"I wonder, does he even sleep with it?" crossed my mind.

"Sorry for the trouble," Oscar was the first to break the tense silence. "My friend and I got into a scrape. A most unpleasant incident happened to us. As you know, around these parts, you can't always trust people."

"Oh, do tell me," the man snorted and took a closer look. "Oscar, didn’t recognize you at first. How’s your grandfather doing? I adore that old man. So fiery, so headstrong. I remember going hunting with him. Ahh…" Vance looked down dreamily, "those were great times. Your grandpa—a born marksman."

"He’s doing fine," the kid answered curtly.

"Well, and you—cat got your tongue?" the man turned to me.

"The thing is," Oscar continued, not giving me a chance to open my mouth, "Constantin is new around here. Doesn’t know the local customs well, and that’s why we keep landing in trouble."

"Oh really? And here I thought we land in trouble because I keep listening to you, kid," I silently argued with the brat.

"So what’s this trouble, then? Gonna tell me already?" Vance grumbled.

"Don't get worked up, darling," Justina said to her husband. "Let the boys catch their breath after your… dramatic entrance."

"Weakness isn’t in fashion these days," Vance sighed. "Fine, breathe easy—I wasn’t gonna shoot. Unless, of course, you came here to rob us."

"How could we?!" the kid exclaimed, grabbing a glass of cherry compote from the table. "Not only were we lucky enough to be invited into your home, but we also got to taste your homemade treats. And might I say, Justina is simply a marvelous hostess. This compote—nothing short of a masterpiece."