All excavations on the site ceased shortly after the lone brigand left. Emkay decided to at least partially prepare the camp, in case the Novikov goons returned. In his opinion the risk was small, but not insignificant. When his employees suggested, however, that they all should just evacuate, he sternly argued against it, claiming that once the rumour spreads of a precursorial dig site, Ordo Pro Cvrsi would arrive shortly after, locking the place down and denying access to anyone and everyone but them.

The men took on themselves to dig a grave for the fallen brigands. They did so half a kimer away from the camp. It took them a better part of the midday, during which Maanica and Martina sorted through the camp’s supplies and already excavated artifacts to prepare the tents, carts, and crates to be rearranged.

By the evening, and after several candles of hard work, the camp changed from a loosely placed to a miniature makeshift fort. This included clearing two hundred mers around it off anything that could be used as cover. If anyone wanted to take them, they would need to assault them face on.

Emkay had no hopes that it would actually help them in repelling a force larger than what they already dealt with. After all, wooden crates or walls of their carts were no good at halting a musket ball. Regardless, if the bandits persisted, his expedition would need to end either way. He didn’t have an army to guard this place and the kind of work he was doing was best done in secrecy. What they were currently doing was a gamble, sure, but one he was willing to take.

They set up a guard duty, two candles each, during the entire night and kept their quite sizable collection of firearms loaded. Which paid off handsomely shortly after bivrise, during Niven’s turn.

-“Emkay! Dem a back!” - exclaimed the islander.

A brief commotion followed as the rest of the team got up and quickly headed to their designated positions, whilst Emkay approached the islander.

-”Show mi.” - he said, gesturing at Niven to hand over the spyglass.

Niven pointed at a barely visible cloud of dust way away on the plains. The Nord quickly confirmed the islander's suspicion that a tumult of this magnitude could only be raised by a group of horsemen, and one that was in a hurry.

-”Five, ar six” - he uttered after assessing the group for some time -”Nah as bad as eh cudda bin.”

-“Dem a bi yah de bad enuff.” - replied Niven, shaking his head.

-”Chuu” - said Emkay after a few drips, absentmindedly.

As triskols passed, it became apparent that the group was led by the same man, the nord allowed to go the day before. This time he led an ensemble of five mounted men. They picked up the pace about two thirds of a kimer away, clearly intending to storm the camp and take it by storm.

-”Yah guh nutten!” - uttered Niven and grasped his rifle a little harder. Both women aimed their weapons but before Emkay could jump off the cart and take a defensive position, the bandit leader raised his hand and almost immediately the raid halted. Just outside the range of a handgun.

-”Wat a dem a duh?”

-”Nah rushing inna an obvious killzun.” - said Emkay, with a hint of a wry smile - ”Kip yuh rifle aimed.”

An uneasy silence fell over the campsite, making the entire situation an eerie experience. Wind picked up, blowing the dust cloud away and making the tent canvas flap loudly. The novikovs were still mounted, their horses nickered and snorted impatiently. From this distance it was hard not to notice the dark streak on the bandit leader’s face, as if someone punched him a couple of times. He looked a lot less scared though, perhaps because he had some extra help. They came better prepared this time. They lit their matches beforehand as attested by a faint bluish smoke curling up from their firearms.

Apart from the leader there were five other hoomin in the group. Just like before, they could be a regiment of an army, as their attire didn’t deviate in fashion, cleanliness and state of disrepair from the previously encountered posse. There were four men, staring impatiently, but cautiously at the fortified camp. The fifth of the dispatch was, to nord's surprise, very likely a woman. Although at this distance he wasn't able to tell for certain, unless the lack of a turban on her head was a telltale. Unlike her companions, she was chewing something, leaf very likely, without much care in the world to whatever was happening. She also was the only one without any firearm at the ready.

As the time passed, the situation became even more tense, even though, or perhaps because, the brigands didn’t seem to be that eager to do anything decisive. For a good quanter with change they simply stood there, just far enough away to make shooting at them a pointless endeavour, and engaged in fierce quarrel among themselves, undoubtedly about the way to proceed. Nord concluded that the men wanted to storm the camp and forget diplomacy, whilst the leader clearly tried to calm them down enough to make talks possible. Emkay couldn't hear any of the words from this distance, but the body language and gestures were fairly easy to identify. The entire scene would be amusing, if not for the circumstances, and it made the nord even more determined to wait them out. Niven in the meantime dropped to one knee and propped the rifle on the sideboard.

-”YOU!” - finally came a distant shout from the leader -”COME TO MIDDLE. WE TALK!”

Emkay pondered the situation for a short while, then simply jumped off the cart and began a slow walk into no-man's-land. The brigand leader did venture forward as well, but he stayed mounted.

-”That is close enough!” - said the novikov loudly, then continued when they both stopped - ”We didn’t introduce ourselves last time. I'd like to correct that mistake. I’m Jamolke Olivier Martinez Amengual.”

-”The name is Beorg McKeone.” - replied the nord grimly.

-”Well. Mister McKeone. Tell me who made his second mistake now?” - said Amengual, in a voice in which he did his best to sound menacing. 

- “What was my first mistake?” - asked Beorg back, slowly lifting his hand and rubbing his chin with a washboard-like noise.

The brigand looked surprised as if he did not expect this question.

- “Letting me live?”

- “Well, I do learn from my mistakes…” - replied the nord - “...and I can assure you this one will not be repeated. I doubt the same can be said about you.”

-”Listen, I don’t want to be here. But I have my orders.” - Amengual now tried a different approach, feigning concern and friendship - “And these orders came from people much more powerful than you or I. And less patient. So I have a proposition.”

-”How much do you want?”

-”I like how direct you are, McKeone” - nodded the brigand smiling - “Five thousand coppers, so we’ll be able to procure all the things needed to protect your camp without bothering you in the future.”

The nord did not respond straight away, only tilted his head to one side and stared at Jamolke, nodding slightly, as he was wont to do. It took an uncomfortable amount of time.

-"This is not how it works…" - he started, but didn't manage to finish the sentence, because the novikov interrupted him.

-“Well then! I've tried, but you're stubborn. Time’s up! If you want to have it the hard way, Olga might talk some sense into you.” - he said, smirking, and turned his horse about slowly, still facing the nord. McKeone watched him go with ever so slight frown. The actions of this Jamolke fellow were… dubious, and at this point they didn't make much sense. Unless… unless the Novikovs played only with loaded dice.

---

paragraph continued in chapter 2.2 due to character limit