"Yes." The wounded soldier nodded like a pecking chick, "The old Saint ordered us to pack up and load the vehicles, yesterday."
"Take me to Brother Reed."
Beside the carriage, Winters found the old charlatan.
The old man had eaten well and slept well on the journey, even enjoying petting cats daily.
Compared to the emaciated alms-seeking monk when they first met, the old charlatan now seemed somewhat corpulent.
When they met, the old charlatan was holding a small bucket of red paint in his left hand and a brush in his right, busy doodling on the wagon's sideboard.
Seeing Winters approaching, Brother Reed waved happily, "Lad, you're back?"
"What are you doing?" Winters walked up to the old monk.
Only upon drawing near did Winters make out what the old charlatan was writing:
[Property of Jeska Squad of the Fifth Legion]
[Theft punishable by hanging, military justice will be executed]
