---

Andrew acknowledged the sign and looked around. He motioned to the guard and told him that he would like to be taken to his room. He knew that this would set things in motion to get him placed in a room. It was about as much privacy as he was going to get. He excused himself from Bork for the moment and headed for the stairs. The guard got a key and then went to check the room. Andrew sighed to himself, spotting four places that the guard did not check. He would have to get some help training his guards. When the room was clear, Andrew did his own check and latched the window over the roof. He asked the guard to call for the Harbor Master. He had the guard stay out in the hall while the two of them met.

Bork watched Andrew go upstairs, leaving him alone with the Captain and the clerk. Turning to Drom, he said: ”I got a very strange request from that Kriltra catlady. She wanted me to get a golden bowl from you. She said it was magical and glowed, and that her husband’s life somehow depended on it. She seemed really keen to get it, to the point that she tried to both bribe me and threaten me to get me to do it. Could you please tell me what’s going on?”

The dwarf did not in the least like being beholden to the goblin clerk, but he had little choice here.



The harbor master’s face showed none of his race’s wonted equanimity when he came to Andrew’s room. Worry, frustration, confusion all showed themselves plainly enough that probably even Bork could have noticed them. Perhaps he had.

”Your Grace,” he began, ”thanks for talking to me in private. What’s this about the guild war being ‘over’? It seems to me it’s just begun in earnest. I got this note saying all I had to do was make sure Silverclaw and his wife got on the next boat out of here and not hinder such a thing. What if they don’t? What if the ship’s captain doesn’t *want* to take them? Am I supposed to nail them into a crate or something?”

Nelthurin paced miserably as he talked. He had good reason to be unhappy with the situation. For years he had played both ends to the middle, playing nice with the guild while also doing business with the freelancers, and even with would-be successors like Silverclaw. Now it seemed like the abbot was going to set up the Gold Tooth to be the only game in town. That might well be a good thing. But could Pigeon Spit get there in one piece? Could he?

”I feel like I’m being asked to show my loyalty to a guild I never wanted to belong to,” he complained. ”I’ve maintained a reputation for somebody anybody can work with. This isn’t my crusade, it’s my life and my livelihood!” He threw up exasperated hands. ”Now I’ll have a target on my back regardless of what I do.”

He took a breath and willed himself to calm down. He sat across from the abbot and looked down at his fingers for a moment. ”Why all these big moves now, Your Grace? What have you got that makes you think you can pull this off without a bunch of bodies floating in the harbor?”

---

Andrew looked at the man with a very puzzled look on his face. It would be clear to the Harbor Master that most of this was news to him. He tried to start at what he thought was the most important, with a sigh he started.

“Let’s start at the beginning here. I haven’t even met with the Gold Tooth guild. That was to be later this evening. I don’t even know who the guild master is or the the seconds and I thought the guild war was them against me?” He said. The Abbot truly was under the impression that the guild was against him. This was the first he heard about another faction or two.
He continued, “If I have my ways, I would rather try to negotiate a peace with the factions than to get into kill each other.” The guilds were too small not to try to work things out.

“As to the loyalty,” he said, “I want you to continue playing both ends against the middle. It the only way to keep the balance, not everything the guild wants should they get. Nor should they be allowed to operate any way they want,” he said, “I want your loyalty to me, the Abbot, not me the thief. I want you to know that I will need to be kept in the dark about some operations. At times, I will need a heads up about things to watch for. The normal procedure is to replace people in key positions like yours with your own people. I would like to think that you care about the people even though a little bit of this and that makes it to your pocket or to someone in need. Like you, I’d like to get a slice of the pie too. It would allow me to do things that can’t be done officially.”

He paused, then asked, “Who is Silverclaw?”
“I know nothing about putting him and his wife on a boat,” he said.
“Have you heard why?” Andrew asked. Andrew knew that if there was a rumor it would make it quickly to the Harbor Master’s office because the port was the center of the town.

---

---

The scribe looked at Bork and said, “Master Engineer, I am not sure that it would be good to talk about the man, who tried to kill you and did poison me this morning, in the common room of the inn would be appropriate. Attacking us was paramount to treason as we represent the crown.”
With a very serious tone, "If this was the capital, the King would have had him executed."

She held up a gold bowl with a lid that glowed. She handed the Engineer the bowl and told him, “If you intend to negotiating with this, make sure you get something worth its value.” She held back a bit of the man’s fur in case she needed to scry on him.

The captain did take notice of the conversation.

When Drom pushed the bowl towards him, Bork’s eyes goggled and his mind boggled. Staring at the bowl, the dwarf’s mouth worked mutely and his head shook from side to side. He stopped and frowned, then looked up sharply at the clerk. ”Wait, kill *me*?! What are you talking about? I never even crossed paths with this Shadowclaw, only the catlady. And she tried to blackmail me, but she didn’t attack me.”

He glared at the unexpectedly proffered bowl as if it had crashed a bridal shower. After a pause he shook his head again. ”I don’t even know why she wants this bowl. Do you? And she wants it bad. I wouldn’t have to negotiate to get a good price; she already offered a ridiculous one. I pushed a bag of gems away that she offered me.” Still regarding the bowl uneasily, the engineer brought his hands up on the table to either side of it. He bunched them up into fists and rapped out an impromptu rhythm while he continued to ruminate. "I don't like this."

Finally, he looked up at the clerk, suspecting for the first time that she was more than just the mundane goblin functionary she presented to the world. ”Do you *want* me to give her this bowl?” he asked, with more than just a hint of accusation. ”You running some sort of game here? One that I’m going to get jammed up in?” There was an old saying that things that sounded too good to be true probably were. Simply being handed a Golden Bowl of Life and Death with which he could enrich himself and resolve all of his apparent conflicts besides certainly fit that description.



It was even easier to read the elf’s expression than before now that he had heard the abbot speak: he was utterly flabbergasted. The abbot didn’t know? He wasn’t privy to all the guild goings-on? If Nelthurin had been a Gold Tooth insider himself, he might have worked that out, but to him, on the outside looking in, Andrew might as well have been Platinum Tooth. And why would I think that? He asked himself reproachfully, pummeling himself with the armaments of hindsight. His Grace just got off the boat a week or so ago after having been away for years!

The harbor master nodded deprecatingly. ”I may have made some assumptions, Your Grace,” he said, abashed. ”Silverclaw is a tabaxi; something of a freelance crook. The Gold Tooths don’t like him much. He’s involved in some sort of smuggling;” he smirked and indicated himself. ”That’s how I know about them. And I try to keep their rackets and the Gold Tooths apart so there isn’t a turf war in Pigeon Spit. But it’s not up to me now. When I heard about the ‘Cat’s Claw’ or the ‘Red Claw’ or whatever they call themselves, I suspected Silverclaw. And now it appears I was probably right.”

Nelthurin looked down at his thin, nimble fingers and started drumming them on his knees. ”The guild is making some sort of big move,” he said after a moment. ”One meant to squash any sort of turf war in Pigeon Spit. I guess I didn’t figure they would dare such a thing without some serious juice behind them. Like yours. That’s why I thought you knew all about it.” He puffed his cheeks and tried unsuccessfully to blow the awkwardness out. Then he looked up. ”If not you, then who? Who would have the front to just declare ‘That’s it. No more turf wars. Gold Tooth wins, case closed?’”

The elf realized after another awkward pause that he had not answered the abbot’s question about getting the tabaxi on a boat. ”Yeah, I got a note saying Silverclaw and his wife were to be on the next boat out of here. I couldn’t think of many people besides Your Grace with the authority to make that happen.”

---

She looked at the engineer and turned in her chair to really face him. "The bowl is only worth a couple hundred gold. The enchantment on the bowl is a simple light spell. You run your finger around it and say the phrase and it glows in the dark. I understand that he believes the bowl to contain powerful magics that can end him if some conditions are not met. Mainly leaving, which would seem to solve a lot of problems. The bag of gems may had been a fitting trade for a minor magical item. It metaphorically also contains a man's life, one that has committed treason by his actions my King. To raise a sword to strike you when you were unarmed. He also raised his sword to strike at the crown. You are hired by the appointed agent of the crown, are you not? The Captain and his men and many others have a sworn obligation to protect you."
She pause to let that sink in then continued, "Someone else acted on your behalf to protect you. I had the misinformation of receiving him."
She got a serious look on her face, "You now hold in your hands his fate by the choice you make. "
"Choose well, what you do and why. You can redeem him or end him. Blood will run in the street or maybe you gain an ally," she smiled up to him and returned to her scribe work.

It was the most words that the scribe had spoken around the engineer. There was an element of a maternal tone to her voice, the fact that it was directed at the engineer and not with. Three other things were noticeable, she did care what happened to people. If she was a mage, she could have killed Silverclaw, but didn't for some reason. The second was she wasn't going to give up her secrets anytime soon. The third thing is she had a spy network already in place.

---

---

As the Harbor Master went through his plight, he listened carefully then patted his knee and laughed. "I can't even get a silly wall built so I can plant a garden yet," the Abbot said with a smirk. He moved to the window and looked out. "I am wondering if who ever wrote the note was in the same position as we are? Not really knowing everything and making assumptions about the players involved and trying to direct the outcome to their liking," he said calmly.

His big plan was to get enough legal traffic coming through the port so that the influence of the thieves guild was minimized. He needed merchants and craft folk, farmers and other honest people to start to change the tone of the town.

"I'm wondering if we shouldn't have a meeting, the leader of the Gold Tooth, this Silverclaw, you, me, and maybe Brok to come to some better working relationship," the Abbot said. He wanted a cut of the money that his uncle would not know about. He knew that the engineer would need laborers and if he took one of the two ships out he would have smugglers coming after him, not to mention the young lovers that used it as an escape. But that was his romanticized memory thinking, he never made it to the ship to make out. Just to smuggle.
"Maybe dinner tonight in the back room?" he asked.
"I bet that the good Captain's men are not watching the kitchen entrance, so they could enter that way," he said quietly. He knew that it would be unusual for the three men to meet when a ship was coming in the next day.

---

---

It had been a rough transition. Going from being safe as money could buy to needing to pack up their operations in a day because some crazy Elven woman threatened to kill Silverclaw. because he was going to send a message to the Abbot by either beating up the engineer or sticking a knife in him a couple times. They were a threat to his operation and he didn't want they here. If he could scare them off, it would be easier when the Western Isle finally decided to invade the kingdom. He was a third party agent that was getting paid well for the information that was being sent to him by spies then packaged with the drugs. They had promised him a share of the dragons' hordes when the war was done. He just needed to be there watching what came in and out and making the drugs that the soulders would use to march and fight for days. It seemed funny that the invaders needed things from the place they were going to invade so they could invade it. Silverclaws really did not like the folk from the Western Ilses, slavery was offensive to the cat man but money and magic to study.

Bork’s forehead creased as he listened to Drom. The dwarf didn’t know much about magic; he hadn’t cared to learn, in spite of the fact that it would probably have made his life easier in all sorts of ways. ”So, are you saying that the bowl isn’t actually as valuable as Catlady and Silverclaw think it is?” he asked. He scratched his beard and thought. He was hanging by a thread here. These sorts of problems weren’t the kind he had come to Pigeon Spit to work on, yet they seemed to be piling unbidden into his lap.

”Treason, eh?” he asked. ”Seems a bit harsh.” He scratched a bit more. If Silverclaw had intended to harm him, that made him an enemy. Period. His reasons, and whether those reasons still held, were irrelevant. Working with him was out of the question. But did Bork want revenge? He didn’t feel that, as he had never actually seen the alleged attack. Nonetheless, this Silverclaw was bad news, and Bork preferred the idea that he still thought he was in danger.

Shaking his head, he pushed the bowl back to Drom. He heaved a regretful sigh as he did; Roswitha would have really liked those gems. ”I don’t want these people as allies,” he answered. ”I want them to go away, one way or another.” He shot the elf a grim look. ”I guess I’ll have to design a scaffold now.”



Nelthurin shrugged. ”I’m all in favor of sitting down and talking. Not sure our engineer is a suitable principal, though. He neither knows nor is comfortable with this sort of business, from what I can tell. He’d probably also prefer to spend the time with his designs.” The elf smirked and shook his head. Bork could draw, he’d give him that. He hadn’t seen the dwarf build anything yet, but he was sure he could. He was a dwarf, right?

Scribe Abbigale Drom

---

The scribe smiled at the Dwarven black and white thinking, logical, categorical, direct, and protected.

“A bag of gems might have bought you a beer or it might finance something like a new mill, bought some slaves the provided laborers that you could have freed,” she said, “ or maybe hired some craftsmen.”
She took a sip of a glass of wine then said, “The town is a wash with con artists, pirates and thieves at this point. It is their culture. So yes, the response is harsh. Open defiance of the rule of law needs a harsh response. We are trying to change things and will take some time. Hopefully we can.”

Abbigale did not believe that all people were just good. Nor did she believe they were all evil, some people are just more dangerous than others.

She didn’t believe that Silverclaw would stay in town. She had shown that she could reach him with her magic and the dreams he would have tonight would help him to buy passage on a ship out of here.

The captain was taking this all in. He did not like the elves deception, or what he believed it to be. He asked the engineer, “Do we mine gems?” It was a simple enough question but it had ramifications.

Bork smirked. If there was one subject a dwarf didn’t need a lecture on, it was the possible uses for a bag of gems. ”Not gonna lie. That hurt to do that,” he answered. He nodded as Drom commented on the state of the town. ”A place has eight score people and at least two criminal outfits?” he asked rhetorically, ”Yeah, I’d say there are some problems that need to be fixed if Pigeon Spit is to prosper.”

Finally, he looked up at the Captain. ”I don’t think so,” he answered honestly. ”But I haven’t been to the mines yet to ask Rorik about that. His Grace and I were supposed to go up tomorrow, but I’m not sure that will happen on schedule thanks to this recent nonsense. Until it does, I wouldn’t be able to tell you what if any gems we *could* mine here.”

A thought occurred to him. ”I wouldn’t mind getting a closer look at those gems, though, and asking Catlady where they came from. Perhaps we could simply confiscate them. I mean,” he gestured towards the clerk, ”you mentioned this Shadowclaw has committed treason, and she tried to extort something that would help him escape the consequences of it, right? I’m sure there’s some legal pretext for doing that, eh?” He looked back and forth between the Captain and Drom to see what they thought. Why negotiate for something they could rightfully just take?

---

The Captain noted the Engineers honesty and candor. It was a quality that was rare. He shook his head, "I would need two witnesses. If they are throwing around money like that they would have people willing to say they saw something differently. His Grace would then have to decide, then that would be appealed because of bias and we would have to wait for a ship then send for an inquisitor and a judge, and finally wait for a response." It would have been easier if he had a victim that could point a finger or even a body.
"Being the guards found you with her and she probably has witnesses that say that you were involved and you paid her in gems," he said.
In the Captain's mind, the facts were not adding up. He wanted to get his hands on Silverclaw and get to the bottom of the matter. But two thieves guilds were a bigger problem in his mind, thieves do not fight well with each other nor do they follow the rules.
He looked at the engineer and said, "Sounds like we will be in need a jail, secure storage, and street lights sooner than later."

Bork listened to the Captain pointing out the complications of his idea about seizing the gems. His throat emitted a slightly annoyed growl. People were so much messier than machines. After a moment he waved dismissively. ”Forget that idea, then. More trouble than it’s worth.”

As for the rest, law and order and such, the engineer had more to think about. He wasn’t going to have any trouble filling that book with drawings, provided he had time to make them. ”I’ve already got schemes for an oil press,” he told the captain. ”That means more lamp oil, and more light after dark. A proper jail might be premature. We don’t have the money nor the scale nor proper courts yet. But building a couple suitable sturdy rooms, with chains stapled to a wall for holding, might be workable for now. Some stocks might not be amiss, though, and some strongboxes for seized goods and collected fines.”

The dwarf’s thoughts ran to a whipping-post and a chopping-block as well. But one needed a proper knouter or headsman for those. Nothing uglier than a beheading botched by an amateur. Any guard could lock somebody into stocks.

He nodded. ”One thing this town will need is a proper locksmith. You and I, Captain, maybe one of the things we should do is survey the town’s physical security. Which houses have locks. Internal locks on secure rooms. Who has strongboxes, that sort of thing. What’s the lighting like at night. Which neighbors look out for each other. Which neighbors have it in for each other. Could a neighborhood watch be organized. I wasn’t looking for any of those things specifically when I went through yesterday, and you probably have a better eye for that than I do.”

More things to do. More things to see. Bork smiled. He liked having things to do. He glanced meaningfully around the inn. He understood why he was there, but that did not make the frustration of inactivity any less galling. ”If I’m going to be doing that with you, would I be safe enough in the open in your company, you think? Something I could do while we’re waiting for this…protective custody to be over?”

---

"Yes, that would be safe enough... If you carried a weapon on you. Doing what you ask isn't going to be easy. Would you want someone coming into your house asking where you kept your valuables and asking to see your security? Too many thieves to get them to trust us."

He liked the neighborhood watch idea, but he thought asking who was watching out for others and who had it in for someone would be ripe for abuse. What thieve wouldn't want to guard to put pressure on their rival?

"A secure building with chains and stocks would work. Using the stocks near the shore would be inhuman in the winter," the Captain said. "Maybe it could function as lodging and offices for the watch?"

---

---

"Selling it to them might be the best," she said, "That would be legal if not a little the nicest thing." She paused to think for a moment.
"Master Bork, you look a bit hungry. Could I buy you a bowl of stew and some bread?" she offered giving him a wink.
Putting down the quill after wiping the tip. Unlike the cat lady, her robes and dress concealed her femininity as she stretched her back and legs. Time was talking a toll on her body too. But she tried to hide it. Sitting for hours was getting harder, as was the cold.

When they got far enough away from the captain who was left with the task of recording names, occupation, parentage, and residency for a little bit, she said, "I am wondering if we know someone who might be willing to make that deal for us? Someone who doesn't realize that we can hear the conversations he has in his room and would deal with thieves and pirates. Someone who thinks he needs to sneak off to a meeting tonight and is having a private conversation with the Harbor Master."

She didn't want to say they should run a scam using Andrew, but she did think his romantic view of being a thief might be useful unless the fool really tried to stick himself in the middle of this.

She also pulled out of her pocket a note with the names of two farmers who would be willing to help and have their boys help build a low stone wall. They even have a couple large piles of field stones, in return they would like help with a barn that is starting to shift and fall over and designing something for storing hay and grain.
A second name on the note was that of a young boy, who she thought might make a good runner and page for the Engineer. The boy earlier in the day had been lifting a bull in a sling with a block-and-tackle.

The scribe had taken on two girls. One seemed a little strange with large clear blue eyes and long black hair. She was in a hand me down dress and was barefooted. She was now sitting in a chair swinging her legs back and forth on a bench. She was very young, maybe four or five years in age. In her lap sat a back cat that was adoring the attention she was giving it. The second was a red headed with green eyes who was well on the way to becoming a woman with a pale complexion. She was dressed in rough but nicer clothes. When she opened her mouth though she swore like a dwarf about be given a bath at sea.

---

---

When the Engineer headed back over to the captain, and the Scribe had headed off to freshen up. "The Captain looked at him. I'd like you to take the Scribe and the Abbot out to the mine early in the morning. If there is to be a confrontation among the thieves, I need them some place safe because I don't have enough guards to maintain order and keep them safe," he said. It was clear he was including the Bork in the them.

He nodded to the red head and said, "She was to be sold into prostitution when the ship came in. Her family was going to get her so drunk she wouldn't know what happened till afterwards. Her free beer was going to be the start of that. Brom paid for her out of her own pocket and is going to make a maid and cook out of her. You should put the Scribe on the list of people out to get her father."
He laughed, "Be prepared for some burnt food for a while and let me know if anything goes missing."

Nodding at the other one, "I can't figure out why she took on the little girl?"

When the scribe came back she gently told the girls to go get food and find an out of the way spot to eat. The older gave the younger a little push as a get away from me message. The younger looked shocked but kept the cat safe. The Captain excused himself and walked over to the redhead and gently put his hand on her back, leaned down to look at her eye to eye and said something. The look he got was pure defiance. He gently rubbed her arm and returned to the table.

"I have six sisters," he said to Bork as if that explained everything.

Deleted and revised

Bork nodded as the Captain pointed out the pros and cons of his proposals. ”Yeah, I can see people not wanting to just let us in their houses,” he agreed. ”I still think we could make the rounds in the evening, checking whether front doors have locks and places for lights.” He shrugged. It was a brainstorm, not a cause. ”As to the stocks inside the constabulary, sure. Won’t be as much public shaming as if they were outside, but maybe that’s just as well.”

The engineer and the captain didn’t have much time to discuss matters further because Drom wanted to talk, apparently. He grumbled a bit, in spite of the free warm soup, since he was coming to prefer the captain’s company and way of thinking to the goblin’s, but the clerk sometimes had shown she could be useful, so listening to what she had to say might not be totally worthless. The dwarf listened to her proposal with a frown at first while he tried to puzzle out her cryptic references, then with a growing realization and an equally growing grin. By the time she had finished, he was nodding and almost laughing.

”That’s actually a good idea. I bet the abbot would love to make that deal, and he’d be good at it.” Best of all, they’d win practically every prize: a bunch of gems for a relatively low-value bowl, a rapproachement with some tough customers who might otherwise make trouble, and his own integrity and reputation would be intact; no one would be able to say they’d bought Bork Valding with those gems when he hadn’t even received them. And Pigeon Spit -and therefore himself, indirectly- could still benefit from their use. And apparently the elf actually still retained whatever leverage she needed to keep the cat people in check.

He was even more pleased with the note the clerk handed him. It’d be nice to have some farm lads about who weren’t afraid of honest work. He pocketed the note and thanked the clerk. He might actually have to rethink his opinion of Drom, he thought grudgingly.

And then it was back to the Captain. He groaned when the Captain mentioned taking him and the abbot’s taking the clerk with them to the mine tomorrow; not because he didn’t care for the idea, but because he had just finished talking to her not one minute ago. ”I’m fine with that if she is,” he said. ”Wish you’d told me that ten minutes ago, though.”

He shook his head disapprovingly at the Captain’s story about the girls. ”This town is too small to have those sorts of problems. That’s what comes of folk not having enough to do.” That might also spell trouble later: if people were *used* to not having much to do, they might not appreciate the work chances properly when they came; they might see opportunities and encouragement as whip-cracking or something. People could be fools.

As to his question about why the clerk took the younger girl? Maybe she needed an understudy or something. How was he supposed to know what the goblin had in mind?

Suddenly, he remembered the note Drom had handed him and pulled it out of his pocket to show the Captain. ”Speaking of giving young people something to do, Drom recommended these lads to me. What can you tell me about them?”

---

The scribe smiled as the engineer took the bowl and agreed to give it to Andrew to bargain with.
“Don’t tell him the story or he might just give it to him with a pardon,” she said to Bork.

The meeting took place and surprisingly it was quiet. Andrew ended up with some influence with the guild which he liked. There was going to be an element of the Red Claws in town to make sure their investments and operation was protected. Which he did not like. From the meeting, Silverclaw and his wife would be booking passage on the slave ship the next day. They did not give much detail as to why and looked at Andrew like he should know. Andrew felt like he was winning, so he did not press. The sticking point was the glass blower. She was to stay and Andrew would be responsible for her, at least till a shop could be setup for her and she had tools. Andrew was not sure how this would go.

After some careful negotiations, mostly based on the knowledge of Nelthurin, and some prayer, an arrangement was struck that the remaining claws would be pardoned and allowed back into the Golden Tooth. With a little humor the suggestion was made that the guild change its name to the Tooth and Claw.

In terms of the drug smuggling operation, Silverclaw retained control. The rest of the guild operation was the same. Andrew would get a cut of operations profits and would be an advisor to the guild. He could honor his past and his “family” without taking day today control.

Brom looked at Bork like he had grown a third head when he passed on the captains suggestion.
“What use would you have for a scribe at a hole in the ground?” She asked. Daring him to give her an answer.

In response to the clerk’s question Bork shrugged. Not his idea, not his fight. He would simply mention the Captain’s request to the abbot later. Andrew was Drom’s boss, after all. If he said she belonged in a hole in the ground tomorrow, she’d better grab a lamp and a mining helmet. And if he didn’t, well, the Captain would just have to deal with it. And Bork would be fine either way.

He would not, of course, tell the abbot more than he had to about the bowl, only that that the cat people had thought it important enough to their well-being to offer a bag of gems for it. Basically what Kriltra had told him. The two items interested him from the meeting were the fate of the glassblower and of the drug business. He had shown Andrew the plants, and apparently the abbot was alright with allowing the trade to go on. Perhaps that Wehrli lout would be more amenable to picking drug plants for his buddies than he would building a wall for the dwarf and the abbot? The only thing the engineer would want is to make sure that Pigeon Spit got its “cut”, the one Kriltra had offered him.

Why did the glassblower interest him so? His costume jewelry idea for one thing. But more importantly, he had plans for an oil press. And glass bottles were the best for oil; they could be reused and even repurposed, whereas a clay, wooden, or skin vessel that had once been used for oil could not be safely used for much else afterwards. And they sold better, too, because they looked better and because people could more easily see what they contained.

And all this gave him ideas for more designs: a lamp with a reusable glass reservoir, a bottle of a standard size, that fit into the base. And there could be a peg that one turned to adjust the length of the wick for the kind of oil being used at the time. This was followed by a sketch of stocks, and leg irons that attached to a staple bolted to a suitably solid stone wall. Although he did not actually draw it, he amused himself by picturing Werhli locked into them.

---

Obnoxiously early in the morning, according to at least two of the riders, eight riders were being placed on a farm wagon to make the ride to the mine. It was the only thing that Andrew and the red hair girl were going to agree about for the entire day. Brom was placed on the bench so he could see what he was dealing with, the driver stood at the driving board, an archer rode behind the engineer, a swordsman at the back, the scribe and the two girls, Brom's servant boy was placed up on the bench with Brom, and then finally the glass blower. In a basket there was breakfast, fresh hot bread and sweet roles and fruit and dried meat. The women brought three small chests with clothing enough clothes to keep them in dresses for the next week. Then finally a large chest with blankets, pillows, and some finery was loaded. It was heavy. The last chest was the reason the Abbot had to ride his horse. But it meant that everyone on the wagon would a place to sleep tonight and a place to sit on the ride. There was room for the engineer to bring some equipment as they also were hauling new picks and shovels for the miners.

Andrew's horse was saddled, despite his protest and some profanity. He was to ride it to the mine and back. In his saddle bag was a book on different plants, one on birds, and a newly copied prayer book that Scribe Drom had copied for him.

As they rode with the river trail, climbing the town started to wake.