This was way more of a catastrophe than any other job Rona could currently recall. Plenty of close calls and seen a lot of messed-up stuff before, but this was beyond the pale. Shocked, trauma seeping in, and still not processing much of what had happened. Rona will have to keep running from this for a long time, in both senses.

  There would be no time to tie up any loose ends, such as selling off that wine to the scholar minister. However, before she absconds without a trace, she has just enough time to retrieve her stash from the abandoned yard.

  One of the bottles had smashed and soaked through. Another had a hairline crack and was slowly seeping out. Hopefully, the other two will make up for a lot of losses that she will have to cut. It was just enough dose of reality needed to shake loose from the near catatonic flashbacks. To take her mind off this, she found a bit of clay to plug the crack on the bottle.

  Now Rona actually does have an exit strategy for such times when a job goes awry. It would take a while longer for the colour to return to her face, at least for now. After regaining enough of herself, it was time to put the exit plan into action. It seemingly felt like no time at all for her to recover her local stash and venture out of town.

  She had previously overheard a farmer talking about routine trips to the next village over at the market. His farm is positioned near where the countryside begins, and his departure is at the crack of dawn to avoid as much trouble as possible. Before comprehending where she was, she had come to a halt. There was no recollection of how she even got here, but here she was, staring down at a big wooden cart outside an old farmhouse, mind slowly clicking the pieces into place.

  Right, yeah.. Perfect. This guy is my ticket outa here. When this much had dawned, she hid behind a stone wall with her back against it. It was getting brighter, but dawn was still some ways off. She immediately fell into a death-like slumber, too tired for nightmares.

  The creek and clunking of barrels onto the cart were enough to startle Rona awake. She carefully peered over the wall to see that the farmer was halfway through loading up. Stiff and heavy, the morning air was nippy. Instead of a dead leg, a dead body, but by the time she was limber enough, he had finished and fastened down the canvas cover.

  As the farmer was hustling up the horse, Rona got into position and tagged onto the back of the cart as it departed. She uncovered and steadily pulled out the barrels a little bit until there was a small gap in the middle. Then she brought the cover back over whilst hidden amongst the barrels. The cover smelled damp, musty and somewhat mouldy, as did the barrels, smelling vinegary and sour.

  The cracked bottle of wine was slowly oxidising and still slightly leaking, so Rona thought it best to sample the merchandise. It was a great way to pass the time by sipping and trying to guess the ingredients, or even just the flavours. Given the usual swill, this was lost on her. All she knew for sure was that it had a strong, rich taste and also very earthy from the clay.

  Before she knew it, the bottle was emptied. Still, certainly none the more wiser as to what it was beyond it being old, red wine. She went merrily bobbing along this bumpy trail in a comfy stupor. Luckily, she didn’t start hiccuping or pass out, only to be found later by a disgruntled farmer. Instead, she waited for her carriage to stop, peaking out from under the canvas cover and seized the first opening to jump off without drawing any attention.

  When she had fully stood up, there was a whoosh as the wine swam straight up to her head, and she staggered to some extent as she got her bearings. With the added burden of sleep deprivation, the alcohol’s weight had multiplied. Body had bent out of shape from being cramped up for so long, and shoulders, heavy.

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  This place is unfamiliar, but if memory serves correctly, then this place is called Stapleton. Not a bustling small town like White Gate, more of a big, humming village. Judging by the height of the sun, Rona summised that it was noon time, the high time of activity in a place such as this. This place also converges on a cross of trade routes, so they’re likely to pay no mind to new faces.

  However, Rona could sense she was considerably more noticeable. It could’ve been the awkward, achey way she was moving, although most folks on this street had poor posture and also moved with sore body parts, no doubt from many years of back-breaking labour.

  Locals and travellers sparsely littered the wide, open crossroads, ambling between stalls or else hauling hand carts around. There were more stalls tightly lining these streets, and today, it was Rona who was on display. Without prejudice, she approached the nearest stall. The occupant was far from polite. Used to being greeted with mild disgust, she thought it was best to be quick about it, “Excuse me, sir-”

  Before she could finish, he snapped, “I don’t want your sort ‘roun ‘ere. Now, push off!” Sometimes, Rona had the sort of poor reputation that you wouldn’t want to even be caught dead talking to, but she should be unknown to the likes of this place. This was distinctly more disparaging than usual, yet did not put her finger on as to why.

  So she hobbled across the road and a few stalls over, hoping for better luck this time. “Clearoff you filthy vagabond!” Wailed a rough, middle-aged woman.

  Rona traipsed down the road, away from the cross, until getting out of earshot and proceeding to chance the next vendor. This one was a younger lad and further from the busier foot traffic. “Hello, would you be interested in buying a unique bottle of wine for a special occasion, or are there perhaps any local experts?”

  “Yeah.. No one wants your watered-down wine. ‘Bout time you jogged on”, he replied quickly. So, mustering up the last dram of strength, she doubled back towards the cross and rounded the corner. This next row of new and not fresh faces ought not to shun her so quickly. At least that was the idea for this last-ditch attempt.

  “I’m looking for someone with a taste for wine, if you can help?” The merchant she was questioning was a woman around her age who had a kinder demeanour.

  However, the merchant’s face grimaced when she turned her attention to Rona, “Ewrr.. No.. could you move along? You’re scaring off all of the customers, ya stinkin’ wino”

  Well, that does it. I better call it a day. Rona would’ve liked the extra money to afford discretion with anyone who’d put her up for the night. Right now, covering tracks comes second only to leaving as much distance behind as quickly as possible. So, she slinked away into a quiet alley, one that hopefully doesn’t have any rats. Found a pallet amongst crates. Slumped into a gap, and down into a pile.

  It could’ve been seconds, minutes or hours; it was impossible to tell from being so quickly snapped back to life. The sole of her boot had been kicked by the gentleman standing over her. “I have never smelt anybody reek so badly of wine before in my life. I could smell you from the road.”

  Rona slightly cracked her eyes open and shielded the setting sun's penetrating light with her arm. The silhouette of the man continued, “You’d better get some place safe soon. The night patrol here are thugs, and it wouldn’t take a mo’ before they notice that no one will miss ya.”

  This warranted some wariness as she began to prop herself up. Where’s the pitch? There’s always a pitch. “Do me a quick job, and I’ll sort you out with a place tonight.” He seemed quite rotund as he moved to block off the last few rays of sunlight.

  There, she got a proper look at him. A big, very round beard that had patches of grey. A hairy bellybutton sticks out from his top and waist jacket. “Awright, what do you need?” She said, acquiescently.