“Mmmhmmm. You ever been knocked on the head by a month’s worth of snow, you appreciate that.”
While Isobel was considering the idea of that much snow, wondering if the woman was making sport of her, the marshal turned to welcome the man who was coming forward to greet them, a gaggle of others just behind him, staring as though they’d never seen strangers before.
Isobel had to admit that maybe they hadn’t, at least not like this.
A single figure pushed through the crowd, elbowing the others aside with casual disdain. “Marshal LaFlesche, isn’t it? I’d say it’s good to see you, but marshals never bring anything but work, and you likely remember how much I hate that sort of thing.”
The man was old, not ancient, but what hair he had left was sparse and white, curled tight against a balding pate, and his face drooped like an old dog at the jowls. He wore a fitted black cloth coat, the shirt underneath it fastened up to the neck, and trousers with a neat darn in the knee, but his boots were polished clean, despite the dust that seemed to settle over all else.
“Good to see you still up and kicking, Judge,” the marshal said in return, shaking his hand. “And yes, I’m afraid I’ll need you to drape the bench one more time.”
The judge pulled his head back, examining the newcomers with an expression that reminded Isobel of nothing so much as a turtle suddenly startled from his log. “All of them?”
“Ah, no, my apologies. Judge Pike, this is Gabriel Kasun, and Isobel . . .” The marshal hesitated, as though uncertain how to introduce her.
“Isobel née Lacoyo Távora,” she said, stepping forward. “Most recently of Flood.”
“Ah.” The old man’s narrowed eyes studied her, giving nothing away. “Come from the Old Man’s lair, eh? Well, you’re welcome to Andreas, despite what you bring, though there’s little to recommend it these days. We’re mostly emptied out for planting and grazing, just us oldsters left behind. And what of these others—are those two dead, or do they sleep as such?”
“Ah. Well, and there’s a story to be told,” the marshal said, rubbing her jaw, a rueful tone to her voice. “These two”—the marshal indicated the Americans, their hands bound in front of them—“are accused of having made false claim of insult.”
“Against you two?” the judge asked, turning back to Isobel and Gabriel.
“Against them,” the marshal said, gesturing to the two bodies slung across the saddles.
“Ah.” His narrow-eyed gaze went to them, noting the faded clothing and worn boots visible from that side. “And they are . . .”
There was a silence: Isobel felt no need to be the one to inform the judge that they’d brought two magicians, however unconscious, into his town, and apparently neither did Gabriel. LaFlesche coughed once, then took up her burden.
“Magicians. Bound and warded,” she added quickly. “But we couldn’t simply leave ’em there.”
“Yes, you could have,” the judge said, and for the first time, Isobel felt like she might have an ally here. “What the blasted night am I supposed to do with magicians?”
Run, don’t walk. Isobel hadn’t realized quite how much traveling with Farron Easterly had changed her—and Gabriel—until she saw the panic in the judge’s eyes.
“Drape the bench and pronounce judgment, of course,” LaFlesche said, almost cheerful, and Isobel wondered if maybe the magicians weren’t the only mad ones in their party. From the way Gabriel wiped a hand down the front of his face, leaving two fingers across his lips as though to keep himself from saying anything, she wasn’t the only one having those sudden misgivings.
“I’m too old for this nonsense,” the judge told her, then waved irritably at the people still lingering behind him. Most of them, Isobel noted, were not much younger than he was, mostly male but with a few women among them, silver-haired and deep-creased skin. “Stop hovering like a flock of hens and be useful,” he barked at them now. “Put the walking ones in the holding pen.” And he turned back to LaFlesche to ask, “I’m presuming you have their parole they’re not going to run?”
“They’re not bound to the Territory,” Gabriel answered for her. “If they break parole, nothing will chase after them.”
“There was no need to tell them that,” LaFlesche said, tight and quiet.
“I waited until we were inside walls, didn’t I?”
The judge turned to stare at Gabriel as though seeing him properly for the first time. “Hrmph. Well, Andreas’s walls are good at keeping things out; we’ll see how well it keeps ’em in. And those two . . .” Isobel hadn’t thought it possible for his eyes to squint further, but they did. “You, girl, you the one keeping ’em down?”
Isobel nodded.
“Then you stay with ’em. Lucky you. Lou, take ’em to Possum’s; let him earn his keep for a change.”