Anxiety in His Heart

Everyone knew that Grand Duke Wessen often traveled in disguise. You never knew whether the young man flirting with girls on a street corner might be him.

Tension around Weissenburg had reached unprecedented levels. Every household had sent people out to clean the streets. While Buksa was directing people as they unloaded grain and loaded it onto wagons, he saw a middle-aged porter spit on the ground. A group of police officers and "sanitation inspectors" wearing red armbands dragged the man to the roadside, beat him, and took him away.

There were many others at the docks, like Buksa, who had brought in wheat. Everything was in a state of chaos.

There was still a lot to do: find somewhere to stay, find a warehouse for the grain, and gather news.

In the past, someone would have come ahead to make arrangements. This time, they had to find a place after arriving. It was nearly noon before the group finally settled in.

Buksa had just paid for their lodgings when the latest news arrived: the first round of bidding would be held at Victory Ranch.

His face immediately darkened. His apparent concern over the few coins he'd paid for the rooms was just a pretense. In truth, that place was a painful memory for him.

There was no choice. They had to hit the road again.

Weissenburg's staff had designated a route for the convoys participating in the bidding to take to Victory Ranch, so that all the roads wouldn't get clogged. As it happened, it was the very same road Buksa had traveled years ago.

"Oh, isn't that Mr. Buksa?"

"Good to see you, Mr. Marzuk."

Buksa ran into the steward of a nearby estate, and they continued on together.

Marzuk lowered his voice. "I heard Count Weissen is