Pitt watched the landscape from the back wagon of Master Flaketon's Alchemical Caravan of Wonders. The troupe performed shows and sold Flaketon's brew to make some gold in their travels. They wanted him to come on as a roustabout until they reached the end of this leg of their travel. Then they were turning south.

Putting on a show in the Highlands was more work than it paid them. It was better to roll south and then follow the coast back to their resting place before they set up to do the trip again.

At least one of the performers was a cleric for Avrii Noll. He went around in a hood to cover his mask, but his diamonds and stripes fit in with some of the others so they didn't realize the swordsman in their midst was better than what he appeared.

Pitt let the matter lie. He had no reason to expose the cleric, and the swordsman avoided him for the most part. They had exchanged may ten words the five days he had ridden along with the troupe.

“There's a town ahead,” said Leslie Goodall at Pitt's side. She was an acrobat that did high wire work for the show. “We'll be able to put on a show there before we head down to Mavrin.”

“That's good, I guess,” said Pitt. “How long until we get there?”

“I don't know, but we hit this town last year and things went well,” said Leslie. “This year, you'll be able to impress them as the strongest man alive.”

“Not interested,” said Pitt. He waved the suggestion away. “I'm heading up into the Highlands. I'm not being a professional weight mover any longer than the trip into Mavrin. I have my own things to deal with despite what has happened.”

“Everyone knows you can do Arnold's job,” said Leslie. “You're way stronger than he is.”

“I don't want to do Arnold's work,” said Pitt. “I have enough of my own work to do, and I have to make sure my homestead is still there. I had to leave in a hurry.”

Being yanked across the plains to defend a city from a demon invasion by his dead friend's mental power seemed enough of a definition to leaving in a hurry to his mind.

It was also something you didn't want to explain to people who barely saw magic in action.

The caravan pulled to a stop. Pitt dropped down to the ground. Either he was going to be setting poles, or watching the wagons to prevent problems. He might have to do both.

Some people didn't like the caravan of actors and small time alchemists. He was fine with that. He didn't like most people he had to deal with while going about his business. Those people sometimes liked to do things to the wagons to make things harder to move on.

The last person he caught doing that got a busted face.

“This is a wide open space for the tent,” said Leslie. “Charles will love it.”

Charles was their wagon master and equipment fixer. He directed the way the tents were set, position of the wagons, roustabouts on guard duty. He also fixed, or secured replacements for any broken equipment.

The caravan could not run without him moving people like pawns.

“Flaketon might have to go into town to get permission for a show,” said Pitt. “We'll see how things go from there.”

“Who doesn't like a show?,” asked Leslie.

“I don't,” said Pitt. He wished he had some tobacco. He had gone through his own supply rapidly. He supposed he would have to quit until he got another supply. It wouldn't be the first time he had waited for a while before being able to smoke again.

It just made him twice as cranky as usual.

Flaketon and Charles came down the line of wagons, talking. The master of ceremonies wore his usual showy robe and pants of silver with gold stars. He didn't have on his pointed hat yet. The general manager wore a work shirt and pants. His dagger never left the reach of his hand while they talked.

“Pitt?,” said Charles. His eyes scanned the wagons for anyone else he could send with the showboat. “I want you to go into town with Master Flaketon. Make sure nothing happens to him.”

“Okay.” said Pitt. “Let's go, boss. I want to get back before dinner is all gone. Mrs. Clea is trying out a new pie recipe.”

“I don't need a guardian,” said Flaketon.

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“That's good because I need some tobacco, or I will kill someone,” said Pitt.

“This is not my first time getting permission to perform,” said Flaketon.

“This is the town from last year,” said Charles. “I don't want to have to leave in a hurry because they didn't like the show.”

“I had forgotten about that,” said Flaketon. He made a gesture with his hand. “We didn't do anything wrong.”

“That doesn't matter, Henri,” said Charles. “My people have to be safe, and you have to be safe. Pitt can handle himself in a fight if it comes down to a fight. I'm going to circle the wagons until you get back with the slip.”

“All right,” said Flaketon. “Come along, Pitt. Let's see what's ahead of us.”

“One of your clowns is a good swordsman,” Pitt whispered to Charles as he passed. “You might want to get him to keep an eye on things.”

“All right,” said Charles. He watched his friend, and his temporary worker start walking toward town. When he was sure they were on their way, he started giving orders to circle the wagons to make a defensive ring against trouble.

“What happened last year?,” asked Pitt as he accompanied the show owner down the road toward town.

“A girl was found drowned,” said Flaketon. He made a wide open gesture with both hands to indicate there was no water anywhere around them. “The town tried to blame the show but we weren't anywhere nearby when it happened.”

“Any idea how she drowned?,” said Pitt. He hadn't seen any local water from the back of his wagon. How close were they to a river, or lake?

“Not really,” said Flaketon. “We were too busy fighting the town off to try to find out what had happened. I had forgotten this was the town where that happened. If I had remembered I would have mapped out a different route to avoid trouble, but we need the show here to get us enough money to get to Mavrin.”

“Any trouble, stay close and keep your eyes open,” said Pitt. “I don't want to hurt anyone, but I'm not letting anything happen to you either.”

“That's reassuring,” said Flaketon.

“We're bound to run into someone from last year,” said Pitt. “Let me do the talking.”

“What are you going to say?,” asked Flaketon.

“I don't know yet,” said Pitt. “It'll probably be something short and stern.”

Flaketon tried to imagine what those words could be but kept coming back to move on or I'll kill you.

They reached the town and headed for the town hall. If they wanted to perform, they would have to get a permit from the office, pay some silver, and then find a space to post bills to let people know they were out there.

Flaketon and Pitt was ushered in to talk to the Mayor. He looked too thin, too bald, and too put upon to be dealing with a suave con man and his vicious guard dog.

“No,” the mayor said before Flaketon could even ask for a permit.

“No, what?,” asked Flaketon.

“You and your traveling show of murderers aren't going to be playing here,” said the mayor. “Get out of town.”

“We didn't kill anyone,” said Flaketon. “The girl drowned from what I heard. That means one of your citizens let her near water without watching her. That's got nothing to do with us.”

“What are you saying?,” said the mayor. His tone had taken on a threatening octave.

“He's saying you're incompetent, and possibly stupid,” said Pitt. He inspected the mayor's desk for tobacco. “I, on the other hand, am wondering if you have a smoke.”

“Why would I give you one?,” said the Mayor.

“Because it won't kill you,” said Pitt. “Besides you know who killed the girl. It's in your eyes. You know it wasn't the caravan. It had to be one of your townspeople. You don't want to admit it because you don't want to tear the town apart, and maybe you can't prove it.”

“Why can't he prove it?,” asked Flaketon.

“The guy has friends who will say he wasn't anywhere close, or maybe was in on it, and they'll all stand up for each other,” said Pitt. “Not much the law can do if none of the criminals will break, or a victim won't stand up.”

“And everyone blamed the strangers anyway,” said Flaketon.

“You are strangers,” said Pitt. He went to the window and looked out over the town square. “Why blame neighbors when a scapegoat is right there.”

“The two of you will have to leave, and move on,” said the Mayor. “There will be no show here.”

“That's fine,” said Pitt. He held up a hand to forestall any protests from Flaketon. “We're still going to camp out where we are before we move on.”

“I'll send men out to burn you out,” said the Mayor.

“And I will send them back on litters, and we have a cleric of Avrii Noll riding with us,” said Pitt. “I am sure he would love to cut some bumpkin to bits in the middle of the night. I don't know how much glory he would get, but as a rule Avrii's people love slicing and dicing some criminal in the middle of the act. It gives them a thrill from what they've told me.”

“I don't believe you,” said the Mayor.

“If you round up some men and send them out to our camp with anything but tobacco to smoke, or money to spend,” said Pitt. His eyes were flat brown stones looking from his battered face. “They won't come back whole, if they come back at all. That's my line of tolerance for shenanigans. Come on, Master Flaketon. We'll have to tell the others we need to ride out in the morning.”

“Goodbye, sir,” said Flaketon. He bowed slightly to the Mayor before he followed Pitt from the office.

“Do we really have a cleric of Avrii Noll riding with us?,” whispered Flaketon.

“Yes,” said Pitt. “He probably won't like that I used his presence as a preventative measure. They love to surprise people who think they can fight anyone.”

Flaketon nodded. Everyone knew about the god of war's clerics and some of the singular rules they had to live by. Their reputation as fearsome fighting machines made any enemy thinking about facing them reconsider, or at least try to come up with a better plan of action.

No one wanted to be cut down by a masked clown.

“So we have to move on,” said Flaketon. “Charles will be upset about that. We counted on the money to make payroll.”

“The mayor's an extension of the town,” said Pitt. “If he wasn't willing to give you a permit, then the townies who did show up were going to be troublemakers. Better to move on without a hassle rather than having to run in the middle of the night.”

“I still don't like it,” said Flaketon. “This is the biggest town around. There's nothing else close to make money on until we hit Mavrin.”

“If you want to come into the Highlands, the troupe is more than welcome to stay on my land,” said Pitt.

They ran into the faun and the dead girl as they left the town hall.