"Of course we are," Wilder replied. "That is why we are still gathering men. Ser Simon has calculated that it takes the caravan twelve to sixteen days to make the round trip from the fishing village to Whitewalls and back. It has only been ten days since they left. We still have time for Martha to recruit more men for us."
He added, "And if they still have not finished moving the treasure after this trip, we will have another twelve to sixteen days to prepare."
"Ser Simon of House Darry?" Ian asked. "You didn't mention him before."
"Ah, that is because he is not on standby with my forces. He has returned to Darry. He asked me to inform him just before we take action. He can mobilize another thirty men to join the battle."
"Though his men are mostly infantry," Wilder continued, "they are all well-trained regulars. They will be crucial for forming a solid battle line. Accordingly, however, he has asked for thirty percent of the treasure's value."
Having started, Wilder decided to lay out the entire profit distribution for 'Ser Lucien'.
"As for the remaining shares, I have promised ten percent to the three hedge knights, to be divided amongst themselves."
"So, before I arrived, you had left sixty percent for yourselves?" Ian looked at Ser Wilder, a flicker of interest in his eyes.
"No," Wilder clarified. "In the original plan, Willy and I would each take twenty percent. The final twenty percent was to be shared equally among the other members of the Knight's Alliance."
"Those men aren't participating in the operation, yet they get a share?"
"They participated in most of the earlier operations," Wilder said, taking the responsibility upon himself. "It was not their fault I did not inform them of this last action. At least, not the fault of anyone other than the mole."
"What a just leader," Ian sighed. "And you gave me their twenty percent?"
"No. My plan is to carve your share out of the total and distribute the rest according to the original proportions. After all, in our agreement with the Black Falcon mercenaries, our side was only ever set to receive fifty percent."
"And that is the reason you insisted on waiting for the Ghosts to gather all the treasure before acting," Ian realized aloud. "If you had raided the village immediately, your share of the profits would have been a pittance. A poor reward for half a year's effort."
Just as Ian finished his assessment, he froze.
"What is it? What did you think of?"
"The thing that was wrong," Ian breathed. "I felt it several times!" His expression shifted rapidly, a storm of calculations flashing across his face.
"What is it?" Wilder pressed.
"Gather the treasure together," Ian whispered, then snapped his head up to lock eyes with the old knight. "If it were you—if you found the Blackfyre treasure and arranged for a ship to pick it up from that abandoned village—what would you do?"
Sir Wilder stared back at him blankly.
"Something is wrong," Ian said again, taking a deep breath and abandoning his attempt to guide Wilder to the conclusion. He laid it out himself. "If I found that treasure, I would move it to the fishing village as quickly as possible."
"Of course, a single caravan of thirty or forty wagons would be far too conspicuous. But you could simply divide the treasure among several smaller caravans. With something like this, the less time you take, the lower the risk of exposure."
"In other words," Ian concluded, "while you were watching the village, you should have been seeing a constant stream of caravans, coming and going."
"No," Sir Wilder said, shaking his head firmly. "Other than the first caravan, no one else has entered that village."
"And what does that mean?"
Sir Wilder just looked confused.
"It means that is all the manpower they have!" Ian's voice rose with the force of his conviction.
"But that's perfect for us, is it not?" Wilder argued, still not understanding. "The caravan had more than twenty men, and there were seven in the village. If they left another ten or so to guard the treasure's original location, that would bring them to nearly fifty men—the same scale as the camp we first discovered."
"Then how have they been dealing with the goods they've plundered over the past few months?" Ian shot back. "A band of raiders with no fixed camp, so elusive you can't even find their shadow. How do they manage their supplies?"
"Well," Sir Wilder admitted, looking slightly embarrassed. "I confess I haven't thought about that problem." He glanced at his friend, Ser Willy, and saw the same blank confusion on his face. For some reason, it made him feel slightly better.
"But what does that have to do with the Blackfyre Treasure?" Wilder asked, turning back to Ian, hoping for an explanation.
"If the Ghosts of Whitewalls have been successfully disposing of their loot after every raid, there is only one possibility: they must have other men, accomplices, posing as legitimate caravans. Whenever the raiders strike, these fake caravans move in to transport and sell the stolen goods."
"And if they had such caravans at their disposal, would they not use them when they finally found the Blackfyre treasure? Impossible. They would put all their manpower toward moving the hoard."
"This means," Ian said, his logic building to an irrefutable point, "after leaving guards at the village and the treasure's hiding place, they should have been able to form several caravans of the size you saw."
"But there was no second caravan at the abandoned fishing village," Sir Wilder repeated stubbornly.
"Which means those caravans don't exist!" Ian declared. "The only Ghosts of Whitewalls are the cavalrymen you've been fighting! They have no other helpers. That caravan, those men in the village—that is their entire force!"
"Then how did they deal with all the goods they've stolen?" Sir Wilder's mind was a tangled mess.
"It is taking them this long to move a relatively small treasure," Ian countered. "How could they possibly handle months' worth of plunder, which would be far greater in volume? And if they can't dispose of the goods, they can only do one thing: hoard them."
"Impossible!" Sir Wilder stated with certainty. "There are no deep mountains or old forests near Whitewalls. The area has only a few sparse woods surrounded by flat plains. There is absolutely no place they could have a camp that we could not find!"
Ian gave the old knight a long, hard look. "If you hadn't described the details of that abandoned fishing village so clearly, I would almost suspect this entire affair was a farce, directed and performed by you."
"Directed and performed by me?" Wilder was stunned, then his face flushed with rage. "Are you suggesting the Ghosts of Whitewalls are my own men?" He had never been so insulted in his life. For a moment, he wondered why he wasn't simply challenging the boy to a duel.
"No," Ian said, shaking his head and softening his tone. "I said almost. Meaning... I believe in your innocence and your honor, Ser Wilder."
Ser Wilder's furious expression eased slightly.
"And," Ian added, flashing his signature, confident smile, "after eliminating you as a suspect, I believe the truth has finally emerged."
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If you want to read ahead, check the author's note.