> The Duke Elre and his fiancee the beautiful Lady Wilre were spotted leaving the city this week on a courting outing to the wilds. For all those fashion watchers out there I'm sorry to disappoint; they were attired only in practical travelers wear! For all you gossip-hungry readers however, there's something juicy! Lady Wilre's governess was left behind! That's right, our Lady has undoubtedly achieved her first carding and is now venturing out with her beau to make glorious use of it! And you know what that means... A wedding!

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> In just a few weeks, we can expect the society event of the season will be announced. The time to hunt down the latest trends, accessories, and gossip is now; and our loyal readership will be once again at the cutting edge!

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> Excerpt from “In The Know”, gossip pamphlet final issue. Publishing license revoked after untimely death of Lady Wilre in wilds.

When Jack arrived at the rally—a lichen and moss covered courtyard—the preparations for the expedition were only just underway.

The cautious dawn was giving way to a bright morning. Mist and dew beat a fast retreat before the risen sun, though their brief meeting lent the moss and lichens an extra dash of dazzle. There was a pair of small covered wagons and one large reinforced travellers cart.

The former two would hold supplies and were of a sturdy, if dull, design. The latter was the petite mobile fortress of the caravan master and its design was doubly intricate. Across every surface elaborately painted scenes intermixed with masterfully wrought carvings, the plain wood left exposed was polished to a lustre, in no way marring the overall aesthetic. Its functionality was more than equal to the beautiful artistry on display, the surface of the cart was a medley of clever mechanisms currently disengaged: hooks, levers, clasps, wound cord and rope, pulleys, and nearly invisible seams abounded. This was a masterpiece developed over years—perhaps generations—a totality of additions, modifications, and optimizations for every circumstance.

The well-muscled men and women of the caravan were at work: loading crates into the wagons, checking over gear, tending the amblers, and the hundred other things that needed to be managed before any outing into the wilds.

Over it all loomed the caravan master, standing atop his cart with a mug of steaming brightbrew in hand. He didn’t bellow down at the proceedings below him as Jack half-anticipated. Instead, whenever something didn’t fit to his expectations, he would gesture someone over, share a quiet word, and then observe the consequences of his interference. Even while Jack watched, a younger man who had been struggling with a knot received a visitor sent on just such an intervention.

‘Showing him the ropes,’ Jack thought, much to his own private amusement, before making his final approach.

Jack had timed his arrival so that he would have an opportunity to assist in the preparations, even if it wasn’t expected of him. He’d taken Syra’s warning to heart, and fitting in with the crew would work towards him becoming background in the eyes of the nobles. He didn’t want to be seen as the peculiar tutor, set apart from everyone, venturing out for the first time. With that in mind, he continued on to meet with the caravan leader.

Jack and the oddly-named Jam (it being the fashion among some trades to name their children after petty misfortunes) had exchanged enough letters to make their arrangement but had not yet met in person.

Jam was the kind of man that left an impression.

He had a hale and hearty look, if a bit weathered from the years he spent on the road. What was visible of both of his arms revealed an amalgamation of tattoos and the angular lines of fashionable scarification. He had pale blue eyes and a charming, rakish smile.

He seemed a bit of a scoundrel, but Jack knew better than begrudge him his eccentric appearance; after all he had seen the man’s records. He ran a neat operation: long term crew, all of whom received shares in profits; and remarkably low incidence rates. He’d been in the trade his whole life, and the signs of competence were abundant.

“Jack Lonquil! We’re meeting at last,” Jam greeted him. His voice had a rough burr, giving a handsome—if unusual—roll to his ‘r’s.

“Jam...,” Jack fruitlessly searched his memory for a family name, “... Jam. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he recovered swiftly from the moment of awkward grasping.

Without prompting, Jack produced the sheaf of documents outlining their contract. In that mix was the sealed permission from Jack’s father for his participation in the venture.

Jam accepted the papers, and with a flourished lick of his thumb began to flip through them. Even while reading through them he made idle small-talk with Jack; until he finished with his perusal and signed each copy of their contract.

“I think this will be a great opportunity for your daughter to flesh out her formal education. I’ve prepared a flexible lesson plan for wherever the gaps lie, in addition to supporting her advancement in general academics,” Jack said. “Is your daughter up and about? An introduction perhaps?”

Jam made an odd expression for a moment—confusion, followed by embarrassment—but before Jack could interrogate it he replied.

“Ah yes, an introduction. I must not have made myself clear, well these things happen,” he gave a kind of hapless shrug, as if some minor detail had been inadvertently neglected. “Wyli is currently with her mother out of the city. We’ll be coming together with them and, as the rascal will keep on with us, your tutoring can begin then. Until then you’re unburdened of responsibility.”

‘There’s something going on here, but I’d prefer that questions don’t get turned around on me either. I’ll get a concession out of him,’ Jack mused to himself before continuing aloud, “I can’t just lounge around until then, how about you let me make myself useful in the meantime, otherwise I’m liable to go stir-crazy.”

To this Jam laughed. “Every person here has a place at this point, trust me lad, you’d only get in the way! Think of it as a calm before the storm. I’m sure my Wyli will have you wishing for idle days.”

‘He’s really going to try and bowl me over huh? Let’s show a little teeth.’

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Jam had clearly pegged Jack as something of a tourist; a wealthy family's son pretending to take on a common role, and likely lacking in any kind of spine. More intriguing was that Jam actually seemed to want him to be this, which implied... something. There wasn't enough information to go on, but it had something to do with the missing daughter. If circumstances were different Jack would have been content to let Jam's impression of him stand, but here he needed to disabuse him of the misconception.

“I must not have made myself clear...,” Jack left a pregnant pause, letting Jam recognize the repetition of his own too casual dismissal earlier. “...I would very much appreciate it if I were given some work, there's a need for me to be unremarkable to your noble guests; and that includes my surname being kept discreet. My sister has some small renown in the theatre, and I would be surprised if your guests didn’t know of her. My family has business interests in my presence here, and we're not looking to receive noble interference.”

Jam was giving him a careful, considering look. Jack wondered if he'd pushed too far, but then in Jam's expression there was a modicum of rueful respect.

"A bit more than just an aspiring scholar I think eh? My own fault for assuming otherwise," Jam muttered, more to himself than Jack. "Alright lad. I'll put you under someone's wing, but it's gonna be for a bit of my ends as well. Stroph would do well to have someone to teach what he's liable to forget, and I'll expect you to make up the difference, get me? That should give you the time you need to settle in before the pair of courting nobles rendezvous with us."

Jack knew not to push his luck, and so gave a simple nod.

Jam waved someone over—the young man who'd been struggling with the knots.

"Stroph, this is Jack. He's a guest who likes earning his keep. You'll be responsible for him,"

Stroph was solidly built and only a few years older than Jack. From what he'd seen, that put him at least half a decade younger than anyone else in the crew. He had bright red hair, and every patch of exposed skin was densely freckled—an earnest effort from his fair complexion to build defences against the sun. Even at this first encounter, Jack felt an earnest desire to please coming from him as he looked at Jack with curiosity.

"Whatever ya' say boss," Stroph answered, utterly unconcerned with the unusual burden being put on him.

At Jam's behest, Jack left his pack by the cart to be stowed by Jam and did his best to discreetly acknowledge the look Jam gave him that Jack interpreted as "Don't think it's this easy, you've gone and made yourself interesting, so expect some interest."

Then he was following Stroph to the rest of the work.

"Now ya can call me Stroph, but if ya be needin' my attention something quick ya should use my full name Catastrophe as I'm well conditioned to attend to it on accounts of gettin' in heaps-a-trouble with me family as a lad. Nuthin' gets me dander up faster 'an someone callin' for Catastrophe," Stroph spoke in a casual, ambling manner and Jack made perfunctory acknowledgement, while he dwelt on other things, until the particulars of what Stroph was saying made their way to his conscious mind.

"Wait, your full name is Catastrophe?" he finally caught up to Stroph's ramble.

"Ya, me Da named me so on accounts of the superstition, affer all how often does fate see a fellow named Catastrophe suffer a catastrophe? ‘Tis unheard of,'' Jack held his tongue on how the base-rate of people named Catastrophe was likely a singular person. "It started with me brother Dent, which was all well and good. But you cannae ward bad luck off that easy so he knew that with me sister Aster he had to raise the stakes."

'Accident and Disaster,' Jack thought, piecing it together.

"So that's how I got settled with Catastrophe, natural escalation. Now I asked him what he would have done if I was a girl, and he said 'well ya'd be Stro-fee now wouldn't ya' so I can't help but be thankful that fate didnae befall me. Affer me they quit, which seemed a right kindness to the poor babe who'da gone by 'Clysm I expect. Which all goes to say that you have my sympathies Hijack."

The last almost slipped by Jack unnoticed, the delivery as casual as can be, but the expectant glance he received from Stroph clued him in, and then he was laughing once he realized.

Stroph grinned contently while Jack chuckled. His wandering conversation had all been setup for a single gag, all intended to put Jack at ease.

Jack knew he’d been played oh so softly, Stroph relying on his honest face and innocent patter to disarm while he built up to a punchline.

“How many people buy into the yokel routine and miss that you’re clever?” Jack finally asked.

“Enough ya’d think it’d get old by now, but it hasn’t yet.”

Soon enough, Stroph and Jack were checking over the batches of fresh food they'd received for spoilage, bringing out anything that looked dubious to be eaten at the front end of the journey. While they worked, Stroph told him about his own place in the caravan. He'd taken the position from his own father who'd retired only a few years previously. Jam's Wildberry Expeditions didn't hire new staff on each run, instead keeping trained and skilled members until they nominated replacements for their own positions.

Stroph pointed out individuals working all around and explained each of their assorted specializations. They had a mixture of hunters, mineralists, herbalists, a lone Flux-tapper, and a pair of ambler handlers. Because their primary earnings came from providing a support structure for nobility on their own ventures and, as those plans were notoriously fickle, they couldn't specialize in any given area of extraction from the wilds. Keeping a diverse group meant that they could earn extra income whenever the opportunity came, with the profits distributed amongst the company. It was an immensely egalitarian model for the time, much more reminiscent of the outdated adventuring guilds of the past.

Stroph still hadn't specialized in his carding and instead was what he described as a 'brute'.

"What do you mean by a 'brute'?" Jack asked.

"Well, this is the sorta thing ya should keep to yerself if ya follow my meaning, particularly 'round our guests. I have bit more strength than ya'd think from looking at me and that helps with one of Jam’s cards. I expect he'll tell ya more about it himself, and ya will likely as not feel it tomorrow," Stroph deflected.

Now Jack was curious. Stroph already looked like he had strength in ample supply. In fact, now that the point had been raised, Jack noted that nearly all the caravan members were bulky, moreso than coincidence would allow.

But before Jack could interrogate him any further, Stroph declared their current project done and took them both to other tasks.

The rest of the morning was a flurry of new experiences and acquaintances. He was shown the same knot that Stroph had struggled with earlier, and a half-dozen similar ones with their own specific purposes. Stroph seemed to take his mentorship of Jack as an opportunity to receive an additional pair of hands for all the miscellaneous work that he received from nearly everyone else. Which suited Jack just fine and soon enough he'd managed to be at least introduced to everyone.

There were a few uncertain looks from folks that knew that he was the tutor that Jam had told them about, and that yes, he was also going to be helping with all the scut work. But Stroph's earnest embrace of his help seemed to put everyone basically at ease.

Before long the final preparations were finished. Jam's cart led the caravan, with harnessed amblers pawing at the ground in front. Both the wagons were fixed in a line to that lead cart, and would remain so as long as the conditions were good and the gradient fair. Jam stood atop his cart and looked back at them, and Jack imagined he could see the eager tension of those ready to begin their journey. Jam's gaze moved over everyone, acknowledging every soul that would be making this journey, until finally he gave a single nod; with a click of his tongue the amblers set out.