Green watched the patrolmen leave the tavern. He did not linger either, and after settling his bill, he stepped outside.
The town's roads were muddy, and the air reeked of horse manure.
Just then, a caravan of more than ten wagons rolled into town, laden with everyday goods bound for the Barbarian Tribe. Things that could be found anywhere else sold for three to five times as much there, making it an enormously profitable trade. Yet the fat merchant riding the lead wagon looked deeply worried. He kept glancing back, anxious for some unknown reason.
Green spotted the caravan from a distance and sensed something unusual. He had been about to leave town, but stopped outside the tavern instead.
The caravan soon halted diagonally across from the tavern, at a freight depot. Every visiting caravan, no matter who they were, had to stop there. The depot was said to have powerful backing: its owner was the brother-in-law of a general stationed in the Rune Federation's northern garrison. When it first opened, some merchants with connections of their own had refused to play along. The general had promptly sent military inspectors to make examples of their caravans. Only after they had backed down and paid generous bribes had the matter ended.
These days, the depot took a five-percent cut from every caravan that came through.
As the wagons stopped, the fat merchant jumped down from the lead wagon and approached the door of the second with utmost respect. Rubbing his hands together, he said ingratiatingly, "Sir, we've reached town. Our wagons can't go any farther in. What would you like to do...?"
The wagon door opened, and a woman in a police uniform stepped out.
She was tall, and her slightly fitted uniform showed off her figure. But the Enchanted Pistol