[Market Day] - Missing Shipments - Part 2

[Cathy Mosley]

The day was promising to be a warm one, even though they were coming into autumn. "We'll see at least a few more good market days," Batista commented as they strolled through the aisles. Her green eyes calmly looked the scene, but as always she was hyper-aware of her surroundings. A habit born of long years of being a Refuser, then an agent for The Company, and even with her current life it was not a habit she would let lax.

Corvin too was studying everything they passed, but it was more with curiosity. He was a Maker, and while he had now visited the material realm fairly regularly he also had a raven's curiosity.

"Which means," he said, "The Veil will be thinning."

"More Geiren's responsibility," she said, with a tone that also indicated, "fortunately."

They had to slow as they entered the caravan grounds - a place of high activity, and a great deal of sound as horses and oxen blew and stomped, and caravan teams endeavored to get wagons into place, and items unloaded.

Batista spotted the wagon master she was looking for, and carefully lifted her skirts as she stepped over a puddle.

"Marcus Down," she called out to get his attention.

The man was lean, with a weather face, and close cropped gray hair. He was dressed in dusty leathers, but seen up close you could tell they were of good quality. For Marcus Down was not only the wagon master, but a merchant, who had always insisted on seeing his supplies from point of origin to his shop.

"Miss Dyer," he greeted with a nod.

"Have you opened any of your crates yet?"

"Not yet. I wanted to wait till you got here."

She nodded. She had sent a missive to his warehouse in the capital of Claremont. With Downs' oversight of his merchandise she thought it would be a good test to see if he too would be impacted. And fortunately he had been willing to help.

They went over to where the crates rested. They were of varying shapes and sizes, because Marcus was an importer of furniture made by master crafts people, along with carpets made only by master weavers.

~We've come a long way,~ Batista thought. In years past Montfort had been site of many battles, and had been reduced to rubble several times. And each time had rebuilt. Now it was a prosperous town at the cross roads of many routes, and left relatively in peace thanks to its royal charter.

After checking his manifest, and reciting the key to the spell that protected the designated crate, Downs ordered some of his men to open it. They used crowbars to wrench the nails loose on the top of a crate, and with a groan the wood top pulled free.

What sat within was a library table, but not only made of polished ironwood. This was made of plain wood, and looked half finished.

"How!?" the merchant cried.