I was tired.

It took a few more hours of waiting in the empty interrogation room after the dryad left, but I was, once again, a free man.

I wasn’t sure what the agents told the local authorities about my release, but the fact they kept me away from other prisoners, and even the standard cells after I spoke with the dryad, suggested it wasn’t entirely standard. Even the law-keeper at the front desk of the station didn’t look entirely happy about the arrangement, judging from his annoyed expression when he handed me the rest of my belongings.

An officer, an ageing man just like me, most likely spending his last years of service here at the front desk, looked at me with an exhausted expression. I could easily guess he saw more than enough higher-ups meddling with criminal cases.

I sympathized, even if people working in the law enforcement had much easier times retiring than we, freelancing bounty hunters. We both caught criminals, the state didn't trust us too much, unlike how they trusted their law enforcement.

When I took my revolver and put it back in my holster, I briefly considered reloading it right away, even though I immediately banished the thought. It wasn’t a good idea to do it now, in the station, the law-keepers wouldn’t take to that kindly. I noticed that more uniformed men were eyeing me as I stood at the desk and none of the civilians.

The officer produced more paperwork.

“Sign this, here and here, and here,” the Law-keeper said, pointing at the documents, and then added, “You can pay the invoice here.”

“Pay?” I asked, confused. Squinting in disbelief I found out I was expected to cover the ‘unspecified medical expenses’ as they put it.

Which meant, at least according to this paper I was holding, they poured the healing potion into me instead of calling for the doctor when they found me unconscious on the bar’s floor after the sorcerer’s attack and were done with it. And of course, they wanted the money for it. A lot. It was more expensive than medical help, greatly so, as according to the note I was owing to them seventy Bils. Miracles weren’t free, obviously. Which was a third of my monthly pay, money which I had on me only because I was paid in advance for this increasingly problematic contract.

I briefly considered not paying anything at all, especially when I was experiencing the diminishing returns from increasingly expensive magical concoctions on a regular, and I even had doubts if I ever received any help at all.

After checking the bundle of clipped banknotes, I confirmed they didn’t take any of my money and were probably expecting me to make the decision. Probably the wrong one that would give them leverage, assuming they weren’t happy about agents’ interference. A lot of unpaid fines could be a good reason for an arrest if they couldn’t get me in for the dead sorcerer.

An unpleasant feeling of being watched flooded over me, and I looked over my shoulder where the officer was looking as well, and of course, agent Cato was waiting at the doors of the station. The dryad part of the duo was nowhere to be seen, even though I assumed she went pestering Governor’s men instead after she was done with my interrogation, and wasn’t required to be present at my release. His colleague probably wasn’t either though.

With a heavy sigh, I counted the money and handed over the required amount to the officer. Even four times the usual pay wouldn’t be enough if things continued this way. I decided to pay that exorbitant amount nevertheless. No matter if I had doubts about what was really happening while I was out, I had no reason to make enemies among the law-keepers in the city. Especially if they were forced to release me only because the FDA demanded so.

“Thank you. And good day to you, sir.” The officer replied without even looking up at me after he checked the banknotes, and handed me the rest of the stamped documents. I immediately pocketed them without further thought. I wanted to get out of this as soon as I could.

“Mr. Wicht.” The agent spoke to me when I headed out, with a nod as a greeting, and gestured me to come close to not block the entryway to the station’s lobby.

“I suppose I owe you my thanks for arranging things with the law-keepers,” I said.

“You are welcome, Mr. Wicht.” He said, “We hope there will be a major breakdown in this investigation soon, without the unfortunate demise of the possible witnesses before we can interrogate them.”

I was certain it was a diplomatic way of saying that if I don’t give them something they could work on, they may not help the next time I ended up behind bars.

“About that…” I replied, with a pause, “I plan to leave the city tomorrow for Lacertia, chasing the man was a dead-end it seems, so I’ll need a list of places and people I should check out there, or any other information you can give me.”

“It wasn’t a complete dead end, there are leads here within the city we can check..” He answered, “I would like to have you accompanying me to question Mr. Fitz.”

“Fitz? Fitz is dead, isn’t he?” I asked, confused, “The accountant of that name died, and I shot the guy that posed as him to your soldiers.”

Then I realized that the dryad didn’t explicitly say that this man really was dead, only that he couldn’t be involved with all the documents that came with the counterfeited goods.

“Real Wolfgang Fitz is, indeed, dead. Natural causes, as far as we know.” The agent nodded, “His son, however, is not only alive but took over his father's duties in the company.”

“But…” I interjected but didn’t finish my sentence. While it did make a certain amount of sense, it wasn’t the lead I wanted to follow. Mostly because I believed that the potions I was hired to find never got to the city, and I wanted to get where goods I can turn over for the reward probably were. Money was once again fleeing my grasp, as this whole jail and bail debacle reminded me. But then I had to remind myself that FDA’s authority opened as many doors as it closed coffins, and it would be unwise to try to challenge it, especially now that I was getting myself knee-deep in this suspicious contract.

“Thinking about the fastest solution to the case, Mr. Wicht?” Agent Cato asked. Perhaps I spaced out thinking for too long.

“It would take me a week, possibly two, to get to Lacertia on horseback. Even if I take a train, tracks don’t reach that far south…” I answered and shook my head, before adding: “Very well, let’s speak with Mr. Fitz.”

I had to grit my teeth. Slowly, I started to hate that name, as something told me I was going to hear it a lot, without bringing me close to something that yielded a bounty. I wasn’t sure why he needed me specifically for this part, I wasn’t the smooth talker.

“Lead the way, Agent Cato.” I gestured with appropriate politeness, at least as much politeness as I could muster.

The same horse-drawn carriage as before waited for us outside, complete with the same footman that accompanied them before. It seemed they simply stuck with their cover, or just loved the benefits. Or perhaps, it worked as intended, as no one really paid special attention to their quite nice looking carriage on the frequented street.

But then suddenly, before I got in, someone called my name.

“Hey, Wicht!”

A familiar, high-pitched yet accented voice I’ve heard somewhere before - I turned around, to see it is indeed Svetla, the faery I ended up in the cell with, and who probably didn’t want to actually associate with me considering the whole debacle with shooting the sorcerer assailant.

“I need to speak with you!” She gestured me closer, visibly nervous, and impatient. I wasn’t keen on accommodating the annoying faery, or even associating with me, but I assumed she wouldn’t either and this was indeed important. Sometimes it was necessary to listen to people I disliked. I learned that a long time ago.

“Excuse me,” I said to the agent and made a few steps toward Svetla. She led me a few meters away, where she obviously thought no one would hear us.

“What is going on there?” She started, with her high-pitched tone suddenly tuned down almost as she was afraid someone would listen.

I hated to lean forward, but with someone the size of a child, it was a necessity.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“What are you getting us into? Why was there the dryad from the FDA questioning me about your bar fight I don’t even remember?” She continued in a much more hushed tone.

“Getting us into?” I frowned, and crossed my hands on my chest, refusing to lean down and continue with these theatrics, “What did De Milos tell you?”

“De Milos? Dryad’s name is De Milos?”

“Why is it important?” I replied, with a further question, “You know her?”

“No… but that name…” Svetla looked around, almost like she was checking whether someone was watching us. She seemed done with her formal speech too, perhaps struggling with emotions, even though I wasn’t particularly sure what unsettled her that much. It was just the name. Even if the dryad didn’t seem to bother with the introduction, I took it as some secret police quirk rather than a matter of significance.

“Who is that?” She finally noticed the human part of the duo, Agent Cato, still waiting for me to finish this awkward conversation, and watching us from a distance with hands behind his back.

“Other agent, Marcus Cato, De Milos’ partner.” I said, truthfully, “Do you know why they are interested in you?”

“I must go.” Faery declared suddenly, and without the goodbye left in a rush, partially running, and partially flying, until she got out of sight. I had to wonder why Federal Detective Agency thought there was a connection, her profession couldn’t be further apart from this case.

With a shrug, I returned back to the waiting agent, and without further words, I got into the carriage. It started moving immediately.

“A friend?” Agent Cato asked.

I said nothing. So far, they didn’t seem particularly interested in the private matters, or small talk, so inquiring about the mechanic was out of place - or I was just turning more paranoid, for no reason. For a while, I just listened to the coach’s wheels rattling on the paved road.

“Any particular reason you need me to accompany you at this particular time?” I asked after the while, breaking the moment of silence.

“If what you said is true, wouldn’t you want to show people behind this that it takes more than one rogue sorcerer to get rid of you?”

It was a strange suggestion, I thought, without actually answering. I had no particular interest in challenging people to try to murder me. They would eventually succeed in doing so. Eventually, everyone’s luck ran out. Unless they try to use me as bait, and we were being followed, but it would put Mr. Cato here on the line of fire.

“If that is the case, I may want to reload my gun,” I said offhand and pulled my revolver. I emptied the drum and pocketed the spent cartridges. As I loaded the new ones, I asked almost uninterested manner: “Can I ask why is Lacertia so special? It’s a faraway place, the lack of completed railroad connection may be the reason for your trouble.”

It wasn’t how I really felt about this. In fact, I was curious about what led them to this point. Land that just ‘ate’ - at least in a figurative sense - one of the army’s cavalry regiments wouldn’t be that good choice for potential expansion.

“Lacertia is mostly marshes.” Agent Cato stated, in a matter-of-fact fashion, “Some plants native to that region couldn’t be found anywhere on the New World, and were unknown in the Old World before the Gate was found. If we are to utilize them, we need to grow them in the natural environment. Even with dryads’ power to bypass that, there has to be a control group of original plants in sufficient quantities.”

I nodded. Even though I didn’t know anything useful about agriculture, it did make a certain sense. It raised a question though: “If you need ingredients native to that region, how were all the other potions made?”

“Normally, Vatu’s Shamans make do with common stock you can grow elsewhere - even in the Old World. However, Governor promised Hersperian government substances with greatly enhanced effects, stronger than any other we saw before if the federal government invests into the plantations in Lacertia producing the necessary components.” That was the answer.

I nodded. It did make sense - and a promise of stronger, even more, miraculous mixtures did speak to me personally, as I firsthand experienced the waning effects of the original versions. More people would be willing to put the money into that. Then I realized something.

“Which Governor? One in Lacertia? Or one here in Bosona, one who can’t secure the shipments?”

Before I got my answer, the coach halted.