I'd always thought myself a simple trader, a man who buys here and sells there, and makes a bit of coin for himself in the doing. But yesterday I learned I constitute what's called a "strategic risk," and so cannot cross the bridge the Redanians control. Who knows what I have in my wagon, the sergeant said, maybe I'm smuggling weapons, maybe I'm carrying spies' reports? When I said they'd nothing to fear from my bundles of cloth and lace, and that the only letters I'm carrying are from my dear wife, the sergeant slapped me across the face with his glove and ordered me to, and I quote, "fuck off," or else I would soon "be seeing more stars than many an astronomer." As you can see, eloquence and good manners do not seem to be subjects of much importance at the Redanian officers' academy, though one must admit the soldier did display a certain amount of linguistic creativity.
Well, life goes on. I've hired a few mercenaries and a guide to help me ford across the river near the bridge. Once across, I'll blow that sergeant a kiss and continue on my way.