Putting on the hood, and pushing open the car door, Harbin's boots stepped onto the solid stone ground.
The flickering lights, the chirping of tree leaves, and the lively shouting and singing of country drunkards and passing merchants could be heard.
In stark contrast to that singing was the silence of the courtyard before Harbin's eyes.
A death-like silence.
This was the back door of a country tavern, with the front courtyard as the tavern and the backyard as the owner's home.
"Sir Harbin." Standing by the back door, a tall, skinny man in black nodded towards Harbin.
At first, Harbin didn't recognize him.
It wasn't until they entered the room and the man removed his gloves, exposing a mechanical iron hand, that Harbin realized: "So it's Mr. Griz, you've returned from Black Snake Bay."
Harbin, being a merchant, was very good at recognizing faces.
"The will of His Majesty above all." As the chief commissioner for Cheka in Black Snake Bay, Griz wasn't one for small talk.
