Chapter 45: Watch Out

It was difficult to sleep, after the excitement that had punctuated my third day on the road. Part of that, I knew, was down to the residual adrenaline coursing through my body. I’d barely fought, but even so, the evolutionary traits behind the fight or flight response were hard to overcome. The other half was the driver, who slept towards the front of the carriage. He snored, loudly. I still managed to catch a few winks, despite it all, and was thus marginally more awake when Harvey came to rouse me for the second watch of the night. He’d done the first four hours, as had been his preference the entire trip, and I would do the last four, a simple, even divide. The archers were doing the same as I watched, three of them heading into a collapsible tent, while their counterparts settled in for their shift, bows ready at triangular points around the parked carriages. The horses had it easiest; all they needed were a pair of blinders placed over their eyes, and in the lack of stimulation that followed, they would promptly fall asleep. I had to admit, I was rather envious of their easygoing ways, at times.

“Anything to report?” I asked Harvey, the typical question that every shift change had.

“Nothing of note,” Harvey replied, completing the ritual as he headed for bed.

In truth, both of us could have taken the entire eight hour watch, since we had little to do in the carriage anyway, and could sleep during the day. Apparently, however, it was customary for everyone to share the same schedule, as a way of building camaraderie, and I hadn’t cared enough to protest, hence my present situation. That said, at least I wasn’t alone the entire time.

[Pumpkin the Cat withdrawn.

Plum withdrawn.

Cheese withdrawn.

Salt pork withdrawn.]

Settling down in the grass, I let Pumpkin out, right next to the salt pork, and he wasted no time claiming his fair share, gnawing on it shamelessly.

“Half and half split, remember,” I reminded him half-heartedly, and watched as his claw sliced the meat in half, nearly exactly down the middle; by this point in time, I had no doubt that he fully understood me, and only pretended to forget to wind me up.

That was the last of this particular chunk of pork, one of four I’d liberated from the warehouse back in Allensward. To wash down the salt, I followed it up with a plum a day, and a slice of cheese from the wheel. Hardly the best of meals, but still better than was available in the carriage, which consisted largely of hardtack dipped in gruel. I still ate it, because free food was free food, but Pumpkin had turned his nose up at the offering, and insisted on eating only from our private store. He wasn’t the only one to be that picky, as nearly half the convoy likewise ate nothing during our afternoon rest break, for they too preferred whatever bits of food they’d squirrelled away.

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“It’s tradition,” Harvey had explained, when I asked why he bothered providing a free spread when so few took part in it. “The master of a caravan provides for everyone under his care, to do otherwise is to declare your own weakness, because who would follow a leader who couldn’t keep his men fed? At the same time, it’s also tradition for every outlaw to have their own private stash of food and drink, whether they have the advantage of an inventory or not, because this career is inherently uncertain, and you never know when your meal ticket is going to disappear. Taking advantage of someone’s charity is all well and good, but no thief worthy of their name would ever rely on it.”

This, of course, had not been written anywhere back in the library, but it was gratifying all the same to see such pragmatism at work. Truly, I was better served among such pleasant company, than attempting to climb the ladder again in ‘legitimate’ society.

[Bread withdrawn.]

Pumpkin had polished off his half of the pork, so I grabbed the rest and placed it on a slice of bread, along with my cheese, closing it off with a second slice for a makeshift ham and cheese sandwich. Despite the time of night, this was effectively my breakfast, as I’d proceed to stay awake for most of the morning into the afternoon, so it made sense for this to be my biggest meal of the day. The communal lunch simply didn’t compare in quality, and I’d dispensed with dinner as a whole, not finding a convenient place to fit it in our busy travel schedule, but that was fine: dining like a pauper often meant forgoing entirely, so I was still following my dietary philosophy.

“Travelling isn’t bad,” I decided, lying back to stare up at the stars, so much brighter here compared to back in England. “Though I’m not sure I’d like to do this for a full month. Hopefully the weather stays good, and we can be done with this leg in another week and a half.”

I probably shouldn’t have said that, as heaven tended to take exception to the hubris of man, but more on that later. In truth, most of the journey thus far had been calm, boring even. The singular attack had been an exception to the rule, as generally, even the wild animals tended to avoid our rather loud, and clearly well armed caravan. The only thing that kept bothering me, swirling at the edge of my mind, was that I couldn’t work out a motive for the attack.

Caravans were tempting targets for brigands, true, both for their goods and for captives to be ransomed, but if that was the case, then why use wild animals? The three Archers who fell were certainly in no condition to be ransomed, and I doubted they’d have taken much care with our contraband, had they prevailed. No, I concluded, it was far more likely a targeted attack, if not outright an assassination, and probably not aimed at me, given I’d only joined the group days ago. Harvey was the likely target, being the one behind it all, so the question remained; who wanted him dead, and why?