“What’s in the bag?” the boy, named John Joenson asked, attempting to make idle conversation.

He was referring to my knapsack, the very same that Emboru had given me and stocked with some looted gear along with most of my original loot. Naturally, I wanted to avoid answering that.

We were traveling along the laden cart, pulled by several meohrs, and from what I could tell, we still had hours to go until we arrived at Southbridge. It was unfortunately destined that the boy would continue to harass me with conversation, whereas I could hardly refute him as I wished. Afterall, I was relying on his goodwill, at least partly.

His father, Master Joenson, snorted a laugh, apparently detecting my unease. He might not have been overtly malicious, but he was certainly bent that way.

“Now you ask that?” Master Joenson said, demeaning his own son.

Likely, the father wished that he had thought of that earlier. But by the time the boy had returned to the cart with the clothes, the deal had already been struck, and going back upon it would make the father appear weak in front of his boy. Or, I was reading too much into the matter, and extrapolating shadows into giants.

I took my time in answering the boy’s question, making a show of playing with the baled cloth beneath me. In the end, I decided that the correct play was partially coy.

“Not clothes,” I said. “If that’s what you were wondering.”

I gave a small smile and an almost wink to the boy who was looking over his shoulder, watching me from the seat.

He laughed, despite the joke lacking humorous merits.

I decided to change the subject.

“Thank you, by the way. I don’t think I can thank you enough for the garments,” I said, plucking at the hem of the dress they had given me.

Of course, there was the unsaid ‘debt’ that I now owed them, which the boy likely intended to exchange for sexual favors, and which the father hoped to exchange for illicit mercantile favors. Neither of them would receive any favors, regardless of what they wanted or their expectations. Implied expectations were some of the easiest to twist, as disgusting as the practice was.

Besides, while the clothes they had given me might have been a far improvement to what I had been wearing, they were hardly my color. The yellow dress clashed with my color palette, and the skirt had far, far, too many pleats, with several underskirts. It had come with white tights and some sort of rugged loafers. The dress did have long sleeves though, which was a must.

John had seemed sweet on the clothes, and had mentioned that they had belonged to his sister, before she had moved out. From the way his face fell, it seemed that his sister’s relocation might not have been consensual.

I decided not to pry.

“I could hardly leave you in those rags,” John boasted, as though common decency left me in his debt. Well, when compared to the bulk of the humans I have met, it just might, at least as far as typical humans were concerned. I was unsure in that regard.

“Oh!” I said, making a show of smacking my forehead. “I forgot. I do have clothes in my bag. I had to put my own somewhere, afterall–” I gave a wry grin, playing it up.

He laughed, again. It was grating. Dear mother, it was so very grating.

I plucked at the bale beneath me once more.

With my current seat, I was elevated above both men, as the cargo was loaded to thrice the height of the cart. Ordinarily, I would have thought the load top heavy, but with the goods as light as they were, it seemed not a concern.

Naturally I would ask about their cargo. But, I lacked knowledge of what I ought to already know, and asking an obvious question would cast suspicion upon me. So, rather, I was forced to endure small-talk, while attempting to distill anything of use that I could from the conversation, and while plotting on ways to make my escape from the Joenson duo.

“That’s a pretty good joke!” John, still laughing obnoxiously, said. “Know any others? If not, I’ve heard a few…”

His father facepalmed, “Lad…” he said, before trailing off and shaking his head and muttering, “Boys will be boys.”

The conversation took several turns from there, and I did manage to learn several facts, but nothing in the depth that I truly wished.

One enjoyable factoid came from an interaction between the boy and his father when the boy asked me of my Marks. Or rather, what they did. The father had flinched, just the slightest amount when John asked.

From that, I inferred that it was apparently uncouth to ask one of their Marks.

And I inferred it quickly enough to avoid answering. Instead, I made an act of blushing and looking away in response, and the boy stammered, realizing he was on the back foot.

To make up for it, John asked about my false arm and hand, which I had concealed with the dress’s sleeves and the worn leather gloves.

Funnily enough, his father recoiled even more when John had asked that.

Apparently, mutations or deviations were somewhat common, and a result of alchemical infusions. Of course, I could not ask further without revealing I had never received one. But it would be something for me to investigate further, at least as possible excuses for deformities went.

Unfortunately, as the conversation went on, the gleanings of information grew scarcer, and the boy seemed to grow more desperate to prove his worth.

The ride could not end soon enough.

When the city’s towers came into view, they brought mixed feelings.

On one hand, apprehension: I might be inspected. I might be caught.

On the other hand, relief: Soon, I would be free from the Joensons and able to begin my task.

The boy seemed to read the mood, finally, and fell into silence as we all watched the approaching city. And then, of course, he broke it, shattering the blessed silence.

“Really is something, isn’t it. I don’t ever get used to it… though someone like you probably takes it for granted.”

I closed my eyes and resisted the urge to growl.

“What does that mean?” I asked, partially losing my patience.

He coughed awkwardly, “Nothing bad! Just that you people must be used to the sight, is all.”

“And what sort of people do you think I am?” I asked, perhaps more testily than was wise. Was this boy attempting to play the fool? I wondered.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“Enough,” Master Joenson cut John off from answering. “We’ll be in range of the guards soon. Boy, get the papers ready. And girl, quiet yourself. Else we’ll have words soon enough on the other side.”

We were approaching the gate. Not a gate in the traditional medieval sense, but closer to a railway crossing. A gate meant to signal and stop traffic, not meant to resist intrusion. I supposed that was what the trigger happy guard towers were for.

During our approach, John grabbed a bound portfolio from beneath his seat and began rifling through the pages, looking for something in particular.

“Must you smudge them?” The older asked, sounding somewhat irritated but not truly.

“Sorry,” John chuckled. “Forgot what order we put them in.”

Master Joenson shook his head.

Soon, we reached the space before the towers, where a levered gate blocked traffic. Bored soldiers in a somewhat slovenly matched uniform were at the base, and one of them approached.

One of them, a woman with a bored expression, strolled around the wagon, doing a remarkably poor job of searching for contraband. She failed to check beneath the wagon, where goods could be tied. She failed to check the other side of the wooden walls of the wagon, where goods could be pressed between the bales and wood.

Honestly, it was aggravating. I could have snuck in so easily, had I known. It left me wondering why the northern route was so guarded while this one was not. Was it a matter of time? Usage? Independent management? Or, could it have been the mucary and the battle that had taken place earlier… there were too many possibilities to consider, so I could not say for certain, but the fact that I could have stolen into any passing wagon left me regretting the hours I had spent in the Joenson’s company.

Finally, the woman completed her circuit, nodding to the soldier interrogating Master Joenson.

“It seems mostly in order then,” the man in charge said, presumably some sort of officer.

“Always appreciate seeing honest men at work,” Master Joenson said, passing a few glowing Chargers to the ‘honest man.’ “Toll still the same?”

“Ha. Yeah...” The soldiers began to file back, except for the officer. He gestured up towards me with a slight nod. “Except for one matter. Who’s that? You expanding the Joenson line already? What happened to those standards o’ yours old man?”

Master Joenson grunted, “Something like that,.”

“Hm. Well, it’ll be a bit extra… as the papers weren’t exactly in order.”

Another Charger changed palms.

“And we’re missing her identification…”

Another Charger changed palms. This time, Joenson grimaced a bit.

“And you’re–” the officer meant to keep going, but Joenson interrupted.

“-come now, be reasonable,” Master Joenson groaned.

The officer smirked before starting over again.

“And you’re all set.” the officer said, before he slapped a meohr on the back as he walked back to his post. The hinged gate lifted to the side. “Off to the granary with ya.”

“My thanks,” Joenson said, not enjoying the other man’s humor, keeping otherwise silent until the meohrs pulled us past the gate and into the city. Then he glared back my way. “Owe me a bit more than before girl,” he said, as though it were my fault he had been extorted.

I winced, but nodded all the same. Again, I could not appear so eager, otherwise he might suspect. So instead, I turned my attention to our surroundings, avoiding gaping, but still taking in as much as I could.

The city was grimy.

We were entering through an industrial quarter, where the warehouses and factories towered over us, with broken windows and graffiti, with parked carts and what might have been rails. Once again, I found myself curious at the mixed technology of this world, as there were pull-carts used as the most common form of locomotion. Either the technology was too expensive, or meohrs were that cheap.

At least the stone road was decently maintained at least, with few divots or potholes.

I kept track of the route, made simpler by the straightforward avenue. The primary road itself had three lanes, with a very narrow sidewalk that was raised above the gutter. The gutter, thankfully, was not clogged with human waste, though there was the scent of it; cities almost always suffered a lack of cleanliness.

We only had to make two turns, before we arrived at a walled compound surrounding several silos, with a secondary compound allowing for smaller handcarts to collect the grain.

The fact that the line to collect was long, that so few people were dropping off, and that I was unable to spot any such facilities… It gave me a confusing signal. But clearly, these siloes were absent from food production, as food production would be much busier. At least if the grain were used to make flour.

If only I were brave enough to hazard a question.

I could only consider it on my own. But most grain lacked the same spiced scent of the plant product wrapped in bales.Was this a seasoning, then? Something meant for the lower classes, as opposed to just the rich? A possibility.

We entered the walled compound with the silos before I arrived at an answer.

There was surprisingly one other wagon getting unloaded, with two men rolling bales off the back to waiting meohr to catch and carry into the silo, where an elevator brought it the rest of the way to the top.

As we parked, a worker came to discuss with Master Joenson.

“It will be a bit of a wait, but not long,” the worker said.

“Still haven’t hired more workers?” Joenson asked.

“Ha! No need to!” the worker said, laughing. “Just Bill ran late on the way here. Surprised you didn’t cross paths with him.”

“You don’t say…” Joenson gave the other wagon driver a sly-eye. “Wonder if young Bill over there made a stop between here and his farm.”

“Maybe! Just maybe…” the worker said while shaking his head, humoring the statement but hardly taking action from anyone’s suspicion. “You don’t mind waiting then?”

“Can’t say I don’t mind,” Master Joenson said, “But it’ll give me a chance to settle some anyways.”

“Glad to hear that, John.”

‘John?’ I mouthed. Were they both named John, both father and son?

While I mused, the worker headed off to help unload the other wagon a bit faster, while Master Joenson pulled the junior aside. They were off towards the gate to the compound, so I was unable to hear whatever they discussed, but between the way both of them kept shooting furtive glances my way, I could guess the subject.

Finally, Master Joenson, the senior, passed a large pouch to John, which John tied to his waist, before Master Joenson came back, alone. John still stood by, waiting.

“I know where to find you if I need you girl, so why don’t you head off with John here to unwind. I’m sure whatever business you got sent off on has left its mark.”

“You’re that sure?” I risked asking as his confidence made me just that curious.

“Not hard to find a purple haired merchant with your… oddities. Besides, your lot is only as good as your word. And you gave me your house’s name.”

I had given him a name, which was a lie of course. It was the same name I remembered from Manny Stillson, the late Caravan Master.

“Very well,” I agreed with him, for a different set of reasons. “You’ll contact us for that favor then?”

“Don’t count on me forgetting it,” he waved me off. “Take care of my boy.”

Curious. Why would I take care of him?

I hopped down from the wagon and approached John. This was a perfect opportunity to slip away. Nothing truly tied me down, now that I was in the city. But was I ready to embrace the city on my own? Certainly, I could do so. Just slip off into the gutters, build my kit out, learn the lay of the land.

But there was a more expedient way to go about it, at least at the start. If I went with him now, I could pick his brains just a bit further, and use him as a cover as I toured the city. It would improve my starting position

Besides, I could always ditch him later.

As I approached him with a controlled smile, he bowed, just slightly.

I once again had second thoughts.

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

* Body: 65

* Mind: 75

* Spirit: 49

Talents:

* Athleticism (3/9):

* Climbing I (2/9)

* Featherlight I (3/9)

* Inversion (2/9)

* Stealth I (5/9)

* Trackless Tracks I (3/9)

* Area Coverage (3/9)

* Alchemical Immunity (ineligible for growth)

* Eschiver (7/9)

* Evasion (6/9)

Spells:

* Illusion I (5/9)

* Touch (8/9)

* Guise of the Kitsune (1/9)

* Closed

Gifts:

* Obsession (3/9)

* Closed (0/9)

* Closed (0/9)