The jailhouse lobby doubled as Richard’s personal office. He had a wide, heavy wooden desk in the back, surrounded by shelves and cabinets. There were a few boxes of documents, but most of the shelves held a seemingly random collection of items: clothing, sealed boxes with various foreign labels on them, some odd pieces of gold and jewelry, even a few knives, swords, and a couple of hefty firearms that looked particularly intimidating. They must have been the Sheriff’s stash of contraband plundered from those he had arrested. “Evidence,” he’d certainly say. But Jen had read enough about the practices of her own country’s lawmen to know how likely it was any suspect would ever see their possessions returned, whether or not they were found guilty.

  Richard crossed the room languidly, the thudding of his heavy leather boots muffled by the large, thick rug that covered the floor around his desk. It had an elaborate, interlocking pattern of muted reds and dull yellows, and Jen had to admit it added a bit of color to an otherwise very utilitarian space. Before Richard reached his chair he stopped at one of the shelves and spun the dial on a small safe that seemed too cheap and flimsy to keep out any determined thief. But it most likely wasn’t meant for anything the Sheriff truly wanted safe. Jen had to guess it was for precisely situations like this–keeping something out of someone’s hands while he had them in the office. Making a show of keeping it from them while they were his captive audience.

  Once the safe popped open, Richard reached into his coat and took out both of Marcie’s guns.

  “What is it you think you’re doin’?” Marcie asked. Jen could feel her bristling from a foot away. There was a rare note of menace in her voice, something bordering on a threat. Sheriff Richard was really pushing things with her. Marcie didn’t exactly threaten people, most of the time. She gave them a blunt, matter-of fact warning that their actions would have consequences, and it was their choice to listen. But this time her words had a hint of active malice Jen wasn’t sure she’d ever heard in the weeks they’d been together. It was hard to blame her. This Sheriff was rubbing Jen the wrong way, too.

  "Just takin' precautions, Miss Silver, just takin' precautions." Richard carefully placed the revolvers in the safe alongside another small pistol and shut it with a spin of the dial. "You're bein' very conscientious going along with me so far, and the last thing I want is to start up a brawl. Just hear me out, and if you tell me you'd rather just waltz on out of town an' we all just leave each other alone, I'll give 'em back just like I promised. No fussin' about it. You got my word as a man o' the law."

  "What if I said I'm not interested in talkin' after all, and I'm getting out of this dump?" Marcie was snarling grumpily, letting her teeth show how unhappy she was.

  "Then this whole dog and pony show would have been for nothing, and we'll all feel like we wasted our time." Richard walked around to the back of his desk and dropped heavily into his hefty oak chair. "Now, why don't you just sit down and hear me out a few moments?" He gestured towards a stack of small stools in the corner. Jen and Marcie glanced at each other for a moment, and it was Jen who eventually gave the 'let's get it over with and not have a fight' head-shake. Reluctantly, Marcie followed her lead, and they both grabbed a chair to bring to the desk.

  Once she took her seat, Jen glanced over her shoulder to watch Marcie while she plopped down irritably next to her. She found her eye drawn to the deputy standing back behind them, still and casual and watching quietly. "Are you sure you want an audience for this secret conversation, Sheriff?"

  "Bradley's my own right hand," Richard replied, tipping his hat to acknowledge the man in the back. "Y'always want a reliable sort lookin' over the negotiating table, holdin' everyone involved to account and such. And he's already in on the game, such as it is. I'm perfectly happy to talk about our business in front of his watchful eye."

  "Yes, that business you've been so cagey about," Jen said. “Can we finally get the full story out of you? I'm terribly curious by now. You used the word seditious.”

  “That I did, Miss Princess, that I did.” Richard nodded solemnly. “See, the thing is, I happen to know about the location of something… particularly valuable. The sort of valuable that, by technicality and the word of the law, should be handed off as the sovereign property of our fine, beloved crown.” He took his hat off and held it over his chest, deeply sarcastic. “Now, I’m not a disloyal man, I’m most certainly not. But speakin’ honestly, by the way I figure–what we’ve found here should by rights belong in Blackgrove. We run ourselves clean and tidy, we pay ol’ King Harmon what he’s due, and we make sure the rest of the kingdom’s got fine wheat ‘n’ grains to feed their poor mouths with.” The hat went back on his head. “I take pride in all that, I truly do. It might sound humble but it’s good, necessary, noble livin’. I don’t have any interest in disrupting business for our fine kingdom. But–what the king don’t know about won’t hurt him. And it might do some good for us here in our little town. Could even do some good for you, by way of exchange. All I need is a little help securing it.”

  “And how do you expect us to be any help to you?” Jen asked, while Marcie sat beside her quietly, arms crossed, mouth turned down in a frown.

  “It’s her that’ll be the help.” Richard pointed at Marcie. “Marcelle Silver.” He picked up a page from a stack of sheets sitting next to him on the desk–a wanted poster, bulk printed on cheap pulp. "They say you're the kinda sharpshooter that could only come outta Hell itself. Faster than a bullet, sharper than a knife, with aim to make Artemis weep.” He looked up from the poster, apparently done reciting it. “And that's some flowery garbage you don't usually get on your bounty board so you know it's gotta mean somethin'."

  "Well it's a buncha bullshit." Marcie leaned back and put her arm behind the backrest of her chair. "Whoever the crown got writing up bounties has no idea how fast a bullet goes. If I was movin’ quicker than sound on my own I'd hardly need guns." She casually picks at her teeth, as if to show off the wicked point of her claws. "Should probably give their knives a sharpenin' too. Can't be cuttin' with a blade that dull. And I'm not too pleased they're sayin' I make ladies cry, either. That's just slander."

  “Be that as it may, it’d be an understatement and a half to say your reputation precedes you.” Richard sat back in his chair and set the poster aside. “We get the papers out here, y’know. A whole host of the king’s guard couldn’t take you down. They even had a picture of that big bastard you destroyed, all crashed on the road. And here the Princess is with you, ready to defend your honor. Guess the posters shoulda been warnin’ about your charms, too.”

  “That some kinda bad joke?” Marcie grunted, pointedly glaring at Richard.

  “I’d prefer to say I charmed her, Mr. Richard,” Genevieve said diplomatically, with a thin little smile to conceal how annoyed she was with him.

  “C’mon, Jen,” Marcie muttered. “Too soon.”

  "You two can sort that out amongst yourselves," Richard said with a dismissive gesture. "Charm ain't what I need from ya."

  "Naw. 'Course not." Marcie tapped her leg impatiently. "You need a gun hand. For your treasure hunt. Where you promised I weren't gonna have to kill nobody for ya."

  "Cuz you won't. I'm not on the market for hitmen. And there ain't a living soul 'cept me and mine who know about this place. That's why we're having this talk private." Richard scratched his chin thoughtfully, considering his next sentence. “Thing is there’s some–let’s call ‘em restless spirits, guardin’ what we’re after. And I’d feel bad riskin’ someone’s life, throwin’ ‘em up against them. But if it’s you, Silver, well, I think it’s fair to say there wouldn’t be any risk at all. Might as well be a stroll downtown through some fancy Verdane garden street for a girl like you.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “What do you mean by ‘restless spirits,’ Sheriff?” Jen asked. She knew full well there could be no such thing. The dead were a part of the land, a part of the Pulse, as much as the living were, and without the vitality of their mortal vessel to fix them in place, they were subsumed by it. Their spirit became a part of the greater whole, their essence eternal but their selfhood lost to the great thrumming of life. There were some magical phenomena that laymen often mistook for “ghosts,” but they could never be a true expression of a once-living human being. All you’d ever find of those who passed was an echo. A confused, terrified echo, trapped in a suit of metal, crying out in pain.

  But this wasn't about that. She had put that day out of her mind like a bad dream. She wasn't bringing it back. Richard was talking about ghosts, and she was sure he hadn't seen any of those. “To be frank, there isn’t enough magic in this land to create anything you might consider a ‘ghost’ or ‘spirit.’ There’s more of it in this town than anywhere else I’ve been in your country, but it’s still far less than you’d find anywhere else in the world. And nowhere near the kind of excess that could congeal into a distinct entity.”

  “Well, it’s far from the type of thing you’re imagining, Your Highness. But I’m afraid I can’t give you much detail. Your friend Miss Silver is just gonna have to see it for herself, and when she gets back she can fill you in and you’ll be able to solve that little mystery together.”

  “What do you mean by 'when she gets back'?" Jen asked, eyes narrowing as she glared at Richard.

  "Well, she'll be coming along with me and my men. And you'll be staying here, Princess Genevieve. No sense seein’ your royal personage put in the way o’ danger. And if I’m to be a little more cold about it, havin’ you waiting back up top gives us all some incentive to come home in one piece and on good terms. I know leavin’ a little lady to fret would make me feel awful guilty if I didn’t do everything I could to come back to her quick and without any in-fighting."

  Before Jen could open her mouth to protest, Marcie had already answered. "No deal," she said bluntly. "Just how dumb do you think we are?" She'd been running low on patience since the moment she laid eyes on the Sheriff, but the reserves had officially ran out. She stood up and kicked her stool back away from the desk. "Give me back my guns or else I'm gonna take 'em."

  There was a lot of shuffling and rustling around the room. The man standing by the door had picked up a long, thin two-handed firearm. Jen hadn’t seen anything like it outside of Gryst, but she’d seen a few traders who dealt in fur and meat carrying them in the towns they’d visited. Marcie had told her they were mostly used by hunters, that the longer barrel meant they could shoot bullets with more force that stayed more accurate at longer ranges, so they were good for killing big things that might get mad at you if they spot you. If people used them to kill bears a hundred yards away, Jen didn’t want to consider what they’d to Marcie across a room. Even she wasn’t that durable.

  But Marcie didn’t seem worried about it. "Nice rifle," she said nonchalantly, glancing over her shoulder to see the gun pointed at her. Jen didn't know how she stayed so calm. Maybe she didn't see this small-time sheriff and his smaller-time thugs as a threat. Or she just refused to let them have power over her, even when they had her on the back foot. Whatever it was, Jen admired it. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to rage or panic, but either way she wouldn't have been able to roll with things the way Marcie did.

  "I'm sure you fancy yourself an expert." Richard put his feet up on his desk, smirking and smug, amicable only in the manner of a man who already knew he'd won. "Here's the thing, Silver. I can't make you work with me if you don't wanna. But that's all right, 'cause I don't need you to work with me. It'll be just as easy to hand you in and sleep easy on top of that pile of chips from the crown."

  "Do y’think?” Marcie asked. She lifted up her foot and stomped it against the side of Richard’s desk, letting her claws dig into the wood. “What was it they wrote on that bounty they sent ya? Faster ‘n a bullet?” She leaned forward, the desk creaking as she gouged a deep mark into its side. “You’ve got a lot riding on the hope I wasn’t just bein’ humble when I said that weren’t true.”

  “C’mon now. I ain’t fool enough to gamble on somethin’ like that.” Sheriff Richard grinned in that wholesome, friendly, down-home way of his. “Difference between me an’ whoever writes them damn posters is I do know how fast a bullet is, Ms. Marcelle Silver. I’m sure you’re well fast, but we both know they’re exaggeratin’ to save face after that egg you threw on our dear Prince.”

  “Well, you’re right about that. But there’s a trick to it, y’know?” Marcie loosened her grip on the desk and subtly shifted the weight in her leg in preparation. “You don’t gotta be faster than a bullet. You just gotta be faster than a man.” She glanced over to the side, and it was only following her eye that Jen noticed the boy from the jail cell, crouched behind a cabinet and reaching up for the safe where Richard had stashed Marcie’s guns. “Isn’t that right, kid?”

  Richard’s mask dropped completely in that moment, his friendly, cordial expression giving way to shock and then unmitigated, unconcealed rage, an ugly lip snarl and the burning, angry eyes of a man not used to being challenged. He almost fell over as he scrambled to get out of the chair and onto his feet. “You son of a bitch, I’m gonna–”

  In the brief moment where everyone’s eyes were on the boy, Marcie launched herself backwards. She landed nimbly on her heel, spun around, and threw herself at the deputy with the rifle. He had chosen to aim at the kid instead of Marcie. The moment of confusion was more than enough.

  He pulled the trigger.

  Marcie shoulder tackled him with all the force she could muster.

  The gun went off.

  And a bullet pierced through the roof of the jailhouse, sending wood splinters falling to the ground below. Jen covered her ears to protect them from the ear-splitting BANG reverberating around the room.

  The boy stumbled back in surprise and knocked the small safe he was reaching for off of the shelf. It fell to the ground and immediately popped open. The cheap little thing truly was just for show. The guns spilled out onto the ground, skidding to a stop between the boy pressed back against the wall and the Sheriff bearing down on him.

  “Hey, kid,” Marcie shouted while she grappled with the deputy holding the rifle. He was trying to wrest it from her grasp, or at least aim it if he couldn’t, but Marcie held firm against his struggle. “If you wanna get out of here, toss ‘em over, now!”

  The deputy jerked forward and bashed the backside of the rifle against Marcie’s head. She gasped in pain but gritted her teeth and held tight, until he did it again, and again, finally striking hard enough to force her off of him.

  He raised the rifle again, but Jen found herself running towards him with a feeling her mind–still stunned by everything happening around her all at once–only dimly recognized as fury. She charged in and grabbed him, striking at him wildly, gripping onto his arm and punching his face. But he was larger and stronger than she was. She only got a couple of hits in before he threw her off of him, ramming into her with his shoulder and knocking her back. He turned back towards Marcie, momentarily fumbling with the bolt of the rifle. The size of it had become cumbersome in such close quarters. That didn’t make it any less of a fearsome equalizer.

  The boy tossed Marcie’s revolvers. They clattered onto the floor behind her. It wasn’t a moment too soon. As soon as the guns were out of his hand, Richard grabbed the scrawny teenager and bashed him against the wall. He yelped in pain and fear, and then Richard picked him up again and threw him bodily onto the floor. He smacked into the carpet with a heavy, painful thud, and Richard reared up again to stomp on him.

  It didn’t take Marcie a second. Her tail wrapped around the gun behind her and tossed it smoothly into her hand. She already had a clip ready to load into it. With a spin of the cylinder, she pressed the barrel against the deputy’s chin. It would only take the slightest twitch of the finger to send a bullet straight through his skull. He froze in place, rifle unreadied and pointed off at nothing.

  Everyone in the room stopped. They knew it was over.

  Marcie picked up the other gun with her tail. Slipped it into her hand. Loaded it calmly, and spun the cylinder with her thumb. Then she quickly glanced over her shoulder to find Richard, and leveled the second revolver at his heart. If the deputy thought that brief moment was his chance to do something, Jen grabbing his gun and firmly pointing the barrel down towards the floor disabused him of the notion.

  "Listen up,” Marcie said, and the deputy flinched, sweat beading down his face. “You all got a nice-ass little town here. And I don't wanna paint the place red. So I’d be real glad if you folks realize what you’re starin’ down the barrel of and stand down."