"Smith and Tailor inside here. That's Tracker. He works for us. We're from Roses. We heard the road north was open again."

"Now you know better." He chuckled. I learned that he was in a good humor because of the weather. It was a nice day for the Barrowland.

"What's the procedure?" I asked. "Where do we put up?"

"Blue Willy is the only place. They'll be glad for the custom. Get yourself settled. Report to headquarters by tomorrow." -

"Right. Where is the Blue Willy?"

He told me. I snapped the traces. The wagon rolled. "Seem pretty lax," I said.

"Where are you going to run?" One-Eye countered. "They know we're here. There's only one way out. We don't play by their book, they stick the stopper in the bottle."

The place did have that feel.

It also had a feel that went with its weather. Down. Depressing. Smiles were scarce, and those mostly commercial.

The hostler at Blue Willy didn't ask names, just payment up front. Other traders ignored us, though the fur trade, traditionally, is an Oar monopoly.

Next day a few locals came around to examine our goods. I had loaded up with what I had heard would sell well, but we got few nibbles. Only the liquor drew any offers. I asked how to get in touch with the tribes.

"You wait. They come when they come."

That done, I went to Guard headquarters. It was unchanged, though the surrounding compound seemed seedier.

The first man I encountered was one I remembered. He was the one with whom I had to do business. "Candle's the name," I said. "Of Candle, Smith, Smith, Tailor, and Sons, out of Roses. Traders. I was told to report here."

He looked at me oddly, like something way back was nagging him. He remembered something. I did not want him worrying it like a cavity in a tooth. He might come up with an answer. "Been some changes since I was here in the army."

"Going to the dogs," he grumbled. "The dogs. Worse every day. You think anybody cares? We're going to rot out here. How many in your party?"

"Four. And one dog."

Wrong move. He scowled. No sense of humor. "Names?"

"Candle. One Smith. Tailor. Tracker. He works for us. And Toadkiller Dog. Got to call him by his whole name or he gets upset."

"Funny man, eh?"

"Hey. No offense. But this place needs some sunshine."

"Yeah. Can you read?"

I nodded.

"Rules are posted over there. You got two choices. Obey them. Or be dead. Case!"

A soldier came from a back office. "Yeah, Sarge?" "New trader. Go check him out. You at Blue Willy, Candle?"

"Yes." The list of rules had not changed. It was the same paper, almost too faded to read. Basically, it said don't mess with the Barrowland. Try it and if it don't kill you, we will. "Sir?" the trooper said. "When you're ready?" "I'm ready."