They went back to the tea tent. After a solid lunch of stew, pan bread and berries, the man behind the counter brought out a cloth bag filled with various sized bulges. George pulled from his robe a similar bag which was empty, except for a few smaller ones inside. He then showed the man something on the screen of his pocket computer. The fellow pulled out a somewhat thicker flat version of the device, poking and stroking it a few times. He looked up with a smile, then bowed and walked away.
As they left, George handed the bag to Fortis. It was not so heavy as he expected, but heavy enough. “That should get us to the city with some to spare,” George said with a smile. Fortis was suddenly freshly aware of the stiffness in his muscles. Yet something inside was eager to test the limits of physical endurance.
Back inside the tent, George was removing his sword harness. “I don’t want to break our circadian rhythm, but if you are able to sleep, taking a nap would be a good idea.”
Fortis was loading the food into his previously light pack. “Sneaky plans ahead?”
“Sneaky, indeed. I need to explain now, because when the time comes, we will need silence.” George sat down on his bed and began removing his boots. “We are going to arise about midnight, take down the tent, and prepare to leave.”
“Midnight,” Fortis muttered.
“But we won’t leave for awhile. Going through any gate at that time of night would require waking a warder to open the electric fence. We need to slip out unnoticed, if possible. So we’ll add a little confusion to whomever is watching us; it cannot be very many in a village like this. Likely the fake hunter is working alone here, with just a small amount of assistance from the busybody woman. She would probably believe whatever wild story he concocted for her. The tea man told me he had packed that breakfast basket to order for the stranger, who also returned it empty.”
“So he was still at the tea tent waiting for us. We all leave tracks unawares,” Fortis offered.
“Oh, yes. But we need not make a bunch of noise about it.” George produced something Fortis thought looked like thick woolly socks with drawstrings. “Slip these over your boots before we leave. A little nap now, dinner, then we pre-pack and set everything up to move quickly at midnight. We’ll meet the boys near a work gate and wait for the loggers to leave before dawn.”
Fortis lay back and swam in the ocean of thoughts. Perhaps it met no previously accepted definition he knew, but he realized he was praying, conversing with the presence of that Other in his soul. It was a conversation without words.
After dinner, George took him through a few exercises using the lance. There was barely any room inside the tent, but Fortis was assured that was a critical part of the training. The simple drills were repeated until Fortis was aglow and perspiring. Then they bathed and packed everything, each item thoughtfully positioned for quick and silent departure.
Of course, it helped if one was fully alert when executing such plans. Fortis had long experience with shifting his circadian rhythm, but it was never previously accompanied by so much physical exertion. Midnight came too soon, of course. George was patient, but Fortis could not quite shake his embarrassment at being so slow and clumsy. He wondered if all the trouble had not been wasted by his fumbling.
Even having seen it so many times, he was still surprised at how quickly and efficient George triggered the built-in frame to collapse, each section going limp when George pinched some part to turn off the charge which made it harden. With the ceiling caved in, George stepped out, pinched two places at once, and the tent collapsed, almost folding itself. In seconds it was folded and strapped on the cart. George had borrowed Fortis’ jacket to cover the bright orange hammock bags.
The pack with it’s new load was not yet too heavy. Fortis recalled that first hike inland to this village, how the load was there, but his body had ignored the signal until he took it off. The muscles had suddenly complained loudly after the fact. With lance in hand, and muffled boots, Fortis followed George as they wound around past a couple of large tents, slipping in behind one where a low awning stood. George ducked under the edge, left his cart standing, and sat down with his pack still on, leaning back against it in the dark. Fortis did his best to follow suit.
He was startled by a whispered voice just beside him, and realized the young hunters were there. George responded in kind. “Yes, I would.” Leaning over to Fortis, “I recommend you take some of their jerky. We won’t be stopping for breakfast.”
Fortis accepted the bundle of rough, dried meat. It smelled of spices, very tempting, but he decided to stuff it into the inside pocket of his cloak. Stroking the fabric idly, he realized he liked the cloak better than his jacket, much better suited to the climate and circumstances. In the ensuing silence, he dozed.
A hand shaking his shoulder brought him back to an awareness only slightly less confused than when they rose earlier. It was George’s unmistakable precise Galactic telling him, “Rise to your knees. In a few moments a group of men will walk by and we will join them as they exit the small gate. Make sure you stay close to Stephen here” — his hand was guided to a shadowy form in front of him. “Stanley and I will be behind you. We’ll break from the workmen without warning.”
The vague thrill of fear brought Fortis to full awareness.
