Vesper's next three weeks were great if he didn't dwell on the fact that his few bronze coins he'd saved were all but gone, the Lucridge library had finally collapsed, and Alry was still an annoying little Fae.

He sat in Slum Picken's Inn and pounded back sour-tasting beer at the bar. Vesper didn't dare to ask where Grunkor had found the vile liquid he sloshed around in his tankard.

"It's time for me to move on, Grunkor. I've lived in this city too long and need answers that just aren't here."

"That's good. Make sure to mail me the coin you owe Grunkor."

"Yes, I'll pay you back, Grunkor. If anything, you should be glad I'm going and taking Alry with me."

"Oh, I'm happy you're leaving. You're trouble, and that tiny demon is even more trouble. Trouble. Trouble. Trouble. Grunkor will finally be able to sleep with both eyes closed. No more hair pulling for Grunkor."

"Well, we'll definitely visit when we come back to Lucridge."

"Take your time. Don't feel rushed to come back." Said Grunkor.

Vesper ignored the barbs since he understood where Grunkor was coming from. Vesper scanned the wreckage of the inn, the cracks in the wooden walls, upturned and broken tables and chairs were piled haphazardly in the corner, crumpled and dented tankards lined Grunkor's bar top. All of it was caused by Alry and him.

"Sure," Vesper said. He nodded and exited the inn for the last time, for a good while.

Vesper was done, wrapping up his business sooner than he expected. Grunkor and Olbin only took a few words for Vesper to convey that he was leaving, and Vesper didn't want to go say bye to Lady Eldin, even if he should. Vesper was a grown man and didn't have a place in an orphanage anymore. She'd be busy tending to the other orphans anyway. It was better for everyone this way.

Vesper didn't pack much, aside from the clothes on his body, the ancient grimoire with a satchel that Quill had given him, and a dusty, worn cloak Vesper managed to find, probably left by one of the few customers that Grunkor had in the past. Alry sat on Vesper's shoulder, invisible to the world. She claimed it was a cloaking spell.

Quill had said his wagon would be easy to spot, among the two other merchant companies traveling within the caravan headed to the capital. He was right in a way. Certainly not in the way Vesper had envisioned, but it definitely stood out.

Old worn wheels with missing spokes and a greyish color to the wood caused Vesper to wonder how the wagon didn't collapse under the relatively immense load of books piled higher than a cyclops. It was one of the many great mysteries of the world. Shamefully no one would ever care enough to solve how this utterly useless wagon managed to work. The few people that witnessed Quill's wagon just couldn't care enough.

Vesper had yet to find Quill, but he figured it would save some time for Vesper to hop on the wagon.

"Get your filthy hands off my books!" shouted Quill.

Vesper looked around, confused. Quill was nowhere to be seen. Was it magic, was Quill turned into a ghost? Vesper went through all the possibilities and scenarios of where Quill could be.

"Where are you?" Vesper asked.

"I created a pocket inside the books. I figured if we were robbed by bandits, this would be a good place to hide. Learned this technique from an old friend of mine, back in my [bookworm] days. As a specialist as a book salesman, he learned the tricks of the trade quickly. Even pioneered some neat tricks."

"Won't the bandits just burn the books? I heard that bandits like burning stuff." Said, Vesper.

"No one's cruel enough that they'd burn priceless books!"

"Well, they might!"

"That's absurd!" Quill yelled. "I'm staying here. Make sure to guide the oxen, Vesper. I can barely see where I'm at."

Vesper just shook his head. He hopped on the front of the wagon, grabbing the reins of the old oxen pulling the cart. The oxen had patchy grey fur, so Vesper named him Patchy.

Although Vesper didn't show it, he was slightly embarrassed at Quill's eccentric antics. He got weird looks from the few mercenaries hired to guard the carts against bandits. It worried Vesper just how few mercenaries there were and their rusted and ill-fitting gear.

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"Hello there!" A boisterous voice came from the head merchant of the wagon in front of Vesper. He was a thicker fellow, Vesper thought. Vesper was being generous; the merchant was fat, very fat. He was also bald.

But that was ok for a man as rich as Doric, who couldn't care any less about his appearance because he ate well and was rich. Not royalty rich, or even lesser noble rich, but far richer than any peasant. He loved his lavish lifestyle of expensive brothels, good booze, and hearty helpings of food procured by the kingdom's greatest chefs.

"Hello! You must be Joric." Vesper stated.

"That I am. And who would you be? You're Quill, right?"

"No. No. I'm not Quill. Quill is hiding inside those books. Doesn't want to get caught out by bandits."

"Don't tell him where I'm hiding! When the bandits interrogate him, he'll give away my position!" Yelled Quill, furious.

"Sorry about him; he doesn't get out much," Vesper explained.

Joric paused and furrowed his brow. It was an uncomfortable silence.

Joric let out a boisterous laugh. "Splendid, interesting folk are always welcome to travel and share in my entertainment. You and Morrel will get along wonderfully."

"Who's Morrel?" Vesper asked.

"The other merchant is coming with us, of course. You'll get to meet him when we stop for the night and gather around a bonfire. You'll love the roasted duck with saffron and dill. It's delightful!"

"That does sound pretty good." Admitted Vesper. "Oh, it is, Vesper!"

A chill went down Vesper's spine. He hadn't told this merchant his name or anyone else within the caravan. Quill knew it, but he hadn't spoken with anyone with the caravan.

"Wonderful!" I'll see you tonight, said Vesper.

Joric waltzed off.

"Quill, have you talked to Joric before?" Vesper asked.

"No, I haven't. He's such a lovely man."

"Yea, I guess he is." Vesper could shake the feeling that something strange was going on. He had known Vesper's name; maybe he'd simply asked around. It wasn't all that uncommon for a merchant to know what was going on in a city. Maybe he had misheard; maybe it was just paranoia. Vesper shook the feeling.

It turned out that guiding a wagon wasn't all that different from driving a farm cart, which was something Vesper was familiar with. Wagon's were bigger and required more room to turn, but the path to the capitol was very straight. It was the path that got the most traffic, so this wasn't surprising at all.

What made Vesper nervous was how the wood creaked as the wagon went over small stones and uneven ground. He worried that the books would cave in, crushing Quill and stranding Vesper in the middle of nowhere. Maybe the other merchants would let him tag along.

Nowhere, where Vesper and Quill found themselves, was a forest with vibrant shades of greens, from bushes to pine trees, occasionally Vesper would spot some small game scurry out across the merchant's path. It wasn't unique or even noteworthy and wouldn't even be named on a map. Vesper admitted it was pretty.

As the sun sunk closer and closer to the ground, Vesper's back ached, and his mind hurt more as Alry sent a telepathic scream of excitement for each little creature or odd plant she passed. Apparently, the Fae didn't have wildlife like what was found on the mortal plane.

"Vesper, are we there yet?" complained Quill, who had grown bored sitting in the darkness underneath heaps of books.

" This is the third time you've asked! We'll get there when we get there. Believe me, I can't wait until we stop and Alry stops pointing out every stupid creature she sees in my brain. I can't even think in peace!" Vesper grumpily shouted.

"Jeez, I was just asking," Quill responded.

Yeah, no need to be such a buzzkill.

Vesper let out an exasperated sigh. He knew he was acting unreasonably. How did the merchant know his name? He couldn't stop thinking about it, especially considering the recent events with Alry. It left him paranoid and grumpy.

Finally, as the sun sunk underneath the ground, a horn was blown, and the caravan halted. It was time to set up camp for the night. Quill dug his way out of the mountain of books as the other merchant groups began setting up tents and creating a bonfire to cook. Vesper admired how quick and experienced they were.

Logs were felled and dragged to the bonfire to be used as benches, luxurious purple banners hung and tied to the large, opulently embroidered tents of white and gold. It was excessive in every unnecessary way. That was how Joric ran his caravan, his guards, everyone who worked under him.

Vesper stood by the bonfire, watching Joric's private chef, a foreigner from the islands of Marrok, prepare roasted lamb. He enjoyed the scent of roasting duck and the exotic spices lathered on it. He was a mute as far as Vesper could tell.

He was short for a man in Calfor. His skin was dark tan, covered in tribal tattoos. Around his neck, he wore an adorned collar, made from finest gold, embedded with luxurious stones of various colors.

"Ahh, Vesper. Glad you could have joined us. This will be a treat." Joric bellowed.

Vesper jumped, startled as the large man put his hands on Vesper's shoulders.

"Those are some good senses you have. They'll keep you from getting eaten by the wolves. You did know this was wolf territory?"

"I didn't," Vesper responded.

"A word of wisdom from an experienced traveler is to always learn about the local fauna before traveling. Too many of my coworkers make that mistake and end up in the mouths of hungry drakes or voracious boribs." Joric paused.

"Means more business for me!" Joric bellowed, laughing at his own joke. "Come! I must introduce you to Morrel!"

Vesper gave a pleading look towards Quill to help him, but Quill was too busy reading one of his books to notice. Vesper's heart beat faster as adrenaline coursed through his body. As Joric guided Vesper through the forest, Vesper couldn't help but think he was going to be murdered on the spot.

Vesper stumbled forward as Joric pushed him into an opening. There sat an old man. He was everything that Joric wasn't. His long grey beard went down to his waist; he was frail and wore a simple brown cloak. He didn't look like a merchant.