didn't and so were likely visiting with
the view of returning the same day. More than that it was their
demeanor, especially the taller of the two men. He meant business.
Tansley watched as they entered Cox's trading post and
tried to calm his suspicions. Might he have jumped to conclusions?
Visitors were rare, could he pass up the chance of more custom? After
all, they may just be buying some things here, something they
couldn't get in Coralai. That was quite possible, but after his
recent dealings, he felt inclined to lay low. A quiet few days would
have been ideal, it would have meant no repercussions.
To almost immediately be visited by someone from Coralai
was exactly what he didn't want. Added to that, there was something
about these two that worried him. The younger one had an air of self
importance, while older of the two looked ex-militia, or maybe
just militia.
There was something about the way he carried himself. His right
arm resting casually at his side, yet the slight hook to the elbow
showed control, poise a readiness. They lacked the red uniform that
would single them out as militia, but then they could hardly come
this way dressed as such. Yet both wore identical clothes, white
tunics and black cloaks, like an unofficial uniform.
Going back downstairs he entered the front of his shop,
it was securely bolted and the wooden blinds closed, just as he had
left it the night before. If he was going to open for business he
would need to start unlocking things. He reached for the key on his
belt but hesitated, his inclination was to sit tight and wait for
them to leave.
With the smell of cooked bacon filling the hut and
providing a welcome distraction, Tansley went to the kitchen and
finished making his sandwich, deliberating as he did so, before
taking a bite.
He looked at the stove, his chimney would be billowing
smoke, they would know the building was occupied. Should he let them
in and bluff?
He went back into the shop front and looked around. With
the blinds closed it was dark but some light found its way from the
hallway and the windows upstairs. If they came in, what would they
see? Anything to indicate that he had indeed traded with some Coralainians
in the last few days, something he really didn't want to admit to.
It was then he saw the sack of damaged goods he had
packed the night before. It immediately jogged his memory, he was
supposed to be taking some things to Croneygee today. It had
completely escaped his mind, but now it seemed like sign. He took
another bite from his sandwich before placing it on the counter.
Reaching down and lifting the loose tile he took the
rabbit skin bag from the hidden compartment beneath. He opened the
pouch, took out the necklace and placed it in one pocket, three of
the clay vials went in another, before returning the pouch and
replacing the tile.
With that done, he put on his blue hooded jacket,
before carefully moving the sack of armor to the back of the store
and next to the woodshed.
No sooner had he done so than there was a knock on the
door.
It was the sound of the knocking, as much as anything
else, that made Tansley's mind up. Not the rat-tat-tat of an
inquiring customer but a slow rhythmic banging of an insistent
investigator.
Picking up his bag, Tansley quietly entered the woodshed
and closed the door behind him. He removed the logs from in front of
the hatchway, before opening it and going inside, pushing the bag
head of him as he went.
After a few seconds, he heard three more
bangs. They must have been loud for him to hear from inside the
tunnel. Insistent indeed, he thought, continuing along the dark
underground passage.
At
the sound of the men at the door, and the feeling of the earth
closing around him, Tansley felt memories being awakened.
It was a
few years earlier, in his old trading post further up the highway. He
could hear strange noises, there was movement downstairs, whispered
voices, the rattle of metal, the creak of floorboards.
the view of returning the same day. More than that it was their
demeanor, especially the taller of the two men. He meant business.
Tansley watched as they entered Cox's trading post and
tried to calm his suspicions. Might he have jumped to conclusions?
Visitors were rare, could he pass up the chance of more custom? After
all, they may just be buying some things here, something they
couldn't get in Coralai. That was quite possible, but after his
recent dealings, he felt inclined to lay low. A quiet few days would
have been ideal, it would have meant no repercussions.
To almost immediately be visited by someone from Coralai
was exactly what he didn't want. Added to that, there was something
about these two that worried him. The younger one had an air of self
importance, while older of the two looked ex-militia, or maybe
just militia.
There was something about the way he carried himself. His right
arm resting casually at his side, yet the slight hook to the elbow
showed control, poise a readiness. They lacked the red uniform that
would single them out as militia, but then they could hardly come
this way dressed as such. Yet both wore identical clothes, white
tunics and black cloaks, like an unofficial uniform.
Going back downstairs he entered the front of his shop,
it was securely bolted and the wooden blinds closed, just as he had
left it the night before. If he was going to open for business he
would need to start unlocking things. He reached for the key on his
belt but hesitated, his inclination was to sit tight and wait for
them to leave.
With the smell of cooked bacon filling the hut and
providing a welcome distraction, Tansley went to the kitchen and
finished making his sandwich, deliberating as he did so, before
taking a bite.
He looked at the stove, his chimney would be billowing
smoke, they would know the building was occupied. Should he let them
in and bluff?
He went back into the shop front and looked around. With
the blinds closed it was dark but some light found its way from the
hallway and the windows upstairs. If they came in, what would they
see? Anything to indicate that he had indeed traded with some Coralainians
in the last few days, something he really didn't want to admit to.
It was then he saw the sack of damaged goods he had
packed the night before. It immediately jogged his memory, he was
supposed to be taking some things to Croneygee today. It had
completely escaped his mind, but now it seemed like sign. He took
another bite from his sandwich before placing it on the counter.
Reaching down and lifting the loose tile he took the
rabbit skin bag from the hidden compartment beneath. He opened the
pouch, took out the necklace and placed it in one pocket, three of
the clay vials went in another, before returning the pouch and
replacing the tile.
With that done, he put on his blue hooded jacket,
before carefully moving the sack of armor to the back of the store
and next to the woodshed.
No sooner had he done so than there was a knock on the
door.
It was the sound of the knocking, as much as anything
else, that made Tansley's mind up. Not the rat-tat-tat of an
inquiring customer but a slow rhythmic banging of an insistent
investigator.
Picking up his bag, Tansley quietly entered the woodshed
and closed the door behind him. He removed the logs from in front of
the hatchway, before opening it and going inside, pushing the bag
head of him as he went.
After a few seconds, he heard three more
bangs. They must have been loud for him to hear from inside the
tunnel. Insistent indeed, he thought, continuing along the dark
underground passage.
At
the sound of the men at the door, and the feeling of the earth
closing around him, Tansley felt memories being awakened.
It was a
few years earlier, in his old trading post further up the highway. He
could hear strange noises, there was movement downstairs, whispered
voices, the rattle of metal, the creak of floorboards.
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