Chapter 5

It was Tom. Two other burly men followed close behind him.

There wasn't a hint of a smile on his face; his gaze swept coldly over the crowd before settling on me, and then on the foundation pit behind me.

He marched straight toward me.

Felix immediately stepped in to block his path. "Tom, what are you doing here?"

Tom sneered, shoving Felix aside. "I'm here for this fraud."

He pointed a finger directly at my nose. "I hear there's an outsider here performing magic tricks? I hear he claims he can build some piece of crap to save the whole town in three days?"

His voice dripped with mockery and contempt. "And you idiots actually believed him?"

The crowd stirred restlessly; a few young men tightened their grip on their axes.

I set down my bowl of venison stew and stood up, meeting his gaze with calm detachment. "I'm no fraud. And I don't do magic. I am merely a carpenter."

My calmness only seemed to infuriate Tom further.

"A carpenter?" He let out a malicious laugh. "An outsider carpenter coming here to boss us Northlanders around?"

His two lackeys snickered behind him.

At these words, a frown creased the brows of every Northlander present.

Mark stepped forward, his face turning grim as he shouted something at Tom in their native tongue.

Tom shot him a dismissive glance. "Mark, your wife and kid are freezing to death. Why don't you beg me for some dry wood instead of trusting an outsider?

"How much has he taken from you? Thirty dollars? Three hundred?"

Then, he turned his attention back to the crowd. "You're all being played. The wood you bought from me is premium pine.

"It's just been a rainy year. Leave it for two weeks, and it'll dry out naturally.

"But this stranger? He just wants to swindle you out of your money and then run away.

"Think about it. When that happens, you won't just be out of firewood; you won't even have the lumber left to build proper houses."

His words were insidious.

A ripple of doubt ran through the crowd, and hesitation appeared on some faces.

It was a valid fear. Why were they trusting an outsider so blindly?

If I failed, their last hope would be gone.

I saw the wavering in their eyes.

But I didn't argue. Instead, I bent down and pulled a log from the pile of wet firewood in Mark's yard.

Then, I walked over to the pile of timber we had cut that day and picked up another log.

I walked up to Tom and held the two pieces out to him. "You're a man who works with wood. Tell me, what is the difference between these two?"

Tom was caught off guard by my question, instinctively taking them.

In his hands, the contrast was obvious. One was dark brown, heavy as lead, and weeping water to the touch.

The other was pale yellow with the fresh scent of pine resin. It was heavy, yes, but the grain was solid and tight.

"Well..." He stalled.

I stepped in and spelled it out for him. "The wood you sold them is dead, rotting timber. It's been soaked by rain; the moisture has penetrated right into the heartwood fibers.

"In this weather, it won't dry out in two weeks. It won't dry out in two months.

"But what we cut? Those were living trees. Their structure is dense, and the moisture is only on the surface. With enough heat and ventilation, they can dry in a single day."

I paused, staring him down. "As a lumber dealer, you know these principles perfectly well. Selling them this waterlogged ruin? What makes that any different from murder?"