The Guildmaster examined the seals of the bales, boxes, and barrels, and called Guild servants to unload them. “Your record,” he said to the merchant, who pulled it from under his robe and handed it over. The Guildmaster thumbed down the pages.

Arcolin turned to the senior Councilor present. “By your leave, I would send my soldiers out of the city, but for my personal escort.”

“Indeed,” the Councilor said. “They will need a pass at the gate—” He pulled out a tally and bound it with an orange ribbon. “There. You could go with them, and we could send you a report.”

“No, thank you,” Arcolin said. “I prefer to wait and be sure the captives tell the truth of our dealings with them.” Though true, that was not his only reason: he wanted to be certain the cohort received its fair share of the bounty.

“Oh—of course.”

Arcolin went over to Stammel, who had the tensquads waiting in formation. “Here’s a token to pass the gate,” he said. “Tell Burek to find an excuse to come looking for me in about two glasses, with an escort of five—that’s the most they won’t question. I have plans for those swords the Council may not like.”

“Should he bring a wagon?”

“No. I intend to find a weaponsmith to turn them into spares for us, if the metal’s good enough. I can hire a cart, but I want a guard.”

“Yes, Captain.” Stammel took the token, turned and barked an order at the troops, and they marched, boot heels ringing on the stone.

Arcolin sent one of his escort with his horse, to find a farrier.

“Is something wrong?” one of the Councilors asked.

“Loose shoe,” Arcolin said. “It might hold another few days, but best get it done while I’m not on the road.”

“Prudent,” the man said, nodding his approval.

The tally of the merchant’s goods took a full glass. At the end, the Guildmaster spoke to the Councilors. “This merchant has discharged his duty to those who entrusted goods to him; he has delivered all bales, all boxes, all barrels on his record, and by the testimony of this man—” he looked at Arcolin, “this is the same record the merchant had when he was accosted. Of clandestine cargo I have no knowledge.”

“Then let us see,” the Councilors said.

Arcolin climbed into first wagon. “If you come close, you can smell the meat,” he said. They came, sniffed, and nodded. “As I told you, I gave some of the food to the village where this was found.”

“How can you be sure they won’t just give it to the brigands?”

“They were hungry themselves,” Arcolin said, without mentioning the tax collector. “I expect they ate it all that night, or most of it. Send someone up and I will show them the latch to the false floor.”

“Let the merchant show it,” the Councilor said, sending a dour look to the merchant, who complied. Sacks of grain … sides of salt pork … piles of salted dried fish …