The next day Matthew introduced me to the caravan leader, Lisa Kershaw, outside his trade shop. Her caravan was pulled up behind the shop in a space designated for loading wagons.

Lisa was a short, older, no-nonsense type woman. Her dark hair was tied up in a bun atop her head, a blue button up shirt and light tan traveling pants covered her athletic frame. Her handshake was firm and her sky blue eyes were kind as Matthew introduced us. We had a brief chat about the duties I would have during the trip. She seemed like a fair boss as long as you followed her rules, and I could live with that.

“Feel free to familiarize yourself with the caravan and your fellow workers,” she said, “I need to speak to Matthew about what you’ll be loading up for me tomorrow.”

“See you then ma’am,” I said with a shallow bow and a wave. The caravan would consist of four covered wagons; each filled with ores from the mountains bound for the smithies of Stronburg; one covered wagon full of food and water for the auroch teams that would pull the wagons; another wagon for the workers and guards’ provisions; and finally Kershaw’s own wagon. Painted in the style of the nomadic peoples in bright reds with scrawling yellow trim around the windows and door, she would work and sleep inside the wagon during the trip.

I approached a wiry caravan guard sitting near the wagons and introduced myself. He eyed me from underneath a wide brimmed hat woven of straw and gave his name as Mycah. After a few of my half-hearted attempts at conversation fizzled out, he let me know that the porters were meeting in the common room of the Griffon.

I took the hint and wandered off.

Innkeeper Briggs noticed me as I entered and nodded towards a large group of large men tucking into a table full of food. The man seated at the head of the table noticed me and stood up as I approached.

“Will you be joining us for the trip to Stronburg?” he asked.

“I will,” I answered.

“Wonderful!” he boomed, grabbing my hand in a crushing grip and pumping his arm up and down, his bushy mustache bobbing in time with his words. “I am James Loamwood, work supervisor for this trip. Glad to have you aboard. Join us.” He waved toward an open spot on the bench.

“I’m glad you’re so welcoming,” I said, stepping into the seat.

“You met our guards I take it,” he whispered conspiratorially.

I nodded.

“They’re a sour bunch,” he said, “But they keep the caravan safe and they do it well. Saw off a bandit ambush on our way here with no cargo lost and minimal injury to any of our men. We stick to our jobs and give them their space and we all get along. And more importantly, we all get where we are going in one piece.”

Matthew found me there, sharing food and laughter with my new friends. After greeting my fellow diners with hearty slaps on the back, he motioned for me to join him at a booth in a quieter corner of the inn.

Waiting until I had settled in opposite him he began, “It’s clear to me you plan on leaving with the caravan in the morning. And that’s fine, it’s your choice. I won’t say I’m not disappointed but you need to do what you think is best.”

“Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me,” I said, “I truly am in your debt. If there’s ever anything you need, send word to me and I’ll do my best to see it done.”

“You’ve got it lad, and if anything changes or you can’t find work in the capitol, you’ll be welcome back here.”

“That means a lot to me,” I said, standing up and holding out my hand. Each grasping the others forearm, we briefly but warmly embraced.

Next Chapter: Chapter 5