom almost didn't hear it. After a few moments, he straightened up slowly and his voice returned to normal. “That is a great loss to the city.” He paused. “You didn't charge Mrs. Whistler for delivery, did you?”

“Gods, no!”

“Good.” He drummed his fingers on the desk a moment, clearly thinking hard. “You should report matters sooner rather than later; word of Mr. Whistler's death will spread quickly and people will want details.” Mr. Law looked over the papers again, stopping at the slave manifest. “All the slavers are dead?”

“Yes.” Law clearly knew just about everything already. Tom had mostly given up on keeping anything from him.

“And you were concerned about your ownership of the slaves being called into question?”

“Yes. I'm glad to know that I'll have clear title to them as soon as I get them into the city.”

“What do you intend to do with them?”

“Protect them, as best I can.” Tom was unwilling to simply state that he was going to try to get them home to the Elf Lands. His credibility was already thin.

Mr. Law stared at him in silence for a few moments, as if weighing Tom's character. “One more question, Mr. Walker. How did you survive the fight, and kill the last of the bandits?”

Tom gave him a grim smile. “Amazing luck and stubbornness. I'm going to make a big donation at the Temple later.” Mr. Law eyed him as if encouraging him to say more. Tom's smile got a bit wry. “You figured out nearly everything already, Mr. Law. Allow me a little mystery or two.” Tom started to stand up, but caught himself. “Oh, the list of grain sales?”

“Of course.”

Mr. Law recited the information slowly. When he paused, Tom said, “keep going, please.” Raising an eyebrow, the lawyer continued to read until Tom felt his mental grasp was nearly full. “Hold, please.” He then recited everything back twice without a mistake, so Mr. Law read him the rest. Once he was sure he had it all, Tom stood up. Mr. Law stood as well and handed him the papers.

“Thank you very much, sir.”

“Likewise. I found this an interesting meeting, Mr. Walker. Do come back if you have more questions.”

“I will.”

“Try to stay ahead of the news if you can,” Law advised.

“I will report to the guard, and then deliver everything as quickly as possible.”

“A wise ordering. Good luck to you, Mr. Walker.”

“Thank you.”

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

Tom paid the clerk and left. He immediately started putting some distance between him and the Keep. That man is scary smart. Other people might start to figure out what happened. I need to move fast.

He swung by Whistler's shop and knocked at the side door. When Vanity answered, he said, “I have to leave town briefly, but I expect to be back in three days and will stop by then. Is there anything Mrs. Whistler needs from me before I go?”

“What happened to the fabric?” Vanity asked.

“Pardon?”

“A bolt of linen and a bolt of wool were cut and partially used.”

“Oh, that. Right. I'll pay for it of course.”

“What happened out there? What did you need the fabric for?”

“Bandages, clothing, blankets and towels. It was a real mess.”

“Clothing?”

Oops. Should have skipped that. “Yes. If it weren't a horrible time to ask, I'd be buying some clothing here right now. I'll find another tailor, though.”

“You need clothing before you leave?”

“Yes.”

“Hold on. I expect I will have to take care of things around here for a while. What did you need? We don't have much ready-made, but…”

“Well, a couple of dresses and lady things, and a couple of shirts for men.”

“How big?”

“Uh…one woman is your size, the other is a little shorter and fuller. Both the men are on the scrawny side and a bit short.”

Vanity appeared to do some mental math, and then another kind of thinking. “One gold twenty silver, and I can give them to you now.”

Tom paused for a split second. I think that's a little high… but I owe these people. “Done. Oh, and four pairs of socks?”

“Ten more.” Vanity disappeared into the shop. Tom got out one gold coin and three large silver with small motions, mindful of eyes around.

Only a few minutes later, Vanity was back and handing him a large bag. Tom passed the coins to her. Reluctantly, Vanity grumbled, “thank you. I expect we'll need all the coin we can get with Mr. Whistler gone.”

“If I need more, I'll buy here. Thank you.”

“Don't disappear,” she warned.

“I'll be back. I'm actually racing time.”

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

Well, that was fortuitous, Tom mused. Thinking it over, he suspected he had been overcharged, but the convenience was undeniable. He remembered the mercenary look in Vanity's eye. I think the shop is in good hands, too.

Tom's next stop was the city Temple, where he made a donation of a few weeks' pay. I'll give more when I am richer, dear gods, for I am truly thankful. With hopefully the blessings of the gods, Tom headed to the city guardhouse.

There was one guard at a desk, and a couple of people waiting there with reports or requests or arguments. Tom sympathized with Watchman Kyle, who had to listen to an elaborate tale about a stolen dog, and then deal with permissions for something else, and then it was finally Tom's turn.

“I need to report a bandit attack.”

Kyle straightened up. “When and where?”

“Last Twonight, on the Forest road, a couple of days out of Middleton.”

“Who was attacked?”

“A caravan of six wagons, with a dozen merchants and eight guards.”

The others in the room started muttering. Kyle looked around and announced, “the guard will report the details once we have all the information, people.” Then to Tom, “Please come with me, sir.”

Kyle led Tom down a hall to an office, and knocked on the door.

“Enter!”

They stepped in together and Tom instinctively straightened up when Kyle did.

“Captain, this man is reporting a bandit attack on a caravan out of Middleton.”

“Thank you, Watchman.” Kyle left quickly, shutting the door behind him.

“You are?”

“Tom Walker, sir. Late of the mercenary group guarding the caravan.”

“Mr. Walker, I am Miles Hayward, the Captain of the City Guard. Please tell me everything you can.”

“Yes sir.”

Tom gave a detailed description of the caravan, its people and cargo. He stated that before the attack, he had never found out what was in the first or fifth wagons, which was correct as far as it went. Captain Hayward reacted to mention of Philip Whistler and Sir Kurt of Briarwood.

“Where are they now?”

“Dead, sir.”

“Dark gods. How bad was it?”

“Bad, sir. The bandits won.”

“Against Sir Kurt?”

“They had a clever leader.”

“Who survived?”

Tom took a deep breath. “I am the sole survivor, sir.”

He could feel the weight of the captain's suspicion land on his shoulders. “Explain.”

Tom recounted the attack as best he knew it, up to the point where he had woken up alone and looked over the site and the bodies.

“And then what happened?”

“I went after them, sir.”

“You were wounded.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Badly enough that the bandits left you for dead.”

“Yes, sir. But they had to pay.” He shrugged. “I'm not saying it was smart.”

The captain snorted at that. “What happened?”

Tom answered carefully. “I found four of the bandits and one of the wagons. I waited until late at night, killed the sentry, and then killed the other three where they slept.”

“Fitting,” the captain noted.

“Yes, sir. I believe the sentry was the leader of the attack. I was glad to watch him die.”

“Can you describe this man?”

“Yes, sir.” Tom did his best from memory. The captain pulled out a large rough book, full of pictures, and flipped through, then pushed the book at him. Tom grimaced. “Ah…my apologies sir, but my sight is long. Could you hold it up from there?” The captain was understanding and accommodated him.

“Is this the man?”

Tom squinted. “No, sir. He looked thinner and the nose was smaller.”

The captain flipped some pages and held up another. “Him?”

Tom scowled. “That's the one. Bastard. Who was he?”

“Davis the Knife. Wanted all over the kingdom, for murder and theft. He was good. It seems banditry didn't work out as well for him.” The captain set the book down. “Continue.”

“Yes, sir. I managed to get the wagon onto the road, then blacked out. To be honest, I didn't expect to wake up again. When I came to, a healer had found me.”

“A healer? On the road?” The captain sounded skeptical.

“I am the luckiest man in the kingdom for it, I know. There's a reason I went to the temple here in the city even before reporting in.”

“Who was this healer?”

“He didn't want to say. I got the impression he might be in trouble, and didn't want to be found. Fortunately, he was willing to pour healing into me that I could never have afforded, then we parted ways. He kept going south. I never got his name, or his destination.”

“This story sounds a bit fanciful, Mr. Walker.”

“I know. I can barely believe it myself.”

“Can I see these wounds?”

“Yes sir, what's left of them.” Tom removed his shirt, grimacing. “I got a lot of healing from that stranger, and as I said I visited the temple before coming here.” Let him think I got more healing there by implication. He showed his arm. “This is where the knife got me.” The area was still red and obviously healing but was going to scar. He flexed his hand a couple of times. “I got full use back, thank the gods.” He touched the back of his head. “I honestly don't know whether there's a mark from the head wound. But the big injury was here.” Deliberately moving stiffly, he showed the angry pink area where he had been stabbed.

The captain moved closer and prodded the spot. Tom pretended to stifle a pain reaction. “This definitely looks like a stab wound, but it's fully healed.”

“But I probably would have been dead by midday if the healer hadn't found me. He called me an idiot for fighting while wounded, more than once. It was a day before I could even sit up, and that was with the healer giving it everything he had. I owe him my life, sir. Someday, I want to find out who he was and thank him. He was obviously a really good healer, but I don't understand why a healer would want to keep his identity secret.”

The captain gripped Tom's left arm a bit roughly and he gave a genuine hiss of pain. Then the captain let go. “My apologies. I had to check.”

“I understand, sir. I've been a town guard. I would do the same.” Tom slowly put his shirt back on as the captain went back behind his desk and wrote some more on his slate.

“Which wagon did you recover?”

“Mr. Whistler's. I brought it straight to Mrs. Whistler before going to the temple and coming here.”

“You told Mrs. Whistler about all of this?”

“The parts she asked about, yes, sir.”

There were a few more questions, and Tom managed to be truthful or mostly truthful in answering them. Once he had covered everything, Tom went to leave.

“We need some confirmation of Davis' death before we can give you the reward.”

“Reward?” Tom was surprised, thought about it, then shook his head. “Never mind, sir. There's no evidence, we burned all the bodies to keep animals from getting them. Besides…” Tom grimaced. “I don't deserve a reward. I shouldn't even be alive right now. We failed, sir. I failed.” He sighed. “Anyway, you needed to know.” He stood up.

“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Walker. Where can we reach you, if we have questions?”

Tom thought. “I actually have to leave the city for a few days, but I'll be back after that. I promised to stop by Whistler's to answer more questions from the widow. Do you want me to check back in when I get back to town?”

“I would appreciate it.”

“Very well. Thank you for your time, sir.” With that, Tom finally escaped.

I feel bad about lying, but I need to protect the elves, and I'll come clean on the details when I can. …Excepting the number of slaves that were in the cage, he amended after a moment's thought. I'll still need to protect Sheema and the others as best I can, and they're safer if no one realizes they exist.

∘ ⛥ ⛯ ⛥ ∘

Feeling the time pressure, Tom hurried to purchase food for the next trip. Let's see, what else am I going to need? Soap, maybe some salt and cheap spices for Orvan, fresh bread…a map is going to be hard, I should probably have Diavla pick it out herself when we get back to town.

Tom brought his thoughts up short. Wait a minute. I shouldn't assume that the four of them are willing to come with me. They'll have to put those collars back on…maybe I can break the collars, so it only looks like they are controlled? Let's see, there are five of us and four wagons left. One can stay behind, and the delivery to High Pass Temple could be left behind if two of them want to stay out of the city…but the booze, the ironwork, and the grain need to be brought in and sold or delivered as soon as possible.

For those who don't want to come in, I need to buy them extra food, and whatever else they will need for a week or so. Tom thought about how much his pack would weigh at that point and nodded. No problem. I can walk with that much.

I hope they are doing all right out there.