"Turn left here, we'll take the side streets for a while, hopefully bypass some of this traffic," Frederick ordered.

"Sir? The straightest path is along the main road." one of the laborers replied, stopping to wipe the sweat away from his eyes. The large wagon was piled with wooden boxes, barrels, cloaks, and tents. Normally pulled by horses, this wagon had wooden poles that extended a couple of feet on either side for men to push. The warehouse manager had said that men were far cheaper and more plentiful than horses these days.

"Yes, but there will be fewer people on the side streets, we'll make better time."

Isaac relayed the change of plan to Mark and Svarja walking behind the wagon before rejoining Frederick at the front. The laborers grunted and pushed the wagon down the side street as Frederick commanded. The paths were narrow, winding through various buildings whose function Isaac could only guess at but there was considerably fewer people on these streets.

"I cannot wait to be out of this place," Frederick said to Isaac. "Sometimes I start to forget how much I hate it here, every time I come back I'm quickly reminded. The noise, the smell of sweat and shit, nothing to see but drab buildings and smog covering the sky. No, I'd rather be out on the open road and sleeping on the ground than in the nicest bed in this city. I tell you, leaving this place was the best decision I ever made."

"Did you live in the city, then?" Isaac asked. He agreed with Frederick, being in the city only made the heat even less bearable. What little breeze could make its way through the buildings brought only the stench of hot waste.

"I did, grew up here," Frederick replied. "My father owned the warehouse we just resupplied from. I was the youngest of eight children, didn't want to be cooped up inside a building all day with a ledger and then go home to a wife I was only with because our parents decided our marriage would keep our business partnership strong."

"So I left and joined the army on my fifteenth birthday," Frederick continued after he drank from his waterskin. "Best decision I ever made, getting out of this place. My father passed before I finished my service. Thomas, my oldest brother, he offered me a job when I got out ten years back but that sort of life wasn't for me, found some other former soldiers and we took to the road with anyone who would pay us. Lots of money out there for men willing to endure hard things to earn it and for those who know how to make friends everywhere they go. Connections, that's the key to success in any venture. Doesn't matter how good you are, if you don't know the right people, you'll never get a chance to put your talents to use."

The wagon came to an intersection where five streets met with a wider, circular area in the middle. A young man, perhaps in his early twenties, with a crooked nose and plain clothing, stepped out in front of the wagon and was soon joined by four others as a dozen men in total appeared and circled the wagon. Isaac's heart began to race, he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. The men were armed with clubs and knives and were dressed in simple laborers' clothing, no armor or proper weapons that Isaac could see. Man to man, Isaac's chain hauberk and sword would give him a significant advantage, though he wished he had his shield with him.

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"Not too often people come through here with stuff," The man in front said.

"We're just trying to avoid the traffic on the main road." Frederick replied, hands crossed low in front of him, sword within easy reach.

"Yeah, well, this here's Hands territory," the young man said, "anyone passin' by's gotta pay a toll so's we can keep these streets safe."

Isaac looked around to keep aware of his surroundings. Frederick was frowning and clenching his jaw. The laborers had looks of fear on their faces, eyes darting from man to man.

"These here streets is dangerous, y'know," the man continued, gesturing at his surroundings with a knife, "people get hurt or worse all the time. But maybe with a donation you can help us keep you safe from whatever bad types might be skulkin' about, y'know?"

"So you want money?" Frederick said through gritted teeth.

"Money's a good start, but a Crown don't go as far as it used to, y'know? Maybe you step aside an' let us see what you got in that wagon of yours."

Frederick sighed. "Very well, I'll show you what we've got," he said as he turned and walked around to the back of the wagon, the men on the sides watching him intently. Isaac felt very exposed at the front by himself, half a dozen armed men mere feet away.

Isaac heard a click followed shortly by a loud ping. The man who had been talking let out a cry of shock and pain as his legs buckled beneath him and he fell back onto the cobblestone road. Another click and a ping and one of the men to the right of the first collapsed to the ground as a spray of blood shot out from his head, splattering the man beside him. Without thinking Isaac drew his sword and shift his feet into a combat stance. He glanced up and saw Frederick standing on the wagon, new rifle in hand, retrieved from where he had placed it when they left the warehouse.

Isaac heard a furious yell from behind him. He quickly glanced over his shoulder and saw Svarja charging at the nearest gangster, axes in hand. The other men sprang to life, shaken from their shock-induced stupor. The intersection was a cacophony of voices shouting profanity, anger and fear and confusion. A man with a club charged at Isaac, swinging wildly at his head. Isaac moved his right foot back, turning away from his attacker before a quick thrust to the other man's belly sent him stumbling away, clutching at a wound in his side. Another man rushed at Isaac, this time slashing at him with a knife. Isaac held firm, sword pointed out as his opponent took several swipes at him from a distance, searching for an opening before a bullet from Frederick's gun struck the man between the eyes and he fell to the ground.

The remaining gangsters fled, taking off down different streets. Half a dozen lay dead or dying on the ground. Svarja had her axes in hand, two men laying in growing pools of blood at her feet. "Get back here, cowards!" She shouted, pointing her right axe at the fleeing men, "give me a proper fight for my tale!" Mark had a light cut across his face but his blade found his attacker's heart and the group was otherwise unharmed.

Frederick placed his gun down on the wagon before hopping down to the street. He gestured for Isaac to follow and pointed at one of the bodies laying in the road. Understanding, Isaac dragged the corpse off to the side. He could hear the man who confronted them moaning, "Please, I don't want to- I can't feel my legs." he whimpered. Without a word Frederick put his hands under the man's shoulders and dragged him out of the way of the wagon and released his grip. The man fell back to the ground with a cry of pain as Frederick walked back and gestured for the laborers to continue on their way, wordlessly ignoring the cries and pleading of the wounded.