We stepped out of the carriage in front of a large building somewhere in the city centre.

Its architecture was typical for the cities like Bosona, several stories tall constructions of solid masonry, and a frontage of the polished white stone to impress others with the owner's wealth. Rich often wanted to show off. It wasn’t quite a villa or a mansion, considering the busy central locale, but with all the money that obviously went into it, it could be easily mistaken for the high-class hotel I would never have the kind of money to visit.

It wasn’t a hotel either. A gold plated sign read ‘Vernier-Gellius Pharmacon Company’ - names which don’t read even remotely familiar. But people behind that kind of trade would be making this kind of money.

However, what truly got my attention was the Vatu guard dressed in some form of decorated garb which wouldn’t be out of place for soldiers on parade, not to mention the general posture of the warrior, not the house servant.

Vatu were people native to the New World, tall, canine-like humanoids, which usually towered over humans despite their permanently hunched posture. The only species that outmatched them when it came to their strength, mass and overall build were orcs. They too had fur, and this one had kept his own well-groomed, which made sense for any individual keeping public appearances, of any social standing. Vatu wasn’t that different from humans, and I had plenty of experience with them on the outskirts. And I had to admit, I owe my life to some of their shamans. Yet it was unusual to see them here, in Bosona.

The guard, masked as a porter, eyed us with suspicion but didn’t say a word, just stood there, alert, blocking the entrance with his own body.

“Marcus Cato, from the Federal Detective Agency, with an assistant.” The agent introduced himself and produced his badge, and we were let in without a word. Still, Vatu couldn’t help himself but growl somewhat as we passed around. I wasn’t sure if he had a disdain for me, for the agent, or for us both.

I scanned the large atrium as we entered. Though I had only limited experience with the villas of the wealthy people - been to some, and they usually hurried me away after bounty has been paid - it wasn’t the relative luxury that caught my attention. It was the number of guards in this place.

All those red carpets, carved railings and expensive decorations spelt out wealth made to impress, but all that security was unusual, especially in a place with few active threats.

Four… not six, I corrected myself. The guards, all Vatu, with more practical outfits, were all armed to the teeth, with both revolvers and high calibre military-grade rifles usually issued to their orc soldiers. This place had more protection than some banks, at least those which may get robbed on the frontiers. Cities were significantly safer, and that made heavily armed protection stand out even more, not to mention they were stretching what weapons civilians should have available.

“Marcus Cato, and assistant.” The agent announced us to the guard, “We are expected to meet with Mr. Fitz.”

If this Mr Fitz was indeed an accountant, he wasn’t a poor one - and even though it was obvious why the soldiers near the Gate didn’t really suspect the sorcerer as they never had a chance to meet the real Mr Fitz, too above their pay grade, it raised many questions as to why use that name for the trick in the first place.

Very important people usually had reputations to worry about and didn’t take this lightly.

The guard put his hand out of his rifle and directed us further.

“Office, upstairs, to the left.” Then paused, and added as he probably realized he couldn’t let us wander the house without supervision, “Follow me.”

We were led up on the wide staircase that raised up from the atrium to the first floor of this large building, which gave me an opportunity to gaze out of the large, segmented windows to the private garden hidden behind this massive building enclosed within walls and adjacent structures that surely had the same owner.

What immediately got my attention was the mass of tangled, overgrown greenery that clenched what was supposed to be a leisure central garden. Instead of the tediously maintained green I would expect from a rich man’s garden, it looked mostly like the various parts of the barely contained overgrown jungle clammed into the limited space enclosed between the high walls in the back and other portions of the building. The wild vines covered the walls entirely and threatened to spill uncontrollably over even the roofs, and the rest of the vegetation wasn’t far off either.

I very much doubted rich people would allow this much negligence from their gardeners. This greenery was totally out of bounds, unless…

I was certain this was a dryad’s grove. I didn’t sense anything at all, so I assumed a dryad wasn’t home otherwise I would sense the drain her presence would have on the flow of magic in the area, to anyone perceiving the invisible flow of magic they were the holes that devoured all this energy. It was, however, possible that my ability to sense magic was failing me. In any way, this led me to recall the words the barkeeper had about the ‘crazy rich dryad’ with one of the Vatu’s tribes as her payroll - that would explain the warriors guarding her dwelling.

“Mr Wicht.” I was reminded that I probably spent long moments staring through the windows into the green chaos of the central yard.

I hurried upstairs before another of the Vatu warriors would push me to do so.

Without much further ado - though mostly thanks to the fact I held them back by spacing out on the mezzanine with the view of the inner garden, and Agent Cato did the talking I didn’t hear - led us immediately to the richly decorated office, with yet another armed guard outside. There, in a large leather chair, in front of the durable mahogany table, sat the middle-aged man in an expensive suit waiting.

His appearance didn’t match the description I got for the person behind the false caravan. His eyes weren’t green or bright. Though his slicked hair was the dirty blonde which was still a rare trait among the majority of the population, I very much doubted one would mistake this man for the sorcerer that handed the counterfeited goods to the soldiers at the Gate. The same man I later shot. Real Mr Fitz looked nothing alike.

He pierced me with his sight, as I was no doubt inappropriately dressed for the occasion, while the agent’s fashionable outfit was more fitting. The man gestured to take a seat in smaller but equally expensive chairs in front of his desk.

“Good day to you, gentlemen. Is there a reason why an agent of the Federal Detective Agency would investigate our business?” He said, rushing the pleasantries, and immediately continued, “If this is about the government contract, only Miss De Vernier would be in a position to negotiate the major change of terms.”

The rich guy didn’t look pleased by our visit and hid this annoyance only behind a thin veneer of politeness, mostly directed at Marcus Cato, not me.

“We are investigating the possible crime that would impact your business.” Agent Cato said formally and presented some folder with documents I didn’t even pay attention to him having. The man didn’t look at them.

“And that is?”

“Mr Fitz, are you, by chance aware of the recent developments on Pharmacon markets, namely the frequent disappearances of potion shipments to the Old World, along with a large number of break-ins in the city in the last months?” The agent started in a diplomatic tone.

“Aware? Yes, I am aware.” The ‘accountant’, or whatever his actual role in the trade was, replied and almost snickered:“...that despite Governor’s Verus repeated assurances, we will never get our goods or money back. Lawkeepers keep arresting people, yet potions keep disappearing into thin air.”

“We are looking into it,” The agent assured him. “The Federal government is very concerned by local authorities' inability to secure the supply.”

“And hiring a Bounty Hunter will help?”

“We arrived at the New World merely three days ago.” The agent replied, apologetically: “Mr Wicht here is our prized local consultant.”

“Good, we didn’t expect the Federals to handle it any better than it was already handled.” The businessman replied, “After the Governor’s men loitered around, we had to make our own security arrangements.”

He without a doubt referred to all that heavily armed Vatu - though this house, or mansion, was hardly the place they manufactured and stored their wares. I said nothing, leaving the businessman to follow up on his exchange with the agent.

“Did you know the Governor made arrangements to remedy the situation by securing new sources of Pharmacons?”

“Was he? Not with us.”

“Really? Just yesterday, a man that claimed to be Wolfgang Fitz delivered four wagons full of counterfeited potions that proved to be nothing more than cheap alcohol.”

This caught the businessman's attention. However, to my surprise, he didn’t start denying his involvement in the whole matter. Instead, tensed in a slight, subtle manner, then quickly asked.

“What happened to him?”

“He was shot when he tried to kill Mr Wicht here. He didn’t survive.” The agent replied immediately, gesturing with his hand towards me.

“Good.” The man seemed to calm down, “He will not ruin the reputation of our family anymore.”

I was just about to ask the businessman whether he knew the sorcerer that attacked me, as his response was ambiguous at best, and could suggest anything from the black sheep of the family to the con man ruining the good man's reputation.

“Having your name associated with the fraud may indeed be harmful to your trade.” Agent Cato said, with a good share of ambiguity in his voice, and quickly followed with the question: “Can you look at those documents for us?”

Fitz quickly collected himself to his prior arrogantly stoic expression and opened the folder. He looked at the paperwork presented as briefly as he could, not bothering to fake interest, and then pushed it away.

“Shipping invoice. A delivery agreement. Pharmacon producer certificate, inspection…” He said with a bored, or rather annoyed tone, “We have to include it with every larger shipment we checked every dose…a load of nonsense, it is the pinnacle of Hesperian bureaucracy.”

He gestured his hand dismissively.

“Signed, supposedly, by Mr Wolfgang Fitz, your father.”

“My father spent his entire life working for Miss De Vernier. He signed a lot of documents like this.”

“Did your father sign those specifically? Please, do check closer, Mr Fitz.”

The businessman finally decided to check the paperwork he was presented with.

“This can’t be ours.” He exclaimed. He now seemed significantly more interested in the conversation as the tone of his voice changed immediately.

“I questioned people from the Governor’s office, and they explained certain intricacies of the Hesperian bureaucracy, as you put it, and certain documents… like this one, are unlikely to be falsified. At least, not on the spot, at random. They are associated with the most valuable substances known, after all.” Agent Cato continued, quite calmly, “They do have copies of those documents even, as they prove the contract between your father, on behalf of Miss De Vernier’s company, and the Governor’s office.”

“We have no business in Lacertia!” He insisted, now slightly more annoyed.

“Perhaps you weren’t made aware? Didn’t your father pass away only recently?” The agent suggested, “Federation of Hesperia is in need of those products now more than ever before, so I am certain my superiors back in the Old World would overlook certain chaos in the execution of this contract. Confusion, even mistaking one company for another? Perhaps it would be appropriate to make the appointment with Miss De Vernier to clarify this. She is a major supplier here in the city…”

In the end, I stayed completely silent during this exchange, content with merely observing the reaction of ‘real Mr Fitz’, who now seemed suddenly quite nervous at the prospect of us talking with his employer, perhaps even more than he was with the authorities' involvement.

He didn’t even claim the most simple explanation, blaming the dead man for everything, including falsifying the signature and the documents. It was the prospect of his boss, and I assumed, the real owner, looking at the papers that unsettled the man. Made me wonder why.

I still couldn't quite grasp what the real issue with the documents was, yesterday I still thought it was likely a made-up name and I was proven wrong in that regard. Thus I intended to focus on something else.

“Are you aware that there are plants that grow only in Lacertia that would make potions we have now multitude more effective?” I asked. Agent Cato looked at me with a strange expression when I suddenly questioned the businessman but didn’t protest.

“I am curious as well.” The agent agreed. “Perhaps we might use your connection with the Vatu here? What’s the tribe you are working with called?”

I didn’t expect this Fitz to know what really makes a potion work; he was just a rich trader. But he knows people who did know. And would either prove that it isn’t possible to make potions better than they were, and thus this job is a ruse with an easy way out for me. Or he did know that there was something out there that was worth fighting through the entire regiment to get.

Fitz didn’t answer, looked at me, and then at the agent. He looked suddenly pale. Then he repeated:

“We don’t have any business in Lacertia.”

I had to frown. Why all that insistence, I had to ask myself.

“But you have contacts, don’t you? Other merchants? Competitors?” I mused, “At the very least, you can direct us to the Vatu Shaman. He knows the secrets of potion-making and can tell us whether something is possible or not.”

It was strange how his behaviour changed. Strange and suspicious. However, before I could land another question, I was hit by a gut-wrenching feeling, almost as if something started draining the energy from the area.

My ability to sense the flow of magic didn’t stop working after all.

A dryad was there. And this one was more powerful than the other I’ve spoken with.