Pavel nodded to the cook as he accepted his bowl of soup. Behind him, the line of teamsters began to grumble; the cooks always insisted upon serving the guards first, regardless of how long others had been waiting, something that Pavel was always embarrassed about. He stepped out of line, and quickly made his way down the row of wagons, parked off the side of the road per usual.
The caravan had stopped alongside another stretch of grassland for the night; without the moon, Pavel could barely see his own hand in front his face, causing many of the wagons to hang brightly lit torches on their wagon frames. A small part of Pavel wanted to issue an order to douse all but a few, given how large of a beacon the caravan had made itself. Many of the other guards, however, had pointed out that the Trade Way remained remarkably clear of anything constituting as a threat, making the order ultimately moot.
Despite that, Pavel had still posted the regular guard patrols for the night, though he slotted himself off. He hadn’t a night off since Daggerford, seeing as though something had always demanded his attention these past days. Not a single guard argued against that.
When he reached the middle of the caravan, Pavel turned on his heel and walked between Serena and Cruck’aa’s wagons, onto the grass off the side of the road. There, sitting around a small campfire, Serena, Werond, and Cruck’aa were enjoying their dinner together.
Pavel grinned; two of them were enjoying their dinner. There was a chill in the air, evident by Werond’s hands under her armpits, and Serena’s long skirt pulled tightly around her legs; they sat pressed against one another, enjoying the others warmth, much to the obvious chagrin of Cruck’aa.
Pavel announced himself as he walked past Werond and Serena, who were happy to see him, opting for a spot on the grass next to Cruck’aa, who eyed him with one beady eye.
With a groan befitting a man three times his age, Pavel plopped down, his half-plate clanking loudly, and set his soup bowl on the grass. From across the fire, Werond grinned.
“You’re too young to be making those noises Pavel.” she said. “Wait until you’re thirtyish, then you can start with the groans.”
Pavel grinned back. “With how much I’ve been doing lately? I think I’ve earned a couple of groans.”
“Fair enough.” Werond said. “We’re getting close to Waterdeep though, right? You’ll get some time off soon.”
“I feel like we’ve been saying that since the beginning.” Cruck’aa grumbled, drinking from his bowl.
“Well, I don’t know about that.” Pavel said. “But we’re less than a week from Waterdeep. Though the caravan’s been moving rather slow, might be off a bit…too tired to read maps and figure out where the hell we are.”
“You do look really tired Pavel,” Serena signed after putting her own soup bowl down. “do you need an extra hand? I can help out if you need me.”
Pavel shook his head. “No but thank you. It’s all petty issues anyhow. The others should be able to handle it, but owners keep escalating things. Wagons are too close to one another, the patrols aren’t good enough, and someone got irritated at how another teamster looked at them.” Pavel shrugged. “Petty stuff. People still feeling bad from Daggerford. But it’s lightening up, I think. Not as many complaints today, or yesterday. Although Samardag keeps finding issues to complain about.”
Werond narrowed her eyes.
“What’s he on about now?” Werond asked.
“What hasn’t he complained about?” Pavel replied, putting his bowl in his lap. “Most of the complaints are from him anyhow. Yesterday he asked if there was a set of smoother roads we could take, as this section of the Trade Way is too bumpy for him.” Pavel grinned as Serena, Werond, and Cruck’aa all rolled their eyes, almost in unison. “He demanded today that I transfer a teamster from someone else’s wagon to his, considering that, if we can’t switch roads, then he’ll need more help to hold the pots. Apparently, he hasn’t been able to check on all of them thoroughly yet.”
“The pots?”
“Yup.”
“He sounds insufferable.” Cruck’aa mumbled.
“Well, when I met him a while ago, he seemed like an ass.” Serena signed. “Calling Werond all kinds of things for jumping ship.”
Werond shrugged. “Can’t help it if you pay more than he did.” Serena nodded in agreement.
“Were you his teamster before?” Cruck’aa asked, eyeing Werond with a single beady eye.
“Yeah, when the caravan was formed. But Serena needed my help, and she paid more. Didn’t help that she’s much cuter than Samardag ever will be.” Werond glanced a smile at Serena, who had turned away, tips of her ears turning a bright red.
“Hmm. So, you just leave him high and dry for a bit of extra coin? Hmm.”
Pavel sighed in between spoonfuls of soup. “Really Cruck’aa? Can’t we just –”
“Do you understand the concept of supply and demand, Cruck’aa?” Werond shot back. “My work as a teamster was in demand, and Serena was able to supply more pay to acquire my labor. It was as simple as that. It’s different now, sure, but that’s how it was at the beginning.”
“Supply and demand is just an artificial construction developed by the rich in order to sell products that the lower classes believe they so desperately need.” Cruck’aa replied, turning to his soup. “It’s just a concept created to keep peasants in line so they don’t get any ideas, like understanding that all they need can be acquired from nature itself, so long as nature is respected and well cared for.”
Pavel stared at the Aarakocra, who sat eating his soup as though what he had said was a natural statement to make at dinner. He glanced across the fire; Serena’s eyes were narrowed, mouth slightly open. Werond, however, nodded.
“True. I can agree with that. Doesn’t change the fact that that’s the system we’re in right now. May as well take advantage of it when you can.”
“Or simply refuse to subscribe to such a corrupt ideology and return to your natural roots. It isn’t difficult, in this day and age.” Cruck’aa said.
“Sure, but you’d be asking people to simply give up their material possessions and run off into the woods. Cruck’aa, disregarding those at the middle and top, most people in places like Waterdeep don’t even know how to start a fire without assistance, let alone survive in the woods. You’d tell them the same thing?”
“Werond, the fact that most people can’t start a fire is proof that the upper classes subject them to enough artificial hogwash to keep them dumb and helpless. They believe they need the system to thrive, when in reality, the system needs them. Without the lower classes, cities like Waterdeep,” Cruck’aa waved a talon about. “would cease to exist.”
“Sending the entire Swordcoast into chaos,” Werond replied. “If it weren’t for Waterdeep, and the other cities, much of the region would be lawless and inhospitable to the common man. The system may be inherently flawed, yes, but it keeps us safe through the institutions that pop up.”
“Are you implying that, without these capitalistic systems, anarchy would consume the land?’
“It wouldn’t drive the whole place into chaos, but yes!”
Pavel ripped his gaze from Werond and shot a look at Serena, hoping she’d interject. Instead, she stared at her hands as though they held the explanation to whatever the pair was discussing.
“Okay!” he yelled, causing both Werond and Cruck’aa to jump. “I haven’t the faintest damned clue what either of you are talking about, so can we discuss something else?”
Werond’s face turned a light shade of red as she nodded. Cruck’aa shook his head.
“If you don’t discuss these things Pavel, how else would –”
A chorus of voices, all shouting, came from the wagons; before Cruck’aa could finish, they became louder, drawing closer, until Pavel realized that whoever was shouting was doing so on the other side of Serena’s wagon.
Pavel held a hand up at Cruck’aa, angling his head towards the wagon. The other three turned to look.
Coming out from behind the wagon came the very man that Pavel had been complaining about; Werond’s old boss, a fat man by the name of Samardag. His round face was screwed up, as though he’d bitten into a sour piece of meat. Close behind was Jo, clearly irritated, and two other caravan guards, both looking annoyed.
The group began marching towards Pavel and the others, Samardag in the lead. Further behind them, peaking around the wagons, a small group of caravan members stood watching from a distance.
Pavel stifled a groan. Even on his night off.
“Captain!” Samardag yelled; he pulled his vest tight over his green tunic, struggling to keep out the cold. “Captain! A word!”
“He won’t listen to me Pavel!” Jo shouted from behind. “I tried, I swear.”
“And she did a piss-poor job about it!” Samardag halted at the edge of the campfire; the firelight reflected dully from the man’s bald head. “There has been a theft captain! A theft under your watch!”
“Okay,” Pavel grunted; he set aside his bowl and shoved himself up; Samardag barely came up to his chest. “what’s going on? Make it quick.”
“Make it quick!?” Samardag sputtered, his second chin wobbling. “By the gods, I lose some of my livelihood and you –”
“He claims his most prized possession was nicked from his wagon.” One of the guards said from behind. “Said he was taking stock and his most valuable pot had been removed.”
“A fancy pot,” the other guard, a thin woman, said. “made of jade, with fancy gems and gold inlaid. Worth a lot, from the sounds of it.”
“Samardag claims he knows who it did, but there isn’t any proof of that.” Jo followed up, crossing her arms. “The three of us have been trying to get that across, but he’s not listening.” She smirked. “Probably because we aren’t you.”
Pavel rolled his eyes. “Right. Sir, I trust –”
“They’re out of their minds!” Samardag yelled. “I know of only one person who would want to steal that pot, as revenge!” He pointed a thick finger at Werond. “Her! She’s fucked me over since the start, and she’s the only one to know about it! It’s worth more than anything she’s ever had in her damned life!”
“Hey!” Werond shot up, walking a step closer to him. “I didn’t take that thing from your wagon!”
“Yeah!” Serena jumped up after her.
“If anything,” Werond continued. “it was the other teamster you employ! He knows about it too! He took it, you fat-bastard, not me!”
“And she’s been on my wagon the entire time!” Serena yelled. “Werond wouldn’t have time to –”
“Liars! Both of you! She’s the only one who’d steal it!” Samardag screamed back, pointing a finger at Werond.
“Okay!” Pavel shoved himself between Samardag and Werond, who’d taken another step closer, anger blazing in her eyes. “Okay! These are baseless accusations you’re throwing out Samardag. Werond, what do you know about this pot?” Werond began to speak when Pavel held up a hand. “Actually, sorry, you made a good point, what about your other teamster Samardag? Have you talked with him? It sounds like him and Werond are the only ones who know about the…pot. And I don’t think Werond took it.”
“You don’t believe me?!” Samardag shrieked. “You’re taking the side of someone as dark as a Filth-Skin?! Have you no shame captain!”
“What?” Pavel asked; Jo’s eyes had gone wide but the two guards behind her held puzzled looks. “Samardag, I don’t –”
The ground next to their feet exploded into flame, throwing up dirt and rocks against Pavel and Samardag.
On instinct, Pavel tackled Samardag, now screaming, as two more bolts of fire flew over them.
Jo and the guards ducked, the fire streaking wildly around them towards the caravan, screaming louder than a banshee.
One skipped across the canvas roof of Cruck’aa’s wagon before flying away. The second went up, at an angle, and continued into the sky, like a comet returning home.
Pavel shoved himself up and off Samardag – still screaming – and looked behind him, swords already out.
Serena, hands smoking, had been grabbed by Cruck’aa and Werond, who forcibly dragged her away from the group; her hands were twisting into signs, flinging swears that would have made Pavel’s old drill sergeant blush.
“Did you see that?!” Samardag screamed, still on the ground. “They attacked me! The elf is in on it too! Captain –”
“Shut up! For God’s sake!” Jo bellowed; Pavel jumped as she leaned over the fat man. “Serena’s half Drow, and you don’t expect her to react to that kind of slur?! What did you think would happen, you fucking idiot!”
Samardag’s lips formed an O, eyes wide.
“Oh.” Was the only word that came from him.
“Jo,” Pavel said. “the other –”
Jo jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Already sent those two, wagon’s fine.” She glared down at the now quiet form of Samardag. “Get up. God’s sake, you look more pathetic on the ground.”
“W-well,” Samardag said as he struggled up. “still, t-that seems suspicious! No d-doubt those two are hiding something!” They all glanced up as Cruck’aa flew overhead towards his wagon. “I s-suggest you search their wagon! I bet they’ve h-hidden it in there!”
Pavel began to argue with him, only to stop and stared at the pot dealer; after a long moment, Samardag broke his gaze, and began shifting his weight from one foot to the next.
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“Jo,” Pavel finally said. “round up all the other wagon owners, tell them it’s urgent. Samardag, go with her. I’ll be behind you two.”
Jo grinned and nodded, turning back towards the wagons. Samardag began to sputter a protest.
Pavel affixed him a hard look.
Shivering in his boots, the fat man turned and ran after Jo.
Pavel watched as they went between the wagons and disappeared behind them. He crossed his arms and tucked his chin against his chest.
He couldn’t care less about whatever fancy piece of pottery Samardag had lost. He would live without it, should they not find it tonight. Larger concerns dug their way into Pavel’s head, and Samardag’s mention of searching wagons had given Pavel an idea.
What better time to confirm their suspicions on Larion than under the guise of searching for a theft?
He’d have to be subtle, search everyone’s wagons. Make it seem as though Larion wasn’t the target. But this might be the excuse they needed to investigate him. Pavel hadn’t a clue when they’d have a better time than now, so close to Waterdeep. He’d send a prayer of thanks for the opportunity, had he known a god to pray to.
Pavel frowned. He’d need to tell Serena off again before he left; that girl seemed too trigger-happy these days, though he couldn’t blame her. Pavel had never heard of a slur like that before, but he supposed he’d have the same reaction. Still, he couldn’t have Serena reacting like that again; his message from before must not have stuck.
He turned around. Still by the edge of the fire, Werond appeared to tower over Serena; though Pavel couldn’t hear her, Werond spoke to her like a mother lecturing a child, counting something off on her fingers. The sharp movement of her arms as she gestured reminded Pavel of his old drill sergeants, and a small shiver went up his spine. Despite the verbal lashing, Serena stared down at her boots, hands picking at her skirt, refusing to look at Werond.
After a moment, Werond grabbed Serena’s chin, and pushed it up, so that she was looking directly at her. Serena’s eyes went wide as Werond continued her lecture.
Pavel squinted; perhaps it was a trick of the light, but he swore that Serena’s eyes had changed color, from a blue to lighter, paler blue.
He shook his head. At least he wouldn’t have to tell her off again.
…
Despite how many wagons made up the caravan, it didn’t take long for Jo to gather up the owners for each. Pavel always had to remind himself that Larion owned three of the wagons, making the caravan seem more packed that it really was.
Seven irritated wagon owners, Samardag and Larion among them, stood in a rough C facing the side of the guard wagon. Jo leaned against one of the wheels and avoided each question thrown at her, shrugging every so often. Much to Pavel’s own irritation, Azbara stood behind Larion, despite not being a wagon owner. Serena was absent from the meeting, no doubt still getting chewed out by Werond.
As Pavel slowly walked to where Jo stood, the group of owners fell quiet, all turning to stare at him. While some looked plainly curious, wondering why he had called all of them at such an hour, others looked ready to gut him where he stood.
Pavel shrugged. Another day.
He nodded at Jo, who withdrew from her spot and crept around to the other side of the wagon.
“Alright!” Pavel said, planting a wide stance in front of everyone. “Thank you all for coming on such a short notice. I know we interrupted your well-deserved breaks or sleep, but this is quite the urgent matter we must attend to.” Pavel gestured to Samardag, currently hiding in the back. “As I’m sure many of you heard, our friend Samardag was robbed tonight. Well, I assume it happened tonight. Regardless, a choice piece of his pottery collection has been stolen from his wagon, and we’re currently attempting to locate the culprit. Now,” Pavel raised a hand, silencing those about to speak. “this meeting is not to accuse anyone. Samardag already tried that, and many of us know how that turned out.” Samardag had the decency to duck his head from the stares turned his way. “With that being said, however, he did offer me a good idea. We’re in…well, the middle of nowhere, in relation to the Swordcoast. You’re not going to find a town close by until we hit Waterdeep. Which means that, wherever the pot has been squirreled away to, it must be on someone’s wagon, whether they realize it or not. So,” Pavel adjusted his belt, bracing himself. “I, and I alone, would like to give a cursory glance towards the contents of each of your wagons. I hope that, this long into our journey, you all trust me enough to carry out a task such as this. I’m not trying to invade people’s privacy, but we must get to the bottom of this mess before we have…other issues. Rest assured I will abide by the guidelines stipulated in the contract for a matter such as this. My lips will be sealed.” He raised his hands. “I am open to thoughts on the matter, however.”
Pavel squinted, waiting the onslaught of outrage. To his utter surprise, many in the group nodded in agreement, even the irritated owners beginning to mumble an affirmative at the proposal.
He was stunned.
“Uhm…you’ll have to excuse me for saying so, but I expected more…disagreement, if I am being truthful.” Pavel said.
“Really?” An elven woman by the name of Achreny spoke up. “It’s not an issue Pavel, all I’ve got is wood for sale. Hell, I bet most of us feel the same.”
“That and I think we can all say that we trust you…and the guards.” Cruck’aa’s employer, Oyn, followed up. “You all do so much for the caravan. Can’t say I mind.”
“Same here!” Squeaked Samardag front the back.
“And if you talk about what’s in the wagons, we can just court martial you at Waterdeep!” Oyn yelled.
Laughter broke through the group at the proposal; Pavel grinned, and ducked his head.
“Ah, well, yes, glad to see I’ve earned everyone’s trust.” He said. “I didn’t have an order in mind, so I suppose I can –”
“Hold up!” came a voice near the back.
Pavel squeezed his eyes shut. Of course there was one.
Larion shoved his way towards the front of the group; his eyes were narrowed and despite the chill, Pavel swore he saw sweat glisten on his forehead.
“I don’t give a kobold’s ass whether you people are fine with this!” he yelled. “I’ve got private inventory on my wagons, and you don’t need to be going through that! I refuse to a search!”
The owners behind Larion began to mumble.
“Keenblade,” Achreny replied. “by the Nine Hells, it’s Pavel we’re talking about. What’s he going to do?” She turned towards Pavel. “The court martialing was a joke, but Larion could do that if wanted to, right?”
“Correct,” Pavel nodded, addressing Larion more so than Achreny. “the contract for this caravan does stipulate that I have the power to search wagons at will when given a justifiable reason, and an abuse of that power can be identified and voted on by the members. Anything I see in the wagons, so long as it’s not life threatening…or stolen, must stay between me and the wagon owner.” He nodded at Larion. “I have that power, this is a justifiable reason, no one thus far has disagreed aside from you, which means I am well within my means to search your wagon. I will keep everything I see within private. Not a word will leave my lips.”
As Pavel spoke, Azbara slipped his way towards the front of the group, standing next to Larion. His presence seemed to amplify the sweat that glisten on his forehead.
“Captain, I understand what you’re saying, I do,” Azbara started in a honeyed voice. “But I must agree with my associate here. Privacy is of the utmost concern for us, and I don’t enjoy the notion of you poking around in our wagons.”
Pavel narrowed his eyes; he wasn’t aware that Azbara suddenly owned the wagons with Larion.
“How will I get my pot back then?!” Samardag squeaked. “It’s my prized stock! I can’t just not have it!”
Azbara began to turn towards the man when Pavel spoke up.
“I must agree with Samardag. A theft has occurred, and it must be investigated; letting something like this stand will only cause more issues. I will invoke the contract if I must, but I’d prefer not to.” Pavel adjusted his belt, staring down the pair. “Why don’t we go through your wagons first? Get yours out of the way. Once I’m done,” he raised his voice to address the others. “I’ll swing by each of your wagons and glance in. Okay?”
The crowd nodded; Larion opened his mouth, no doubt to disagree, but Pavel gave him no time. Pavel pushed passed him and through the crowd to begin his walk to Larion’s three wagons.
As the crowd began to disperse, Larion jumped after Pavel, Azbara close behind.
“Pavel,” Larion said, eyes wide, as Pavel marched towards the middle of the caravan. “with all due respect, this is ridiculous. I’ve never talked to that man; I didn’t even know what he carried until tonight! Whatever it is that Samadrag lost, I don’t have it!”
“I must agree with my associate here.” Azbara said in that honied voice. “We have no interest with whatever Samardag has on his wagon. I’d prefer you keep us out –”
Pavel halted in the middle of the road, swiftly turning so that both Larion and Azbara almost ran into him. Larion left a noticeable sweat mark against the front of Azbara’s robes; the bald man waved a hand, causing the mark to vanish.
“Gentlemen.” He said, palms outstretched. “I understand your concerns. But Samardag is beside himself with worry. We need to get to the bottom of this, and quite frankly, I really don’t care what you have in the wagons. Even if you have all the gold on the Swordcoast, I can’t legally discuss it with anyone as per the contract…which both of you signed, I might add. So, asking me to change my mind when I’ve already made it up is useless. Any further attempt at preventing my job will result in an obstruction of my employment, which can result in hefty fines once we reach Waterdeep. Do I make myself clear?”
Larion bit his lip, eyes furrowed, but nodded. Azbara, however, showed no sign of acknowledgment.
“Good,” Pavel said, ignoring him. “now, let’s get this over with.”
He turned and continued his way towards Larion’s wagon, the pair on his heels. None of them spoke a word.
Each of Larion’s wagons looked unassuming as any other that made up the caravan; standard wooden frame, standard drivers’ bench, standard draft horses, standard everything. The only aspect of the wagons that always intrigued Pavel, aside from the plethora of armed guards that bristled from each wagon, was that the canvas covering of each seemed thicker than usual. Not even direct sunlight could pierce them, something Pavel knew was uncommon on most wagons in a caravan.
Larion strode ahead of Pavel and waved at the pair of guards, armed more heavily than he was, off the lead wagon.
“Search them from front to back.” He said, as they hopped off. “And keep what you see to yourself.”
Pavel eyed the guards as they walked to the other side of the road, their eyes glued to him and the wagon. He wanted nothing to do with the business ends of their longswords. “Well, considering I’m the only one here, that shouldn’t be an issue.”
“After, captain.” Azbara said. “Keep your lips sealed after.”
“Of course.”
Pavel walked around to the back of the wagon, Larion still on his heels.
“The back flaps are heavier than they look,” he said. “so…be careful. And please don’t mess with anything.”
“Of course.” Pavel repeated.
Pavel grabbed one of the flaps and was surprised to find that Larion was right; just one weighed as though metal had been sewn into it, and it was a struggled for even Pavel to flip them to the side. Larion grabbed the flap and held it up for Pavel, evidently used to its weight. Pavel hopped onto the frame and climbed into the wagon, standing up once inside.
As he got a good look around the inside of wagon, Pavel’s jaw dropped.
The room inside of the wagon was far larger than the outside lead on; crafted through obvious magic, the interior appeared as wide as three wagons, long as another two, and at least another wagon in height. Immediately, Pavel’s balance was thrown off, and he grabbed one of the wooden poles that propped up the canvas covering, taking care not to step on anything.
Which proved to be near impossible.
“What in the Nine Hells –” Pavel said.
Piles upon piles of gold and gems, silver plated mirrors and ornate cups, gem encrusted weapons and chairs inlaid with platinum littered the room, in some places touching the canvas top. A small path had been carved into the middle, to a large floating orb, which illuminated the interior with a soft orange glow. Beyond the path, Pavel couldn’t see the floor, so thick where the piles of gold, silver, bronze, and electrum coins. Everywhere he looked, a new treasure seemed to catch his eyes, though the light reflecting off the piles blinded him somewhat.
He slowly made his way towards the middle, gently pushing aside the odd silver pendant or sheathed sword. In one corner, a pile of rolled up rugs, taller than he was, leaned against the canvas, pushing the cloth out, though Pavel had never noticed it from the other side. In another section, with a start, he realized that multiple wooden chests, taller than a wagon wheel, had been hidden under a mountain of gold, barely visible when he walked by them.
All thoughts of searching for a valuable pot had fled from Pavel’s mind; whatever Samardag had lost, it paled in comparison to all this. Had Pavel has permission to scoop as much gold as he could carry in his shirt, he would have been set for life; it wouldn’t even make a dent.
Pavel slowly scanned the room if he could call it that. Though he was no treasurer, there seemed to be enough wealth in this wagon alone to rival all of Daggerford…and then some.
His eyes widened as the prospect of the other wagons smashed into him. That was more wealth than all of Waterdeep, if not then coming close to it. Though perhaps that was an exaggeration.
Every doubt that Pavel had deserted his mind; there wasn’t a single reason for Larion to horde this much wealth, save for having to transfer it to somewhere else. Not even the richest noble in the Swordcoast would hazard carrying this much gold across the Trade Way. Which, in a sense, made Larion’s deception that much better. Until now, not a single person on the caravan had any clue of what was in these wagons, believing them to be full of smithing equipment.
Pavel had to inform the others, they needed to know. He might not know what Larion’s intentions where, but the others might, contract be damned. This superseded the contract.
Dread suddenly settled in his stomach as he turned around and slowly walked to the back of the wagon.
He’d have a target on his back.
Pavel stopped, and rubbed his face., attempting to settle it back into a look of boredom. After a moment, he pushed open the heavy flap, and jumped back onto the road, heart slamming in his chest.
Larion remained where he’d stood, face twisted.
“Well?” he said, voice a frantic whisper. “Do you believe me now? I have no need for some ridiculous pot. Whatever Samardag lost, it isn’t on this wagon,” he gestured towards the wagons behind them. “or the others.”
“I, uhm…” Pavel said, unable to keep the shock from his voice. “I suppose you’re right. Doesn’t make sense to take something when you’ve got…all that.”
“Keep your voice down!” Larion whispered, his eyes franticly flicking around. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense! And I don’t think I need to remind you again to stay quiet about everything, right?”
Pavel laid his hand on the hilt of his sword and stared at Larion.
“I already agree that I wouldn’t say anything. It’s none of my concern in the first place. But you casually threatening me doesn’t help –”
“I’m not threatening –”
“Stow the bullshit Larion.” Pavel snapped, causing Larion to take a step back. “I’ve been in this business longer than you know; I know what a thinly veiled threat is when I hear one, and I don’t appreciate it, especially after all the shit I do to keep your horde safe. I don’t plan on saying a thing.”
Larion crossed his arms. “Good,” he said, attempting to regain his composure. “else I’d…have to force you to be quiet.” His eyes narrowed in what Pavel guessed was an attempt at looking fierce; the sweat droplets on his forehead, and the slight shaking, betrayed him.
Pavel stepped forward, so that he was toe to toe with the man; Larion to tried to back up, but Pavel remained on him.
“You can try.” Pavel whispered, his eyes flicking to the guards who were still watching. “Threaten me again, and you’re off this caravan. Understood?” Larion opened his mouth to argue; Pavel leaned forward, putting him off balance. “Understood?” he repeated.
Larion glared at him but nodded.
Pavel stepped back and adjusted his belt.
“Good. Have a nice night.” He nodded at the guards and Azbara, before stepping past Larion.
Pavel did not acknowledge the gazes that burned into his back as he passed the other two wagons. Instead, his mind raced; he was glad that he’d thought of the idea to search the wagons, as now they had the proof they needed. Larion was up to something, that much gold and gems proved it. What he was up to, Pavel hadn’t a clue, but he was sure it was connected to the Dragon Cult.
He grimaced. He’d be a target now. And so would anyone else he associated himself with, especially after what had happened in Daggerford. They’d shown their hand. Larion seemed keen to keep him quiet, and he didn’t seem like a man to shy away from underhanded means, or from killing just one person. Pavel would have to –
A tap on the shoulder sent him into the air.
Jo, standing between the last of Larion’s carts and Cruck’aa’s wagon, eyed him oddly. One of her hands was hidden behind her back.
“Bit high strung?” she asked, as Pavel placed a hand over his heart.
“Yes!” he whispered. “What the hell Jo?!”
“Wanted to know what you saw,” she said, stepping back so she was off the road, gesturing for Pavel to follow. “he’s your guy, right?”
Pavel narrowed his eyes but followed her. “Yes, but how did you figure that one out?”
“Call it a hunch…with his three wagons.”
“Fair. Sorry I hadn’t told you yet.”
Jo waved a hand. “It’s fine. What’d you see?”
Pavel glanced over his shoulder, before lowering his voice. “Mountains of gold and gems. More than I’ve ever seen before. The damned inside of the wagon is bigger than the outside, I swear.” Pavel shrugged. “I don’t know what he plans on doing with all that, why he needs it, or how he got it, but it reconfirms that he’s our man. He was the only one mentioned in the report, and to have a rolling treasury?” He crossed his arms. “He’s funding them, that’s for damned sure, or something like that.”
Jo nodded slowly, scratching her chin with her free hand. “That…is suspicious. Funding the cult sounds like the only thing he could do with a mountain of gold. You didn’t see the other wagons, did you?”
“He claimed they were all the same.”
“All of them?”
“That’s what he said. He was sweating enough that I believed him.”
“Hmm…what’s our next move then?”
“Pretend like we didn’t have this conversation, inform the others, and go from there. They might know something we don’t.” Pavel held a finger to his lips. “But this information can’t get out Jo. I didn’t talk to you.”
“Of course, of course.”
“Alright. Now, I need to go back and keep searching the other wagons. Still need to find –”
“This?”
Jo pulled her hand from behind her back; a decorative pot, one that valued appearance over functionality, was clasped her in hand. The body of it was green, with gold around the edges, along with multiple gems that were inlaid across its surface, all bigger than Pavel’s fist.
It looked extremely expensive, and extremely ugly.
Pavel stared. “That better not be his fucking pot.” He said.
Jo smiled.
“Can you believe he hid it on the floor?” she asked.
“How did you –”
“Cut a hole in the bottom of his wagon, pulled it out, patched the hole up. Don’t ask, but I figured you could use the excuse, and guess what?” She winked. “You did.”
“Fuck, I…I didn’t want to know, just…go give it back to Samardag!” Pavel sputtered. “I’m going the other way, check out the other wagons, we didn’t talk.”
Jo nodded, and turned on her heel, matching back towards the front of the caravan. Pavel turned in the other direction, and slowly made his way down the road.
He stopped and rubbed his face.
“What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” he grumbled.