Eyal had been right about one thing: Early the next morning, there was a telegram requesting an elder to meet and protect the huge crew that had been pushing to finish the tracks between Mannin and the Savre until Ragna’s and Neville’s warning about the Rot-queen had interrupted work. Gertrude was happy to go, as long as Pierre stayed close by. Morgulon and Lane set out to return to Brines a little later, and in the afternoon, a ship arrived at the makeshift little harbour, carrying building materials from Mannin and a dozen carpenters who had been bribed into helping out, so the camp couldn’t just be rebuilt but made better. Bigger, too.

Greg wondered what the point of extending the camp was, until Andrew and Nathan told him about the enterprising merchants at First Camp. And indeed, the next day, a group of men from Eoforwic arrived with the mail coach. Two of them dragged huge crates into camp and quickly began to set up a rickety little stall. The rest of them appeared to be more journalists.

Andrew sauntered over to the two merchants, Greg trailing after him, curious about all this. He had thought them to be peddlers, but their suits were too nice for that on a closer look. Their faces were similar enough that they were likely father and son.

“Lord Feleke!” the older of the two greeted Andrew excitedly. “I am so glad to see you are alive and well! I hope that your brother and Lady deLande fare the same?”

“They do, thank you. Greg, this is Mr. Stokes, a merchant from Eoforwic, and his son.” Greg eyed the strangers uncertainly, but Andrew already went on: “Lady deLande returned to Eoforwic yesterday. Nathan is out. May I introduce you to my other brother: Gregory Feleke.”

Greg offered his hand, a bit hesitant. He saw equal hesitation in the other man’s face. He did shake Greg’s hand though.

“The – ah...”

“Werewolf, yes,” Greg said. He tried to sound nonchalant about it, but his heart beat faster.

The younger man who had been arranging the display of wares froze. Greg avoided his stare by looking down at the variety of small luxuries he’d been organizing: little tin boxes of nice tea, sweets that kept, tobacco from the very south of Loegrion. Some nice handkerchiefs, a well-made pocket watch in a place of honour. Two big bound books with “Jones & Stokes illustrated catalogue of merchandise” written on the cover were placed to the right and the left.

“It’s a pleasure!” the older man recovered. Greg thought he kicked his son, and went on: “Your arrival was all the talk at First Camp, milord! We heard you got here just in the nick of time, or there would have been a disaster.”

“Quite true,” Andrew said. “Which is why I’m surprised to see you here?“

“Oh, well, have to get our foot in the door, don’t we? We weren’t quite certain before if this camp was quite safe, what with the Savre right there. But then we heard that there’s now a proper pack here, and two of these – Rot-queens – killed! We had never even heard of such creatures before! The folks at First Camp explained some about it, and we thought to ourselves, a force of werewolves capable of dealing with that, how much safer can a place be?” Mr. Stokes looked around. “I have no doubts other merchants will hear about this and think similar, and this camp isn’t really big enough to support much competition. So Oswin and I headed out with the first coach that left from First Camp.”

“In that case, we don’t want to keep you,” Andrew said. “I think you have your first customers.”

There were a few off-duty soldiers hanging back, watching the ramshackle booth with interest. One of them was jiggling a small bag of coins. When Andrew and Greg stepped away, one of them exclaimed: “Finally! Something other than grub!”

Andrew smiled. “They’ll make good business, I bet.”

“Sounds like it,” Greg said. “But, uh, Andrew, I think you need to look at what’s happening over there.”

He pointed at the bit of wall that had survived. All wolves in the vicinity were headed there, very unhappy about something.

“Lead the way,” Andrew sighed.

As soon as they rounded what was left of the wall, it wasn’t hard to spot what was going on: The three recently arrived journalists had found Pierre, who had been sitting in a sunny spot underneath the remaining watch tower. Greg could tell across the distance that one of the men with the notebooks was decked out in a lot more silver than even David ever carried.

Greg hoped the man was just worried about the Rot.

The pack and half the other wolves around, however, were ready to jump the stranger. Pierre had both his hands pressed to the grounds, in case he needed to transform in a hurry to defend himself.

Before Greg could say anything, Andrew broke into a jog. “Gentlemen, good day,” he called out. “And to you, too, Romain. The hell are you doing here?”

The journalist wearing all the silver spun around. “What are you doing here, Feleke, coddling those monsters?”

The man pulled a knife out of the sheath at his hips, but was stopped by a voice: “I wouldn’t, Romain.”

Up on the watch tower, there was Nathan, crossbow trained on the false journalist. “Drop it!”

Andrew closed the distance before Pierre managed to get to his feet, still human-looking. The two actual journalists stared.

Romain glared up at Nathan, but dropped the knife. “How did you know?” he spat out.

“We’re just that good,” Andrew replied. “No sudden moves, you know Nathan’s light on the trigger.”

He started to disarm the would-be assassin. Pierre stumbled as he hastily tried to put more distance between himself and the two additional silver knives Andrew just dropped to the ground.

“What’s this? Silver dust?” Andrew asked, opening a small bag from Romain’s belt. “How much did the Church pay you for this?”

“I do not need payment,” Romain hissed, “to kill monsters! I know my sacred duty!”

“Well, that’s just stupid,” Andrew shrugged. “Duty or not, you might as well have made some money for your kids.”

He shook his head, patting down all the guy’s clothes. “Right, I think I got it all.”

He backed off and grabbed one of the silver knives, held it to the guys throat. “All right, Nathan, get down here. Take him to the officer in charge.”

“On my way,” Nathan called back.

“What the hell is going on?” one of the journalists asked. He had his notebook ready and a pencil in hand. Both of them began scribbling as soon as Andrew started talking:

“This man here is Romain Allard, werewolf hunter affiliated with the Church,” he explained. “And I think this,” he kicked the bag of silver dust, “qualifies as attempted murder.”

He kept his eyes on Allard, until Nathan came around the wall, followed by a soldier. The soldier grabbed the hunter by the arm, and Nathan followed, holding his spear in both hands.

“Let’s go,” he ordered.

“Attempted murder?” a journalist prompted.

“Obviously, yes,” Andrew gave back. “There is no warrant in place for Pierre, and certainly no Crown Warrant.”

“How can you be certain?”

“Is that a serious question?” Greg grumbled.

“Just something our readers would like to know.”

Andrew rubbed his chin, eying the two of them. But he explained: “Pierre came with my brother Gregory here from the Argentum Formation three days ago and he hasn’t been to Loegrion for several decades. He helped save this camp, and anyone in it. Finally, my brother, Lord David Feleke is one of the very few people who can currently issue a Crown Warrant on a werewolf. He would have mentioned if there was one on this pack.”

“What will happen to the – the hunter that was arrested?” the other journalist asked.

“That’s up to the officer in charge. Most likely, he’ll be placed under guard and taken to a better fortified camp,” Andrew said. “Or Mannin directly, where he will be brought to justice.”

Pierre looked back and forth between Andrew and the journalists, then walked away. Greg felt compelled to hurry after him, and as soon as they were out of earshot, Pierre asked: “How did your brother know? You were inside the camp!”

“He didn’t,” Greg shrugged. “You all felt the silver on him, I noticed that the others were getting worried, and Andrew went with me to investigate. He just recognized the guy as a fellow hunter. I had no idea Nathan was up on the tower, but he does like to climb stuff, so it shouldn’t have surprised me.”

Pierre shuddered. “I should have gone for the bastard’s throat as soon as I sensed the silver.”

The old man let himself sink onto a tree stump. The pack surrounded him right away, most of them in their wolf shapes, still ready for a fight. Alister rubbed his huge head against Pierre’s shoulder who absentmindedly buried his hand in the wolf’s mane.

“I think it’s lucky you didn’t,” Greg said quietly. “If you had, some jackass might have argued ‘unprovoked’ werewolf attack. Now it’s all nice and official, with a couple of witnesses, too.”

“This happen a lot?” Rémy asked.

“I don’t know,” Greg shrugged. “It’s been illegal to hunt werewolves for less than a year, and most of that time I was running around the mountains. I can ask my brothers. David would know for certain.”

“And – your brothers are really here to protect us?” Estelle asked.

“Crazy,” Pierre muttered. “To have a Feleke... unbelievable.”

“I’m a Feleke,” Greg muttered, but Pierre ignored him.

Rémy grinned, uneasily. “I mean, it seems to be working, doesn’t it? I mean, they were right there.”

“Is that supposed to reassure me?” Pierre snapped. “That Fleetfoot Feleke had been standing right above me the whole time with a loaded crossbow?”

“Nathan just likes climbing things,” Greg said again, but Pierre didn’t look mollified in the slightest.

“You were the one to lead us here,” Rémy pointed out.

Pierre glared at him, but he admitted: “True. I just hoped we’d make it into a city before the silver daggers come out.”

Greg grimaced. Mostly because he agreed. He hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t thought they would still have to worry about hunters. He had really thought they’d be – well, not safe. But not in danger from that angle.

The wolves standing around all turned towards the camp. Nathan raised his hands, and stopped just within talking distance. “You guys are all right?” he asked. “I’ve handed the bastard over to the camp’s guards. They’ll keep him under watch until he can be carted off to Mannin.”

“And then what happens to him?”

Nathan ran a hand through his locks. “Well, the new law states that anyone who kills a werewolf without a Crown Warrant committed murder, with all that entails. I’m not a lawyer, I don’t know how the judge in Mannin will handle this case, since he technically didn’t kill anyone. Duke George Louis already sent more soldiers to strengthen the garrison here. Should be here tomorrow, it will be part of their job to ensure your safety.”

Greg wasn’t certain how reassuring that was for the others. He was just glad that Nathan and Andrew were hanging around. At least until David wanted them elsewhere.

“Andrew also asked the journalists not to bother you guys uninvited,” Nathan added. “They can ask Greg first if they want to talk to you. That’s not a law, though, we can only ask them. They’re a bit shaken after what just happened, so I think these two will stick to it. Others might not. There is obviously a lot of interest in what happened here and more journalists are on the way.”

The pack milled about at the forest edge a little longer, but they did go back when it was time for lunch. As soon as those currently human sat down with their plates – it was still al fresco dining – and the wolves settled around to chew on some bones, the two journalists from earlier approached the group. They looked around until they settled on Greg.

“Gregory Feleke?” one of the asked. “Mulley is the name, I should have introduced myself earlier.”

He offered his hand, and Greg shook it.

“Dawson,” the other man quickly jumped in. “Eoforwic Tribunal. Your brothers asked that we talk to you about interviews?”

Thanks, guys, Greg thought. Aloud he said: “You want to talk to someone specific?”

“All of you, ideally,” Dawson said.

Mulley nodded eagerly.

“Right.” Greg shuddered. He glanced at Alister, who hadn’t turned human since new moon, at Annabelle, who did sometimes turn human but barely talked. She shook her head at him immediately.

“Thank you for your interest,” Greg said out loud. “We’ll discuss your request. I could come over to you after lunch?”

The two men nodded slowly. “There are other journalists here,” Mulley said. “We only ask –“

“We’ll talk to you first, yes.”

To Greg’ relief, the reporters walked away with that promise.

“Anyone want to go first?” Rémy asked. “I wouldn’t mind. Unless you want, Pierre?”

“Not particularly. Just let Greg iron out the details.”

“You’ve done this before?” Rémy promptly asked. “Given interviews?”

Greg shook his head. “It’s usually Andrew, or my Father. And I’ve seen it happen at court, too, a few times.”