Which Freston was not. While the Marcher Lords’ fortified manors, keeps, compounds and small villages were spread throughout the north, the only significant settlement beyond us was the garrison town of Veldecke, set on the border between Iversterre and, well, the Border. Freston was truly the last real town in the northern wilderness.
The buildings in Freston reflected its modest claims. Even the homes of its leading citizens were minuscule compared to the sprawling mansions that took up city blocks in Iversly. But then, most Freston inhabitants were more concerned with winter heating—unlike Royal City dwellers to whom open rooms, interior courtyards and high ceilings meant staying cool in that city’s hot and humid climate.
The jail was built along the same lines of conservation as its fellow buildings. It was tucked away on a small street leading from the main square, the insides of the narrow stone edifice just like the outside. However, this did not engender any sense of coziness. Instead, it had the disposition of all jails: cold, damp and miserable.
And the jailhouse guards had the same dispositions as their fellows everywhere. After playing the time-honored game of pound on the prisoners, they relieved Jeff, Arlis and me of our cloaks, swords, belts, knives, boots and purses. (They didn’t try for my ashwood staff, sneering at the plain wood as fit only for firewood.) I now stood at the far wall of one of the jail’s two common cells, dividing my attention between the bruises blooming under what was left of my clothing and my breath misting out before me in the flickering light from the torches. From the smell, they had been dipped in tallow and their burning added to the rich aromas that filled the cell—competing for space with whatever rustled in the rank straw on the cell floor.
I heard the sound of boots coming down the stone steps hat led to the cells just as the church bells rang the late lour. I didn’t bother to look up. I knew the sergeants who were sent to retrieve soldiers from jail and I’d almost rather stay where I was. Though there were worse liberators. Captain Suiden could show up. At that thought I shivered.
“Here they are, your honor, safe and sound,” the head jailer said. A key rattled in the lock and hinges gave a rusty screech as the cell door opened.
Without raising my head, I could see Jeff and Arlis stand from where they had huddled together for warmth, giving both me and any flea that dared hop their way the evil eye. As I watched, they snapped to attention. A sergeant, then. Holding in a sigh, I raised my head—only to jump to attention myself as I met the Lord Commander’s gaze.
He was tall, broad across the shoulders, and looking as a commander of the Royal Army and Royal Guard should. Lord Commander Thadro’s blue-gray eyes were filled with frost as he stared into the cell. Behind him several royal guards lurked, the plumes in their helms almost brushing the ceiling, the griffins on their tabards seeming to shimmer in the torchlight. Thadro took in our bruises and Jeff’s swollen eye before turning to the head jailer. “Release them.”
The jailer tucked his hands into his belt, a genial leer on his face. “Well, now, I can’t just go doing that on your say-so. There’s serious charges, your honor. Very serious charges. Good honest folk injured. Damage to property. Merchants losing custom. Why”—his beard-stubbled face fell into lines of leering astonishment—“they even scared some poor street players so badly that the play was stopped cold. Before the hat was passed.” His eyes dipped to Thadro’s purse. “I would imagine it’ll be quite a while before they could be released, your honor. Quite a while.”
Despite the well-deserved reputation of Freston’s garrison, I’d never been in the town’s jail before. (Having Suiden as a captain helped—any of his troop who went before the magistrate then had to go before him.) But I’d heard about Menck from other temporary inhabitants and I held still at his attempted shakedown. However, Thadro merely produced a sheaf of papers.
“By the town council, magistrate, mayor and the king’s order,” Thadro said.
Menck gingerly took the papers, shuffling through them to come to the royal order. His eyes first went down to the bottom of the sheet where, in the dim light, the king’s seal dully gleamed. He then started at the top, his lips moving as he used a finger to work his way through. Finally, he lowered the papers, his mouth a flat line as all dreams of extorted largesse winked out.
“Return all their belongings and release them,” Thadro said. “Now.”
A short while later, Jeff, Arlis and I walked out into the chill afternoon, once more fully clothed and armed. (Menck’s eyes were shiny with tears when he handed over our still-full purses. Apparently he and his mates hadn’t the chance to divvy up the spoils.) We followed Thadro into the town square, the royal guards bringing up the rear, and I looked around, surprised at how normal everything looked. The sinking sun cast a warm glow on the town hall and gilded the silver-and-crystal spire of the church on the opposite side of the square. The butterflies, lying still and quiet on my shoulder, suddenly erupted into flight, winging their way towards the garrison. They must have not enjoyed their first experience of a human jail.
Thadro watched the butterflies fly away. He then stopped and faced me, his eyes gone from frosty to ice-cold. “Is it asking too much for you to restrain yourself, Lieutenant Rabbit?”
“I had nothing to do with them leaving, sir.”
“And I suppose this morning you were just an innocent bystander.”
I winced at Thadro’s sarcasm. “No sir—I mean— Someone was touching me, sir.”
I could feel Jeff and Arlie’s incredulous glares boring into my back.
“Touching you?” Arlie said, his voice once more acid. “Oh, la! The horror!”
“Probably wouldn’t stay on his side of the square, either,” Jeff said.
“I don’t care if all the ladies of Larsk are stroking you up one side and down the other as they dance the saraband around you,” Thadro said. “There will be no more displays, understand?”
“But sir,” I said, “nobody was there—”
“It’s the witch!”
Startled, I looked around and saw a crowd gathering by the square’s fountain. Albe the blacksmith pushed to the fore, still wearing his leather apron and carrying his smith’s hammer. He raised his hammer and slammed it down on a paving stone, and eager hands reached down to snatch up the pieces. I was shoved back by Thadro and quickly surrounded by the guards, and a moment later pieces of paving stone hit the guards’ raised shields with solid thunks.
“What?” I asked wide-eyed, stunned that people I knew were trying to stone me. I tried to see past the guard and the crowd howled as they caught sight of my face.
“Damn it, Rabbit!” Jeff grabbed me by my tabard, yanking me away. A second volley was thrown and a high lob fell past the guards’ circling shields, striking Jeff in the back. “Hellfire!” he swore.
At Thadro’s signal, the guards pulled their swords from their scabbards and the shouting and catcalls of the swelling crowd died. But only for a moment.
“Kill the witch!” Kresyl the baker shrieked.
Another volley hit the shields, with more high lobs falling past them, and in between the guards I could see that people with pitchforks, scythes and torches were running to join the crowd. But before Thadro could order his men to attack, there was a loud clatter of horses’ hooves and a large group of armsmen rode into the square from behind the crowd. They immediately began applying the flats of their swords to folks’ heads. Several horsemen broke off and came our way, led by a man wearing a plumed hat. I got a flash of silver eyes before he and his fellows turned their horses, becoming a barrier between us and the mob. At the same time the town hall doors banged open and the Keeper of the King’s Peace ran down the steps of the hall. The Watch that had remained safely on the town hall steps first jumped to attention, then fell in behind her. Peacekeeper Chadde ignored them as she raced to where we stood.