Pitt found the market boss walking around the various pens, marking down lots for buyers with the help of an assessor. The boss was tall and wide, wearing good leather over his frame. He looked like an adventurer who had retired on a hoard he had taken from somebody.

The assessor hunched over his pads, writing on the paper with a quill he dipped in a bottle strapped to his belt. His mustache seemed to be made of the hair that had fled the top of his head.

They watched Pitt approach with his hands in his pockets. He didn't carry a sword so he probably wasn't dangerous.

He smiled to feed the lie.

“What can I do for you, young man?,” said the boss.

“I'm interested in who brought in those stolen cows in pen twenty three,” said Pitt. “I would like to know who they are.”

“What do you mean stolen cows?,” asked the boss. He scowled at his visitor. Pitt just looked at him.

“Someone stole those cows from a rancher this morning,” said Pitt. “Then they overbranded them. I found the rancher and his son, and took them to Farn's temple. The cleric there said he would send word to the Circle for a knight to follow up. The branding is fresh, so I know they did it on the way here. All I want is the name they gave you and what they looked like. Also I need to know if they sold you a wagon with two mules. I'm going to need those back.”

“He's talking about Gyre,” said the assessor. “They had a wagon drawn by mules with them when they came in with their herd.”

“I didn't see a wagon,” said the boss.

“Case told him that we didn't take wagons, and to go over to the Smiths,” said the assessor. “The livery and farriers might have a use for them that we didn't.”

“I need to find these Smiths and I need to find Gyre,” said Pitt. “How do I do that?”

“The stables are another operation on the other side of the pens,” said the Boss. He pointed in the general direction that Pitt should go. “An anvil is set up outside their forge. Gyre might be gambling his money away by now. He and his crew got a big payout from the cows they brought in.”

“If he comes back by, tell him that William Pitt is looking for him,” said Pitt. “And I want the money for the cows he stole, or whichever one of his limbs he can live without. I'm not choosy.”

“Gyre employs about twenty men,” said the assessor. “They are supposedly good swordsmen. I note that you don't carry a sword yourself.”

“I haven't needed a sword in a long time,” said Pitt. “Not against normal men, anyway.”

Pitt started to walk off. He paused. He turned and looked at the two men.

“You wouldn't happen to have any tobacco, would you?,” he asked.

“I left mine in the office,” said the Boss.

“Don't smoke,” said the Assessor. He shrugged at the look he got.

“Figures,” said Pitt. He started off.

He decided to track the wagon down first. He wanted the Doors to be able to go home with something. Gyre might have spent all of their money for their cows by now, but if he could get the wagon back, that would be something to help them.

If he could get the money for the cows, that would be even better.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

He found the farriers without too much of a problem. He walked inside, attracting some attention. No one said anything to him directly as he looked around. He found a mule with a chipped tooth in one of the corrals. He looked around and found its brother in the next corral over. He walked around some more until he found the wagon. It had been looted from the looks of things.

He frowned at the loss. He had known he couldn't make things totally right, but this rankled more than he liked.

A giant of a man approached with a hammer on his shoulder. He wore an apron for protection from his forge. Burn marks formed constellations on his arms and face where his beard didn't cover his cheeks.

“Is there something you want?,” he asked in a dark rumble.

“You have a stolen wagon, and two stolen mules here,” said Pitt. It was better to break the bad news cleanly. “I'm here to get them back and find the man who stole them. After that, it will be up to the Circle to administer any justice they want when I am done.”

“What makes you think you can just take anything from here without payment?,” said the Smith.

“There are two ways we can do this,” said Pitt. He still kept his hands in his pockets. “You can hold the wagon and the mules here, reload whatever gear was on the back, and possibly get a refund from the thief when I find him. It's easy enough to do and requires little effort.”

The Smith growled at that, glaring down at the smaller Pitt. Pitt took his hands out of his pockets.

“Or I'll kill you, have your dead body dragged through the streets to a hanging post, declared a thief that keeps other thieves in business, and let the Circle convict your children, other family, friends, and workers to the maximum they can be handed once something like a hunt starts. I'm good either way, but I would rather you just hold on to the wagon and mules until I get back with the money you paid.”

“Do you really think you can kill me with your bare hands?,” asked the Smith. Puzzlement made him stop to consider what feral beast he might be facing.

“Do you have piece of metal you don't need?,” asked Pitt.

The Smith gestured for him to follow. They walked to where a pile of scraps and bars of metal that needed to be turned into something else waited for a blacksmith. He waved at the pile.

Pitt picked up a piece of scrap and began to compress it with his hands. He worked it like soft clay. The Smith stepped back. He watched in amazement at the magic being performed. When the traveler was done, he held a ball of metal in his hand. He bounced it up in the air to get the feel of it.

“Hold this,” Pitt said. He handed the ball over casually. The Smith's hand dropped as he corrected for the weight.

“What kind of magic is this?,” asked the Smith.

“Not magic,” said Pitt. “When I was younger, I signed on to do things. That made me stronger.”

He jerked out a crooked piece of metal from the pile. He straightened the scrap into a rod. He twisted it until it felt right in his hands. Then he pulled the ridges down to the bottom of the club he had made.

“Over the years, I have tried to take an easier approach to things,” said Pitt. He held out his hand for the metal ball. “Why destroy things just because they are a momentary annoyance?”

He tossed the ball up and caught it a few times to gauge its weight. Then he tossed it up so he could grab the club with both hands. He swung as the ball came down. The smithy rang with the sound. The ball vanished through a hole in the roof. The Smith frowned up at the hole.

“Where did it go?,” he said.

“I would be more worried with what happens when it comes down,” said Pitt. He handed the dented club over. “Will you hold the wagon?”

“I think that I will,” the Smith kept his eye on the hole. He took the club absently.

“Don't stand there,” said Pitt. “If it comes straight down, it will kill you.”

“You're right,” said the Smith. “I have never seen anything like that.”

“Anyone with enough strength can do what I just did,” said Pitt. “I will be back with your money.”

He walked around to the other side of the scrap pile and shoved it over where he thought the ball would come down. He doubted it would come down in a straight line, but he had been surprised before and he didn't want to accidentally kill someone.

“Keep everyone away from this pile until it comes down,” said Pitt.

“I don't think it's going to come down,” said the Smith. “I think you knocked it up beyond the sky.”

“If it stays up there, that's good too,” said Pitt. “Now I have to find some bandits.”

“Try the gambling halls and bordellos,” said the Smith. “That will be your best shot.”

“Thanks,” said Pitt. “Could I bother you for some tobacco? I'm out.”

“So am I,” said the Smith. He placed his hammer on the pile of scrap. “The gambling halls and bordellos should have some.”

“This guy better have some money left,” grumbled Pitt as he walked out of the smithy. He ignored all the looks he was given as he walked away.