Mr. Cross was used to being a stranger. It was a very handy thing to be for a man who made a living acquiring things that did not belong to him. It was also a very important thing to be for someone with bounties on his soul. Mr. Cross was happy to play the role of ‘The Stranger of Caravan Madison’. He was happy to do it for two reasons. Firstly, the role permitted that he bring with him his two closest friends. Secondly, he owed not a single debt of coin or life to any member of this Caravan.

“Hello strangers!”

A muscular young man had arrived to wreck Cross’ anonymous status. The skin tone of the vascular biceps that showed through his paper thin overshirt were the same shade of chestnut brown as the mare on which he rode. Only four of the caravan’s forty odd members had brought horses, and this one sat his with a gentle swagger that reminded Cross of a Coppervale gunslinger.

“Welcome aboard!” Mischief played across the stranger’s features. “My name’s Graham,” he gestured to another horseman at the caravan’s tail. “That there’s big Toby. We’ll be working security on this perilous journey.”

Graham did not have the eyes of a liar, but he did have the grin of a prankster. Cross had not yet decided whether or not to believe him. Elliot took Graham’s forearm in a proper lawman’s greeting.

“Elliot Gunn.”

“That there’s a real weapon, Elliot.”

Elliot fiddled with the ‘X’ shaped clasp which fastened the mace to his back. He considered which compliment he should pay to Graham’s own weapon. It was a rather unimpressive short sword, and its moth-eaten scabbard dangled far too loosely from the repurposed toolbelt at Graham’s waist. Neither the gear nor its presentation would pass muster in a real security force.

Stolen novel; please report.

“It is, thank you.” It bothered Elliot that he had been unable to come up with something to say. He wanted very badly to compliment Graham’s muscular form, but homophobia could be deadly in small, conservative village environments.

“May I hold it?”

Elliot’s burgeoning doubts about Graham’s status as a security man grew a size larger. What kind of man asked to hold a stranger’s weapon? Was this a threat? Elliot didn’t think so.

“Perhaps later?”

“Sure thing buddy.” Graham’s smiling eyes held Elliot’s wary ones for a second too long.

“I’ve got a real weapon too!” Rog’s outburst surprised everyone.

Elliot was surprised because he could not imagine Rog wielding any kind of weapon. Mr. Cross was surprised because Rog had chosen quite an astute time to interject. Graham was surprised because he had not realized that Rog was an animate object.

Mr. Cross watched Rog dance clumsily about, brandishing an oversized steak knife. He wondered for a moment if Rog wore comical idiocy as some kind of social armor. Perhaps, he thought, there was a more intelligent thing behind the gnome’s buggy eyes. A bump in the road send Rog sprawling on his face. Mr. Cross lost faith in his theory.

“Oh boy! Yes ya do little guy! What are the rest of your names?”

“Well, I’m Cross. This here’s Riggs, and that one’s Sutha.” Mr. Cross spoke without much enthusiasm. His tone made it clear that he would rather not have this conversation. He figured that if the man really were working security, he would leave them be.

“Well met, y’all. If ya ever get the feelin’ somethin’ might be wrong, come to us first.”

Graham reigned in his mount, and allowed himself to fall back to the Caravan’s tail. Cross was surprised. Perhaps he was security after all….