The Burden of Ash and Blood - 13. Chapter 13

Flat grey clouds obscured the noontide sun. Sam and Graeme—wearing their cloaks and hoods—stood under a battered, worn awning of what appeared to be an abandoned building. Across the street lay the brick-faced warehouse. They’d been watching it for a quarter-hour, ignored by passersby travelling on foot and horseback. There’d been no sign of activity within.

Sam straightened his shoulders. The weight of the maille hidden under his cloak continued to bring a level of surety and confidence within himself. But unlike last time, he bore it atop his gambeson. He was properly protected now. His shortsword, also hidden and sheathed to his belt, certainly helped. Graeme wore his armour and helmet, of course, as well as his longsword. They were ready for anything.

“Come on,” Sam said, leading Graeme down the street and around a corner toward the alleyway he’d escaped from the night before.

The occupied streets were nowhere near as forbidding. Being able to observe his surroundings—devoid of shadow—certainly helped. Nobody paid them any mind as they slipped into the narrow passage between buildings. Rounding a corner, he caught sight of the back door to the warehouse lined with grimy windows. Neither Sam nor Graeme had the faintest idea how to pick a lock, leaving them uncertain how they might sneak in.

But before they could explore their options, Graeme directed him to a hidden alcove. He pressed into it and watched with curiosity as the knight approached the door. Graeme gave it three sharp bangs—loud enough for anyone inside to hear, even from the opposite side of the building—then dashed for the nook, his armour clattering with each step.

“What did you do that for?” Sam whispered.

Graeme nudged him deeper into the alcove, allowing him space to watch the door inconspicuously. “It’s the swiftest method to check for occupants.”

They waited half a minute, perhaps longer, with no sign of anyone within. Luck was certainly on their side this day. Once Graeme was satisfied, he advanced alertly with Sam following close in his wake. Reaching the door, Graeme tested the latch and pushed, but the door held fast.

“Of course it’s locked,” Sam said in a teasing manner.

Graeme glanced over to him. “No harm in trying, is there?”

Sam presented a lopsided grin and shrugged in reply, only to flinch when Graeme abruptly smashed his gauntleted hand through a windowpane. While the knight worked at unbolting the door, Sam fretfully scanned both ends of the alley, but the shattered glass hadn’t drawn any notice. They crept inside and hurriedly shut the door behind them.

The warehouse was unexpectedly barren, with only a pile of crates and burlap sacks near the front entrance. A nearby broom caught Sam’s attention, and he swept the broken glass into a corner while Graeme inspected the goods. Once he was done, he strode toward the shallow crates. One was open. It contained various hand tools—hammers, chisels, tongs—with thatch serving as packing material.

“These look new,” Sam said.

They dug deeper into the crate, certain they’d uncover phials of gryphon ash, but their hands met the bare bottom instead. Disappointed, Sam began to replace the contents as they'd found them, only for Graeme to stop him and tap the bottom. It was hollow. Pushing thatch aside, Graeme exposed a slight notch at the edge, just large enough for a finger. Sam obliged, hooking a finger into it and pulling to reveal a hidden empty compartment.

“This has to be used to transport the stuff, right?” Sam asked.

Graeme nodded, then looked toward the burlap sacks stowed near the side brick wall. Rather than being cinched up, they were left open. Grain lay within. Graeme plunged his hand in, searching, but withdrew with nothing.

“It would be a simple task to hide the substance in these as well.”

“Yeah, but none of this is proof.”

“Indeed.” The knight regarded the giant empty warehouse. “It’s likely the substance was transported here, but has already been moved elsewhere.”

With a squeal, the front door rattled open on its metal runners. Graeme signalled urgently for Sam to join him. Forced to stoop, Sam scampered toward the grain sacks for cover, and both watched as five men entered. Judging by their garb and stance, two were guards. The three others, perhaps labourers.

“We’re taking these to the glassworks?” one man asked another, pointing at the crates.

“Yup. Madame Camilla wants us to have all these packed by tonight for transport.”

The first man scoffed. “All this by tonight? I didn’t know that.”

“The bags, too?” the third man asked.

“Yup. Everything.”

While two men carried a crate under the guard’s watch, Sam and Graeme sank lower as the third attempted to lift one of the sacks with a grunt.

“A little help?” he asked the remaining guard, who laughed in reply.

“Sorry, bud. Not my job.”

The labourer tried again, managing to haul it over his shoulder and lug it outside. Only the guard remained, standing opposite Sam and Graeme, watching the crates and sacks. At least he wasn’t near the rear door to spot the broken window. The three labourers came in waves, carrying out more crates and sacks, gradually eroding Sam and Graeme’s concealment.

With his back against the wall, Sam felt a loose brick. The mortar was crumbling, allowing him to nudge the brick free. He presented it to Graeme and gestured his plan to distract the guard. The knight nodded to proceed. A few moments after the other men disappeared outside, Sam tossed the brick in that direction, hitting the wall with a loud bang. That caught the guard’s attention, and he cautiously advanced a few paces.

“You okay out there?” he asked.

The guard hadn’t moved as far as Sam hoped, but knowing this was their only chance, he bolted toward the back. Graeme, in his heavy armour, couldn’t keep pace without making noise, so he fell behind. Panic bubbled up as Sam realised they’d never reach the back door unseen. The nearer side office, with its open door, beckoned. He broke off in that direction, managing to reach the threshold and peer back. Graeme hustled toward him, crouched low, each step measured and steady, yet somehow silent.

Now together, they backed into a corner, away from the door, and waited tensely. But no footsteps approached. The guard hadn’t caught sight of them. Instead, distant chatter of the labourers echoed from the opposite side of the warehouse as they finished collecting the goods. And then, fortuitously, the screech of the door announced their departure.

“That was too close,” Sam said.

A rare chuckle tinged with relief echoed from within Graeme’s helmet. “Allow me to remind you that evasion is not my strength. I am not adept at sneaking.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You didn’t make a sound.”

Graeme hummed in uncertainty while Sam examined the room. There was no denying this was the same place from the night before. The placement of the desk and chairs matched.

“Those guys mentioned a woman, Madame Camilla,” Sam said. “That has to be the woman I heard last night. The big guy, Rafe, called her Madame. She definitely sounded like the one in charge.”

Graeme inspected scattered papers on the desktop as Sam spoke. “These appear to be shipping ledgers.”

They pored over the documents. The items listed were unremarkable—cloth bolts, bales of wool, as well as what they’d just encountered, crates of tools and grain sacks. At first glance, the right‑hand margin held idle doodles, but closer inspection revealed deliberate markings set against each item.

Sam tapped them. “Could this be some kind of code?”

“Mayhaps,” Graeme said, analysing them closely. “There are identical shapes repeated throughout. Could they denote a transport destination?”

“What about the glassworks? It sounded like they were gonna load something there. There’s no sign of the gryphon ash here, so— wait, the ash is sold in glass phials.”

Graeme turned to him. “Duncan said the mushrooms are dried first. The heat of a glassworks would surely speed that along.”

“He assumed the substance wasn’t being made in Blakenhall, but maybe he’s wrong. Maybe that’s why it’s such a problem in this town.” All the clues were falling into place, and Sam couldn’t deny the satisfaction it brought—like a puzzle being solved. “What should we do next? Tell Duncan?”

The knight shook his head. “At this moment, we are speculating. We must confirm our suspicions at the glassworks—find actual proof—before informing Duncan. If the Watch is brought in prematurely, the whole operation could go into hiding.”

“Should we wait until tonight?”

Graeme tilted his head as he considered. “It must be a legitimate business, so unlike this private warehouse, visitors ought not to be denied entry. Moreover, caught trespassing during the day would probably result in a request to leave. After dark would promise a far worse fate.”

“But it’s not like the illegal side of their business is gonna be out in the open.”

“No, but mayhap we can slip behind closed doors.”

Sam smiled while rapping a knuckle on the knight’s breastplate. “See? You can be sneaky despite this.”

Graeme stared back, but masked by his visor, Sam had no clue if his joke was appreciated.

“Are you smiling?” Sam asked.

“I am.”