Harbend paid a couple of the uniformed porters to haul Arthur's luggage onto a small wagon and then gave them directions for delivery. He'd jumped off the train before it stopped to ensure their entering the city as quickly as possible. The train station was brimming with people trying to sell their services to weary travelers, their numbers multiplied tenfold by passengers from the villages they had called on during the ride to Verd.
A man grabbed his arm. "Snacks, sir. Roast pork. Good for you after a long day."
Harbend shook him off. He didn't have the time at the moment. Later, maybe, at a decent place.
He neatly sidestepped anyone who tried to sell him food or small trinkets and began the task of making sure Arthur's goods were registered and delivered to the outworlders' independent warehouse. Harbend, along with all independent merchants as well as the smaller trading houses couldn't afford warehouses of his own.
It was at that time he learned that Arthur, alone of all outworlder traders, had brought no goods except what was contained in small crates rather than the oblong containers used to store metal.
Angrily he made his way back to the train only to find Arthur standing on the road totally oblivious to what was happening around him.
"Excuse me, sir. We have yet to find you lodging for the night." The words had the effect Harbend wanted and he led his disorientated client to their waiting carriage.