“Walk with me, why don’t ya?” Willy cocked his head towards the main street.

  Tiller cast Pod a dubious glance. The leprechaun only stared back blankly, uninterested in this interaction. Tiller sighed and stepped up alongside Willy. The automaton started to float down the street at an easy pace as Tiller strode alongside.

  “Now, son, I heard the proposition you made to that trader back there. I thought it was a very fair offer to make, truth be told. In fact, I thought it was generous and the kind of arrangement that builds relationships.”

  Tiller said, “That was my thinking.”

  Willy said, “I like to build relationships. Heck, son, my whole business is built around building relationships. So what do you think I thought when I saw you trying to turn a one-off trade into a going concern like that? I thought I like the cut of this fella’s boots.”

  Tiller said nothing. Something about this being gave him deep concerns.

  “Son, I’m something of a generalist in this world. I trade bulk goods across the Barrens. You’ve seen my locomotive-mobile, I’m sure. She can carry tonnes, and I do mean tonnes. It gives me the freedom to find goods at a fair price in one region, and I do offer a fair price, and then still have room to make a little bit of a profit on them in regions where they’re in greater demand. It’s a win-win for all involved. The seller makes most of what they’d make selling local, but with the ease of a steady and willing buyer. No more hauling goods around from shop to shop, haggling and bartering all day, always chasing the higher bidder. No sir. With Ol’ Willy you get a fair deal, a square deal, and a long-term relationship. And, son, I collect. Now, you think for a moment what you could do with all of that free time and unconsumed mental energy.”

  Tiller did think about it. The idea had its appeal. He wouldn’t lose a day out of every ten or twenty playing this awkward game of trader. He could divert Reader’s research to shift priority from the carts he was developing. He spoke with narrowed eyes, “That sounds like a deal that’s almost a little too good to be true…”

  The digital face distorted and changed to appear somberly impressed. “Now, son, that’s what I like to hear. It’s rare enough these days to find someone with a good head on their shoulders like that. Yes sir, you are right to be suspicious. If it sounds too good to be true then it probably is too good to be true. Want to get down to the brass tacks?”

  “Sure… I’ll hear you out.”

  The digital face shifted again, an expression of placid happiness displaying. “Well, I’d take the offer you gave that shopkeeper and tack on, let’s say, ten percent. Three hundred and eighty-five for what’s on that cart. No limit to what I’d accept either. If you make triple the amount of goods then I’ll take ’em and pay triple. Only square dealing with Ol’ Willy.”

  “You’re offering me more without me asking? What’s the catch?”

  Willy said, “Well, I can’t promise when I’ll be about. That’s catch number one. Sometimes I’ll come through twice in a month, sometimes might be as rare as once in two months. All depends on the markets and where it pays to go back and forth between.”

  “What’s the second catch?”

  Willy’s expression darkened somewhat, the digital brows lowering a little. “The second catch is exclusivity. I can’t be coming through here and finding you’ve no goods left because you sold ’em all in Medley. Then I’d be losing twice, wouldn’t I? I wouldn’t have the goods you promised and the market here might be all satisfied already, wasting my trip.”

  Tiller hesitated. “How… how long would I sign up for?”

  Willy waved a hand in dismissal. “Son! You won’t care. Once you see the gold rolling in all carefree, just doing what you love working with the earth, never having to worry about market day, you’ll never want to quit the deal. That’s a guarantee.”

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  Tiller insisted, “Humor me though. Would I need to give notice?”

  Willy didn’t say anything for a moment, his expression pensive now. Tiller walked, and Willy floated, along until they were nearly at the main gates. Willy spoke after long consideration, “Well, you’re a cautious soul and I can’t fault that. How’s this sound? I pay half up front for the next order every time, just like you were offering that frog-lady back there. If I do that then you promise me everything you produce in the meantime. If you want the deal to be off, you just don’t accept the part payment on the next order and that means we’re square.”

  “So you’d pay for a day’s goods and then half that amount again in advance on the next order?”

  Willy nodded. “Sounds about right.”

  Tiller said, “Uppy was nervous about making a deal like that because she was worried I’d up stakes and disappear with free money. Why aren’t you concerned about that?”

  Willy’s face morphed into one of wounded agony. “You can’t think, I say, you can’t think son, that I’d imagine a soul like you would do something like that.” Then the face grew darker, and Tiller felt a hint of a chill run down his spine. Willy said, “Besides… I have ways of making sure I always get what I paid for…”

  Tiller stopped and inspected the automaton. He could see the benefits and the drawbacks. The discount was fairly steep, and would only feel steeper as his production increased. However, he had already been concerned about the limited market in Medley and this at least provided an immediate, if not long-term ideal, manner to quiet that concern. Most importantly, it would deliver enough coin today to buy the composter and seeds that he needed. If he sold the goods he was carting around for 385 and got half again as a deposit on the next harvest then that would amount to 577.5 gold coins. It would solve the pressing issue. He might have liked to think about it longer, but he needed that composter. Without it he mightn’t be around to make another harvest.

  Tiller nodded, extending a hand. “Alright. You’ve got a deal.”

  Willy held his hand short of shaking it. “Now, son, so we’re clear, I’ll pay half again of what your produce is worth but I expect at least that much to be waiting for me next time I’m around and if you grow more than that you can’t sell it to anybody but me. That’s fair?”

  Tiller’s turn to hold his hand back. “My harvest might take twenty days.”

  Willy smiled broadly. “Fine, son, that’s fine. None of that’s withstanding that I won’t call on you before… well I guess we should give you a day for planting too, shouldn’t we? Let’s say you have a minimum of 21 days before I call on you after each purchase?”

  “What if you take too long to come back. You said you might be away for two months.”

  “Oh, well that is exceedingly rare…”

  “Still, am I supposed to wait forever?”

  “Fair enough, son, fair enough. If I take longer than 60 days to come back to you then the deal is off, fair and square, and you can keep your deposit. Now, do we have a deal or do we have a deal?”

  Still feeling a prickle of uncertainty, Tiller shook on it.

  Pod and Tiller watched the horizon. They stood just outside the main gate, the newly purchased composter, covered in tarp, floating on the cart. Tiller’s hands were full of seed packets, and over his shoulder slung a cloth sack of provisions he bought while they waited for Cutter. Provisions like good meat and decent ale. In a few hours Bonk’s remains would be earth and they could finally breathe a sigh of relief. That moment deserved to be marked. And Tiller knew how much Cutter would appreciate the ale. There had been something of a rift between them since he had convinced Reader to pause the salary payments. He didn’t want that rift to remain.

  They saw the dot appear on the horizon, Cutter and Stone Robot zipping towards them, ready to escort them to the end of the odyssey that had started with the hiring of two goblin assassins.

  Pod stared blearily, having burned the afternoon in Spinner’s. “It’s not going to be nice, you know.”

  “What’s not?”

  “Ah, shit, you know. Digging the body up. It’s been in the ground for a while…”

  Pod swayed where he stood. Tiller had sudden nightmare visions of him wrecking the cart and the composter. Tiller said, “I’ll use my Earth sigil, fire the whole heap, body and all, right into the composter. I reckon that will work.”

  The dot in the distance grew closer and closer. They could hear the humming of the stone automaton’s levitation.

  Pod spat and mumbled, “A solution for everything, doncha?”

  Tiller glanced down at him, seeing the meanness that came out when the little blue man drank too much. He snapped, “It’s a good thing for you that I do.”

  Pod snapped a sharp look back at him and said nothing.

  Lita and Cutter hummed to a halt before them. Cutter didn’t dismount but he eyed the tarpaulin-wrapped shape on the cart with satisfaction. “That it? That’s going to cut me free to go dragon hunting?”

  Tiller smiled and tapped the tarp. “This is the solution to all of our problems.”

  Cutter eyed it again. “A sword would have solved a lot of problems too…” Then he smiled massively. “Alright, let’s go finish this off.”