The sheriff dismissed the assembly. He stood near the disassembled stage and yelled at the citizens to return to their homes. “Go on! Everybody get out of here. Talk it out over your own dinner tables, not in the streets.”
Crews of patrolmen waved citizens along, and most of them obeyed without a fuss. But when the square had nearly emptied, a disgruntled group of four loggers made their way to the sheriff. “What is all this riot talk, Eugene?” an older logger asked. “You know, some of us got family in the greenlands. What’s happening down there? These politicians tell us only what they want us to know.”
Another logger spoke up as well. “We need answers.”
The sheriff gritted his teeth. “Look, be glad you’re getting the chance to make up any losses with that militia, okay? Stop your whining. Take the work you’re given and move on.”
One of the loggers, who Samuel recognized from Josiah’s crew, pushed past several of his cohorts to get in front of the sheriff. He was the man who’d pleaded for Samuel to perform the rights. His brawny arms were level by his side, but his hands were clenched.
“We don’t want to be soldiers, sheriff. Haven’t enough people died?”
The sheriff spat onto the ground beside the man’s boot, his hand hovering over his revolver.
“You’re arguing with the wrong man. Now get out of my way before I beat your ass.”
The man held his ground, his face reddening.
“You’re a drunk. To hell with you and the mayor. I can’t speak for everyone else, but I’m done being yanked around like some puppet.”
The sheriff didn’t have to move. Six patrolmen swarmed the disgruntled logger and brought him to the ground. Samuel’s muscles tightened, and his hand grazed the knife’s handle inside his pocket. The other loggers backed away as their friend struggled to free himself, his arms flailing wildly. One of the patrolmen anchored his knee deep into the logger’s back and struck his head with the back of a rifle. The logger’s body instantly went limp.
“Don’t kill him,” the sheriff barked. “Pull him up!”
Samuel inhaled as he went over to the sheriff, his fingers rapping across the sides of his coat. The remaining citizens watched as the patrolmen lifted the unconscious logger.
“Get him out of here,” the sheriff said to the other loggers. “Tell him next time it’ll be much worse than a bump on the head.”
Samuel pushed up his glasses. The sun was lowering over the western sky, its light refracting through the jumbled trunks and branches of pine. The sheriff straightened his back, his hand cradling his revolver.
“Is everything going to be okay?”
“People fear change,” the sheriff said in annoyance. “It’s natural.”
The blacksmith took hold of one of the stage’s side compartments, draping it over his broad shoulder. “They’re scared, sheriff. Talk of war makes people remember their history. Some traumas don’t leave people, no matter how many generations removed. Leaving the states. Forgoing the Laevis Creed. I don’t think that’s something most of us are ready for.”
“Do the politicians really think rioters are going to come north?” Samuel asked.
The sheriff cocked his head.
“Enough. Let the politicians plays their games. Whitelands. Greenlands. Redlands. It’s all the same. An assembly of power-hungry men ruling over their towns and a fat governor keeping them all happy. The rest of us are along for the ride. But unlike some of you morons, I keep my head down and mind my own damn business.”
A crew of patrolmen stood outside the jailhouse. One of them, with greasy hair and a hooked nose, sat against the front door, his legs crossed and a rifle by his side. Jax, the wiry-haired patrolman, stood beside another patrolman near the toolshed. Samuel dug his hands deeper into his pockets, wishing more than anything that the sheriff had dropped him off. He hadn’t the faintest idea what the men were doing at the jailhouse. He tucked the package farther inside his coat.
When the patrolman on the ground saw Samuel coming, he sprang up to his feet and scooped up his rifle. Samuel stopped. Jax looked to Samuel and gave his fellow patrolmen a wave of reassurance. “The mayor sent us here,” he explained. He wiped his sleeve. “Wants us standing guard outside the jailhouse at all times.”
“Does the sheriff know?” Samuel asked. “Why didn’t he tell—”
“The sheriff is busy,” Jax said curtly. “He might be our boss. But the mayor is law. We’ve been directly ordered to keep surveillance outside the jailhouse. That’s all you need to know.”
Samuel nodded, hoping to avoid any more conversation. He went to the door, placing his hand on the fastened lock. The patrolman who was sitting beside the door pointed to the chains. “It wasn’t locked up, so I fastened it for you. You should be careful, kid.”
Samuel bowed. “Yes. My mistake.”
The patrolman nodded toward the jailhouse. “What do you do in there all day? How do you not go mad with boredom?”
“Ignore him,” Jax interjected. “Move along.”
Samuel gave another polite nod. He unfastened the lock with his keys and moved the rusted chain away from the bolt. Had his father visited Zei the night before? If not, he hoped his father was aware enough not to approach the jailhouse while patrolmen stood guard. His father wasn’t a fool. Besides, there was no guarantee he would come. Perhaps he’d found Samuel’s plea for an exorcism risky. Regret made Samuel’s mouth dry. He never should have asked his father for it in the first place. He opened the door and shuffled inside, closing it quickly. He pressed his back against the door, taking a moment to collect his nerves. He made his way down the hallway onto the cell room.
Zei sat underneath the barred window. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, her chin resting on her bare knees. Most of her face was covered by the tangled, chaotic nest that had become her ungroomed hair. Zei’s arms wrapped around her legs.
Samuel looked away. He searched the room for evidence that his father had come but found nothing. The gate to the cell was just as he’d left it. Slightly cracked. He took off his coat and pulled out the wrapped package. It was nearly the size of Zei’s sketchbook, only smaller. His hand squeezed the paper wrapping.
Zei waited silently.
Samuel breathed deep. How long could he punish her? How much of that day had been her fault? What if she was only acting in the way of her nature? How much of his pain was his own fault? He was the one who’d created the fantasy where Zei was just some misunderstood girl. In his mind, Zei had been a mysterious kid with a quiet longing to connect with the world around her. Like him. But he was wrong. Was she even a girl? Even human? She’d never answered those questions before, no matter how many times he asked.
Samuel held the package out as he went to the gate and slid it back. Could he ever trust her as he once did? He stopped a foot away from her and bent down, lowering the package on the ground.
Zei remained still.
“Take it,” Samuel said as he backed away.