Wizard and Glass

'I'll not spend the next three or four months waiting to see who among you's killed who. Nay! Nor will I be put in a position where I might have to take the punishment for your stupid quarrel over that halfwit Sheemie.

'I appeal to your practical natures, boys, when I point out that I may he either your friend or your enemy during your time here . . . but I'd be wrong if 1 didn't also appeal to your more noble natures, which I am sure are both large and sensitive.'

The Sheriff now tried on an exalted expression, which was not, in Roland's estimation, notably successful. Avery turned his attention to Jonas.

'Sai, I can't believe ye'll want to be causin trouble for three young men from the Affiliation—the Affiliation that's been like mother's milk and father's shelterin hand since aye or oh fifty generations back; ye'd not be so disrespectful as all that, would ye?'

Jonas shook his head, smiling his thin smile.

Avery nodded again. Things were going along well, that nod said. 'Ye've all yer own cakes to bake and oats to roll, and none of ye wants something like this to get in the way of doin yer jobs, do yer?'

They all shook their heads this time.

'So what I want you to do is to stand up, face each other, shake hands, and cry each other's pardon. If ye don't do that, ye can all ride west out of town by sunrise, far as I'm concerned.'

He picked up the mug and took a bigger drink this time. Roland saw that the man's hand was trembling the tiniest bit, and wasn't surprised. It was all bluff and blow, of course. The Sheriff would have understood that Jonas, Reynolds, and Depape were beyond his authority as soon as he saw the small blue coffins on their hands; after tonight, he must feel the same way about Dearborn, Stockworth, and Heath. He could only hope that all would see where their self-interest lay. Roland did. So, apparently, did Jonas, for even as Roland got up, Jonas did the same.

Avery recoiled a little bit, as if expecting Jonas to go for his gun and Dearborn for the knife in his belt, the one he'd been holding against Jonas's back when Avery came puffing up to the saloon.

There was no gun or knife drawn, however. Jonas turned toward Roland and held out his hand.

'He's right, lad,' Jonas said in his reedy, quavering voice.

'Yes.'

'Will you shake with an old man, and vow to start over?'

'Yes.' Roland held out his hand.

Jonas took it. 'I cry your pardon.'

'I cry your own, Mr. Jonas.' Roland tapped left-hand at his throat, as was proper when addressing an elder in such fashion.

As the two of them sat down, Alain and Reynolds rose, as neatly as men in a prerehearsed ceremony. Last of all, Cuthbert and Depape rose. Roland was all but positive that Cuthbert's foolishness would pop out like Jack from his box—the idiot would simply not be able to help himself, although he must surely realize that Depape was no man to make sport of tonight.

'Cry your pardon,' Bert said, with an admirable lack of laughter in his voice.

'Cryerown,' Depape mumbled, and held out his bloodstreaked hand. Roland had a nightmare vision of Bert squeezing down on it as hard as he could, making the redhead yowl like an owl on a hot stove, but Bert's grip was as restrained as his voice.

Avery sat on the edge of the stage with his pudgy legs hanging down, watching it all with avuncular good cheer. Even Deputy Dave was smiling.

'Now I propose to shake hands with yer all myself, 'n then send yer on yer ways, for the hour's late, so it is, and such as me needs my beauty rest.' He chuckled, and again looked uncomfortable when no one joined in. But he slipped off the stage and began to shake hands, doing so with the enthusiasm of a minister who has finally succeeded in marrying a headstrong couple after a long and stormy courtship.

9

When they stepped outside, the moon was down and the first lightening in the sky had begun to show at the far edge of the Clean Sea. 'Mayhap we'll meet again, sai,' Jonas said. 'Mayhap we will,' Roland said, and swung up into his saddle.

10

The Big Coffin Hunters were staying in the watchman's house about a mile south of Seafront—five miles out of town, this was.

Halfway there, Jonas stopped at a turnout beside the road. From here the land made a steep, rocky descent to the brightening sea.

'Get down, mister,' he said. It was Depape he was looking at.

'Jonas…Jonas, I…'

'Get down.'

Biting his lip nervously, Depape got down.

'Take off your spectacles.'

'Jonas, what's this about? I don't—'

'Or if you want em broke, leave em on. It's all the same to me.'

Biting his lip harder now, Depape took off his gold-rimmed spectacles. They were barely in his hand before Jonas had fetched him a terrific clip on the side of the head. Depape cried out and reeled toward the drop. Jonas drove forward, moving as fast as he had struck, and seized him by the shirt just before he went tumbling over the edge. Jonas twisted his hand into the shirt material and yanked Depape toward him. He breathed deep, inhaling the scent of pine-tar and Depape's sweat.

'I ought to toss you right over the edge,' he breathed. 'Do you know how much harm you've done?'

'I… Jonas, I never meant… just a little fun is all I… how was we supposed to know they …'

Slowly, Jonas's hand relaxed. That last bit of babble had gone home. How was they supposed to know, that was ungrammatical but right. And if not for tonight, they might not have known. If you looked at it that way, Depape had actually done them a favor. The devil you knew was always preferable to the devil you didn't. Still, word would get around, and people would laugh. Maybe even that was all right, though. The laughter would stop in due time.

'Jonas, I cry your pardon.'

'Shut up,' Jonas said. In the east, the sun would shortly heave itself over the horizon, casting its first gleams on a new day in this world of toil and sorrow. 'I ain't going to toss you over, because then I'd have to toss Clay over and follow along myself. They got the drop on us the same as you, right?'

Depape wanted to agree, but thought it might be dangerous to do so. He was prudently silent.

'Get down here, Clay.'

Clay slid off his mount.

'Now hunker.'

The three of them hunkered on their bootsoles, heels up. Jonas plucked a shoot of grass and put it between his lips. 'Affiliation brats is what we were told, and we had no reason not to believe it,' he said. 'The bad boys are sent all the way to Mejis, a sleepy Barony on the Clean Sea, on a make-work detail that's two pans penance and three parts punishment. Ain't that what we were told?'

They nodded.

'Either of you believe it after tonight?'

Depape shook his head. So did Clay.

'They may be rich boys, but that's not all they are,' Depape said. 'The way they were tonight . . . they were like . . .' He trailed off, not quite willing to finish the thought. It was too absurd.

Jonas was willing. 'They acted like gunslingers.'

Neither Jonas nor Reynolds replied at first. Then Clay Reynolds said, 'They're too young, Eldred. Too young by years.'

'Not too young to be 'prentices, mayhap. In any case, we're going to find out.' He turned to Depape.