The day wore down into dusk, and Joji and Alaric finally stopped fooling around. The road had shaken the extra noise out of them.
More than once, Joji glanced at his system window, hesitating over whether he should take another mission at all.
One thing, however, was certain. He was not touching Sir Risqué. The reward had been impressive, true, but his years with online games had taught him well enough how such systems liked to escalate.
The next task might demand another woman found somewhere along the road. Joji was not opposed to taking more wives. If anything, the thought appealed to him.
He simply was not ready to step into that sort of trouble yet. For now, Sir Honorable felt like the safer choice. He drew a breath and clicked it. The mission flashed before his eyes.
{Second Mission of Sir Honorable}
{Walter Cutlers stood foremost in the running to become patriarch of his family conglomerate, yet his own brothers and sisters had marked him as a target in the ruthless succession for power.}
{Melchor, his brother, has nursed envy of Walter's ventures these many years. Keep Walter safe from his contrivances as you travel.}
{See that he grows alert to the snares being laid behind his back, without reciting, outright, the particulars Sir Engine has set down. Employ whatever other means this mission allows.}
{Milestones of Completion: Take your reward from Walter Cutlers himself. The sum he pays will determine the measure of your reward from Sir Engine.}
{Time's bound: None}
{Penalty: Bide a year before you may set yourself up as a merchant.}
Joji rubbed at his eyes and frowned. He had expected whatever mission came next to have something to do with the town of Lacrosse.
Sir Engine was supposed to help him grow strong quickly, just as promised.
'Does that mean Walter will matter to my strength somehow?' he wondered.
Alaric caught the change in his face at once. He leaned closer, keeping his voice low so the caravan would not overhear.
"Joji, what is it? That look means trouble. Did you spot someone lurking about?"
Joji knew he could not speak of Sir Engine. If the wrong person heard even a whisper of it, they would take it for some coveted artifact, and everyone around him might end up as collateral. So he chose his words with care.
"I actually know Mister Cutler. We need to help him," Joji whispered back.
Alaric blinked, plainly confused. He could not see how that made any sense. Joji had gone on a few beast raids with him, yes, but knowing a man of the Cutler Family was far beyond anything he would have expected. Still, there was not a trace of jest in Joji's tone.
"Joji, I do not know how you came by his favor," Alaric said, "but at least tell me what is going on."
Joji knew Alaric could be trusted. The reason was simple. His late father, Hedrick, had taken Alaric in when he was still an infant, and even his mother, Eleonor, had treated him like a son.
Joji of Earth could see plainly enough how deep that bond ran.
So he explained the conspiracy within the Cutler Family, giving only enough to sound believable while keeping Sir Engine hidden. Alaric listened without interrupting. Then, when Joji finished, he burst out laughing, even wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.
"All right," Alaric said softly, a wry curve touching his mouth. "But one thing. If the waters prove too deep, we run."
"You do not need to ask me that," Joji said, patting him on the back.
Before long, they made camp in a clearing. Joji and Alaric stayed alert to the highest degree while wearing easy faces, as though they had no care at all.
They had already spotted two separate groups shadowing them from afar, both keeping their distance and thinking that distance made them invisible.
Alaric sat by the fire, rolling an arrowhead between his fingers. His posture looked lazy.
One of the guards approached with a smile too polished to be innocent.
"Lady Ava, I may be old, but I am a gentleman. I mean no offense. I only wished to ask whether you might allow me the honor of exchanging letters with you," the man said.
Then he took Alaric's hand and kissed it.
That was all it took.
The others came in at once, one after another, each asking the same thing in different words, swarming him like flies around sweet wine. Alaric raised both hands as though calming a crowd in the market.
"Men of honor, I do have a proposition, one that may benefit all of you."
Caught by his beauty and easy charm, the men nodded at once and listened.
Alaric pulled out a stack of small portraits. The moment the paintings caught the firelight, whistles and cheers broke out around him.
Joji looked once, then looked at the men with pity.
"Simps," he murmured.
The portraits were of women. Not naked. Not even dressed in anything especially scandalous. They were covered nearly head to toe. One showed only a pair of ankles. Another had bare arms up to the shoulders. A third revealed half a knee.
That alone was enough.
Coins clinked at once as hands reached for purses, eyes bright as gamblers at a winning table. Alaric fed the fever with perfect ease.
"Each portrait has an address written on the back," he said, sweet as cream. "And if someone were to take one, only to learn later that his heart was not sincere, then where would a lady like me be meant to show her face?"
The guards murmured among themselves with grave solemnity, as though the matter touched on oath and honor.
While Alaric kept up his charade by the fire, Joji scanned the dark edges beyond the camp. He kept waiting for an arrow to fly or a javelin to come hurtling out of the trees.
'Any moment now,' he thought.
He also needed to get close to Walter Cutler. Not in passing, but alone, with enough time for a clean conversation. He searched for a way to make that happen, his mind working fast, until his eyes settled on the cook.
Joji watched every ingredient go into the pot. Simple pottage. Water. Oatmeal. Barley. Onion. Cabbage. A whole lump of salt.
Then he saw it. A clear vial, and nothing about it looked like spice.
The cook moved quickly. His eyes flicked first toward Joji and Alaric, then toward the rest of the guards. Thinking no one had noticed, he smirked and stirred the pot while whistling, as if he were doing nothing more than making supper.
Joji looked away from the fire. He had already seen what he needed to see.
Now all that mattered was acting in time. His attention shifted back to the dark, marking where the two groups had positioned themselves, and he gave Alaric a look that told him to be ready.
Soon, the lid of the pot rang.
"Soup's ready."
The cook called it out with a grin spreading across his face, a grin far too wide for both Joji and Alaric to like.
Then he took the largest bowl and carried it straight to Mister Walter.
Walter lifted the bowl, ready to drink. Then a huge hand closed around it.
The merchant and the cook both stumbled back on the damp, leaf strewn ground.
In the firelight, Joji looked every bit the giant, seven feet of broad shoulders and brute force, the sort of man who did not ask twice. The guards drew steel at once and ringed him with leveled blades.
"Big man, if you mean harm to our patron, we will answer with steel," the head guard roared.
Alaric stepped in, smooth as oil.
"Easy, all of you. This man does not move on a whim, and he is not throwing a fit over a bowl of soup. Tell them what you need, Desmond."
Joji looked first at Walter, then at the cook, who let out a small, sharp squeak.
He shoved the bowl into the cook's hands.
"Eat it," Joji said.
"I-I'm still full," the cook stammered. "I'm the cook. I already ate."
As though he had prepared the lie beforehand, he grabbed a larger bowl than the one Joji held and forced a shy little smile onto his face.
"I even ate more," he said, some of his confidence returning.
Joji did not say another word. He simply took the full bowl of hot soup the cook had offered Walter.
"Eat," he said again, pushing the rim of the bowl toward the cook's mouth.
The cook's face crumpled. Tears spilled down at once.
"Master Walter, please, do not punish me anymore. I would never eat before everyone else again."
He tried to shrink the crime into something smaller, greed instead of murder.
Joji's hand closed around the cook's arm. Muscle bunched beneath his grip.
"Ah, ah, it is going to break. Stop, stop," the cook screamed.
"Are you going to eat or not?" Joji asked, his voice rising just enough to make the threat in it plain.
The cook's eyes darted wildly. He knew he was finished the moment that stew touched his tongue. Panic lent him strength. He shoved hard and bolted into the dark.
Alaric's bow was already up. The string snapped.
The shot flew true. The arrow drove through the back of the cook's foot, slipping clean between the toes. He crashed to the ground, rolled in the dirt, and screamed.
The guards were no fools. They caught on at once and rushed in, seizing the scoundrel by the scruff, ready to question him on the spot.
"Let me do it," Alaric said with a smile.