They left Eastwynn a bit past dawn, long after most of the farmers had gone out to tend their fields. Threadbare was a bit surprised that Apollyon hadn't stayed with his family while he was in town, but instead the young man quietly paid for a private room at Thee Leaky Buckett tavern, and retired early.

Buttons hadn't been surprised by that at all, but she didn't say anything to the rest of the group. Instead she just sat down in the main hall of the place and played cards with them until dawn. Nor did she open her mouth when they were over the last of the river bridges and walking down the dirt road past the final farmsteads before the frontier.

Dracosnack didn't particularly care. He was busy reading through his book of spell scrolls, and fussing with the order. It helped improve his Librarian skills, and it settled his mind, besides. He wasn't always the best at fighting, and this would make him feel less nervous if it came to combat.

But Glub could tell that something was gnawing at the guy. They were out in the boonies now though, and it wasn't a good idea to get into long, soul-searching discussions while you had to worry about monsters and bandits and other hazards. So he decided to keep his peace until the time came to make camp. He could have a talk with Apollyon then.

It wasn't a bad idea, but when night came Apollyon shook his head at the mention of camp. “I want to get a little farther away from the town.”

Glub glanced over to Threadbare, and found the latter's button eyes already on him. He noticed it too. Glub flared his fins and offered a small nod, then shrugged.

Threadbare nodded back. And the group continued their walk on as the sun sank low ahead of them, and Glub had to squint against it. He wasn't in danger of burning his eyes, thanks to his golem body, but it was still annoying.

Also, when the black speck grew on the horizon, it made him hesitate for a precious few seconds until it was almost too late.

“Hey,” he said. “Hey! We got like a wagon or something coming fast! Better get off the—”

Minutes later, half of the group was picking themselves out of the creek to the side of the path, and the other half was untangling themselves from the scraggly underbrush on the other side.

And Apollyon shared a look with Buttons. “Does that wagon look black to you?”

“I didn't get a good look. Where did it come from?”

“Clean and Press,” Threadbare said, magicking mud from his frame. “This is the second time I've had to dodge a wagon today. They should drive more carefully around here. But if we need to know where it came from, we could probably just follow the tracks.”

“I'd also like to know what it's doing,” Apollyon said, torn. “I've heard some... rumors that need following up on about black wagons recently.”

“Hey,” Glub said, glancing at the drainage ditch. “You still a Scout Threadbare?”

“I am.”

“Let me follow the wagon and keep an eye on it, and you can follow the tracks. This ditch joins up with the river, and I can fast track it back to town, then rejoin you guys later. Sound cool?”

“You really mmm... think you can go that fast?” Dracosnack asked. “AND get back without losing too much time?”

“Dude. You're talking to an Explorer here. Work smarter, not harder!” he walked over to the nearest milestone. “Set Waymark. Create Waystone.” He tucked the newly-created glowing crystal into the pocket of his baggy pants.

That decided Threadbare. “This is a good plan. Go ahead, Glub. We'll handle the land part of things.”

“All Terrain Boots!” Glub burbled. And then he was off.

The drainage ditch was narrow and cramped, but he knew he wouldn't be in it long. Explorers were made to cover ground quickly, fishmen could swim faster than they could run, all-terrain boots let him handle most obstacles without slowing, and as for the Scout part of his portfolio, one quick chant of Best Route was enough to let him close with the wagon at about the point it hit the creek they'd passed earlier in the day.

It still took half an hour. The wagon was really booking it down the road. If the river hadn't been flowing toward the town, Glub would have lost sight of it quickly.

Fortunately it slowed once it hit town. Just like last night, the streets were empty, and the doors were boarded up tight. But Glub's perception easily let him see the way window curtains twitched, and shadows moved against the glass, backlit by lamps as people watched from the safety of their houses.

There were no streetlights out this far, so they couldn't be seeing the wagon clearly, he knew. It was mostly humans and halvens out this way, and most of those folks had bad nightvision.

The wagon got to the edge of town and circled around, and Glub took a chance to break out from behind it and head back into the village. If he was right, this could pay off.

He was right.

INT+1

The wagon took a wide arc around the edge of town, but it was clearly heading back to the west. And perched atop a small church, Glub peered around the crowning icon of Old Koss adorning the roof and got his first look at the front of the coach.

There were two horses, sure, that was to be expected. He'd gotten the impression of horses when he was dodging into the drainage ditch. And there was a figure up top driving them. A small figure. Halven-sized? Hard to tell.

Glub debated with himself, then decided to take a risk. He pulled off his boots, stowed them in his waterproof pack, then pulled out two large crocheted booties.

He barely got them on over his webbed feet in time. And with just enough seconds left to settle the pack onto his back once more, he leaped down onto the wagon as it passed by.

Your Stealth skill is now level 52!

Glub would have sighed if he still breathed for non-recreational purposes. That message told him two things: first that he'd been undetected. Secondly, that there were consequences for being noticed.

So he waited a bit, secured his handholds on the cloth cover of the wagon, before starting to inch forward.

The cloth had a few tears in it, and he peered inside, eyes luminous in the darkness. But there was nothing to see in the back of the wagon. Just the empty bed of it.

Finally, after the wagon was back on the western road, he risked a look over the edge of the cover, and peered down at the figure below.

It was three feet tall, and clad in baggy dark clothing. One hand wielded a whip, while the other kept a firm grip on the reigns. And a wide-brimmed hat prevented him from getting a good look at the creature's features.

But in the slight moonlight, and with the Deepsight skill that was innate to all of his species, Glub could see that the hand holding the whip didn't have skin. It was jointed wood.

That's definitely a golem, he thought, and eased himself back out of sight. Creeping down the wagon bit by bit, he pondered his next course of action... then decided to kick it upstairs, more or less.

“Wind's Whisper to Threadbare. Hey boss, I'm on the wagon. A golem or haunter is driving it. I'm undetected so far. Best course of action?”

The reply came quickly, as Threadbare used his own Wind's Whisper to respond.

“Stay on the wagon and stay undetected. I think I see what's happening here.”

Glub shrugged, and settled in for a long ride.

All told it only took a couple of hours, though. Somewhere around midnight the wagon passed the mile marker he'd selected as a waystone, and turned into the forest. It slowed then, and he crouched low to avoid the sweeping branches and growth that hung over the trail, wisping along the wagon's cover like clutching green hands.

The wagon slowed even more when it came to the tumbledown barn, back in a forgotten clearing.

And then the driver spoke. Its voice was flat and emotionless, as it said “No witnesses.”

Glub froze.

The horses whinnied, as the driver hopped down, and Glub heard the crack of a whip as the figure repeated “No witnesses.”

And then he heard the shifting and grinding of plate armor, and Apollyon's muffled swearing, and Glub sighed.

Of course the kid ain't got no stealth.

He scrambled towards the edge of the cover... but he needn't have bothered. By the time he got down to the ground, the rest of the group had dogpiled the golem, taken its whip from it, and bound it to a nearby tree. It worked against the ropes, tireless as only a golem could be, and lanterns flared to life as the group studied it.

It was a blank-faced golem shell, without eyes or features, made of jointed wood. It shimmied and struggled, and as Glub watched a mouth formed out of nothing on its head and uttered “No witnesses,” before fading away.

“Eye for Detail,” Threadbare said, studying it carefully. “It's a regular golem. Not sapient. That's a programmed doll's mouth. In fact I'm fairly certain that everything it's doing is a result of its instructions.”

“Dude,” Glub said, shaking his head. “That sounds like some complicated stuff.”

“It's actually not,” Threadbare said, hopping up onto the bigger golem and searching its pockets until he came up with a gem. “Appraise. Yes, this was the focus for the Magic Mouth. Someone put a fair amount of magical reagents into this setup.”

With the gem gone from its person, the golem no longer uttered sinister threats. But it still struggled.

“So what else is here?” Glub asked, heading to the barn and peering in. It didn't look like much, and Buttons confirmed it.

“Some feed for the horses, some tracks, and a mirror that broke when we opened the door,” the tin soldier said, keeping her gun on the bound golem. “Threadbare thinks that someone comes around every day and takes care of the horses.”

“But I don't think they will today,” Threadbare said, looking at a small pile of glass. “From what I can tell from the fragments, the mirror was set up to send an alert to someone. Opening the door triggered it, and they'll know that they've been found out.”

“We could camp out and wait to see if anyone shows up,” Glub offered.

The group considered it.

Threadbare walked forward and studied the wagon, climbing up onto it and into it. “What did the driver do with this?”

“Nothing, man, that's the weird part,” Glub said. “It just drove around town then headed back.”

Threadbare nodded.

Then he walked over, leaped into the air, and swiped the golem's head from its shoulders. It immediately went limp, and the little bear went and collected the head from where it had fallen.

“That's a mmmm, bit extreme, don't you think?” Dracosnack said.

“Someone put this here to fool people,” Threadbare said. “It can't stay here. And its remains might give us answers if we approach things properly. Apollyon, you've got the biggest pack. Can you carry it with you? I need to look at it in a proper workshop.”

“Er... yes, sir,” the human said, and started loading it up.

“Do we have time to go back?” Buttons asked. “No disrespect, but we've got a mission, sir.”

“Oh no, we'll still be going forward,” Threadbare said. “Bigstump Outpost is the next stop, and if Garon was correct, there's going to be someone waiting for us there who can help me identify this shell...”