Michael

I had assumed that my time in jail would last at least a week. More, if the sheriff was generous in giving me the benefit of the doubt, or, preferably, if Fisk managed to turn up evidence pointing to someone other than me. As it was, I only spent a night in my cell.

Nothing was amiss the next morning. I was brought my meal by a disgusted young deputy who no doubt believed me to be the killer, then left me to eat by myself. He gave no indicator that they had more evidence on me, nor that the sheriff might not be fully convinced that I had taken that man's life.

As far as breakfast in jail went, 'twas one of my better meals. And the humor in having been in a situation such as this enough times to rank the meals they served kept my dread at bay until I remembered that while I had been held often, 'twas usually because whoever had been assigned to escort me out of the town or fief wanted to wait until morning. While I had been accused of murder more than once before, I had never been successfully arrested for it.

I didn't know what to make of Portman, who had kept his expression as controlled as he could when he questioned me. Even when I mentioned that I was a knight, he had barely reacted. The cells were equally confusing. There were twelve in all, which struck me as too large a number for a town that had been decades without true crime. I wondered if they might keep a man caged for such small offenses as disturbing the peace, and grew more worried about how serious they would then handle a murderer.

With no windows in the cells 'twas impossible to tell time, but I guessed it to be close to noon when the deputy from before returned. I was disappointed at first that he had neglected to bring lunch, but forgave him for his when he produced the key to my cell and unlocked the door.

As I rose to my feet, I asked, "Am I to be questioned again?"

The man fixed me with a hard glare and gestured for me to follow, which I would have been fool not to.

"Have you caught that poor man's killer?" I tried again as he led me upstairs. He continued to ignore me.

My next question would have been to ask if they had decided I should be executed, but this fearful idea was brushed aside as soon as I reached to top step. Fisk stood only a few feet from the stairway, and smiled reassuringly before resuming a discussion he was in the middle of with Portman. Although Fisk is a much better actor than I, I've seen him try and perform under stress. Going by the easiness of his smile, neither of us were in danger of dying at the moment.

Portman broke the conversation off before I could make sense of it—something to do with payment for rooms—and addressed me. "We'll be releasing you for the moment, but know you'll be watched. Until this is cleared up, you're still a suspect. If we catch you trying to leave before the case is cleared, we will have to assume you are fleeing the scene of a crime, and know that we will have writs sent to every town in this fief."

All of which would realize the urgency of executing an unredeemed man who had murdered yet again. Never mind that I had yet to murder once.

I could do nothing but nod to what he said. 'Twould do me no good to argue. He nodded back and left me with the deputy, as fast to the point and uninterested in conversing over the details as he had been the previous day.

Fisk had noticed as well. "He doesn't say any more than he has to, does he?"

"Not at all. I would like to leave soon, knowing a man like that suspects me." The deputy held my arm as he led me out of the building, but I saw no need to avoid saying as much in front of him.

Fisk shrugged. "There's not much to be done about it right now. Besides, you managed to convince him that you're a decent person. Or maybe he's just a good judge of character. You're not the best at convincing people of things."

An unfair statement if I'd ever heard one, for I persuaded people to listen to and help us at least as often as Fisk did, and 'twas because they took me for the honest man the realized my squire wasn't. That wasn't to say that Fisk would cheat a man. His days as a con artist were over. But he still used the skill for spinning tales that he had developed during that time to persuade others.

As we were led down the front steps of the building it occurred to me that he still wasn't acting. The calm in his voice, much too calm considering I was a murder suspect and he might be my accomplice, was genuine.

The deputy released me and returned to the building. Not a word from him the whole time. Even had the sheriff not judged me to be a decent person, I was glad to know it was him and not that deputy who would determine whether or not I was put on trial. Or if I should even get a trial before judgment was passed.

I waited for the man to shut the door behind himself before asking, "Fisk, what happened?"

Fisk didn't meet my eye when he responded. "Something in our favor." Something I wouldn't like, no doubt. But he didn't elaborate. "Come on. Let's go back to the inn. It's small there, but more private."

'Twas then that I noticed we were not alone on the streets. None of the sheriff's men stared openly, but the townsmen who passed by made no attempt to mask the glares and cautious curiosity they directed at me as they went by. A private place might unease the sheriff, but it sounded like a fine idea to me.

"Word travels fast in towns," Fisk told me as he led the way. "By the time work started yesterday everyone knew that there had been a murder. The news that the sheriff was holding an unredeemed man had made it to most of the town by supper, and most of them came to the same conclusion as Portman did. I only spoke to one or two who weren't completely convinced you weren't at fault, and a few wouldn't talk to me for traveling with you."

A tired sense of déjà vu passed over me. A murder was a far more serious crime that I was used to, but I had been blamed for everything from arson to stealing apples, and found the idea of going around town with so many accusing gazes yet again to be a nuisance at best. Dangerous at worst, for I had been chased by mobs before. Thankfully, Fisk had figured out a path from the sheriff's office to the inn that took us down many less traveled streets, and the further we were from the sheriff's office, the fewer people recognized me as the main suspect.

Our inn was the same one where I had stepped into a the brawl two days earlier that had forced me to show my tattoos, and I couldn't help but wonder what had possessed Fisk to return to it. It may have rented rooms cheap, but no price was worth standing before a man as large as the inn keeper had been when he knew without any uncertainty that I was unredeemed. Not when there was a killer on the loose.

The owner, who had identified himself as Belmont the other night, had no doubt been a coal miner before he came to own the inn. He was both taller and broader than me, and would have struck me as a thug had he not warn such a warm expression our first night in Cranbor.

To my surprise, he smiled every bit as warmly when he saw me enter. Mayhap he believed I wouldn't strangle a young man to his death after putting myself in harm's way to help a weaker man.

My relief at seeing that I was not on Belmont's bad side was enough to make me comfortable with him, but Fisk was not as trusting. He pulled me into our room, the very one we had been denied when the sheriff first learned I was unredeemed, and checked the halls to make sure no one might be listening in before he spoke.

"There was another murder. A woman this time. Also strangled. You were locked up at the time, which is about as airtight as alibis get. The sheriff's department can't exactly suspect themselves of lying about your whereabouts. I did hear some people say I'd done it, though. A few of the townsfolk who saw me go to fetch you kept quite a distance."

The news stunned me. My superficial freedom had been earned at the cost of an innocent woman's life. I would have gladly spent another week or two in my cell if it meant she hadn't been slain, though it was too late now to make such a bargain.

"Why was she—"

"Why she was killed doesn't matter," Fisk told me. "Portman has enough sense to realize it wasn't you, and there was a man who stayed in the lobby drinking until well after I went to my room last night. He was loud enough, but he got every other part of acting like a drunk wrong." He paused to see if he would need to explain this, but Fisk had pointed it out to me before when men were set to watch us discreetly. While I don't have Fisk's sharp eye for them, I could recognize when he pointed one out. I nodded to show I understood. "The two murders were done in the same fashion. Strangled in the middle of the night. Whoever killed them might have learned about your presence quickly, but not heard that you were locked up afterward."

"So they would have to be an inn patron?"

"Anyone could have seen us while we were led out of town." Fisk flashed me a rueful grin as he went on. "I suppose it's also possible we have two killers. The second one might have tried to imitate you to make it look like only one person. But that's not too likely."

"Why not?"

"Because we know you didn't kill Harold," Fisk told me.

I might have objected to the amount of mockery in his voice had he taken that tone with me at another time. But two people were already dead, so I let it go for the time being. "Harold?"

"The stable boy who died the first night," Fisk elaborated.

"Did he have any enemies. Any connection to this girl? Miss…?"

Fisk realized what I was thinking of, and scowled. "We're not going after a murderer. That's the sheriff's job. You'd be best served to lie low until the real killer is caught."

"Suppose he doesn't find them? We can't leave until he knows I didn't kill that man."

"Then you might find you're well suited to work as a miner, and I might be able to work for someone as their clerk," Fisk said stubbornly. "We nearly died chasing those wreckers, Michael. I'm not dealing with anyone else who doesn't mind killing. I can't watch you go over the edge of a cliff again."

He stressed the last sentence, sincere concern and even pain lacing into his voice, and I couldn't help but imagine what it must have felt like to watch me fall. But as the one who had nearly died that night, I felt my situation at the time had been worse, so the appeal to emotion held me at bay only a moment.

"We didn't die stopping the wreckers. And our efforts saved lives," I argued. "Fisk, think of that poor woman. Suppose he goes after another one. And with no witnesses—"

"There was a witness," Fisk interrupted. He looked torn, as if he was unsure whether the details he gave me would keep me from going after the killer, or provide me with more information with which to hunt me down. "The woman's employer saw her go into a shed on the property where she worked with a large man. Nearly seven feet, from what I heard. Although rumors tend to embellish. That was where they found her body in the morning."

Seven feet! Even the inn keeper wasn't that tall, and he was taller than me, and I taller than Fisk. But darkness might make a person see things differently, and as Fisk had pointed out, everything in a story grew when the tale was retold.

"Suppose we spoke to this employer—"

There was a light rap on the door, and Fisk scurried to answer it rather than continue with his efforts to dissuade me.

Fisk opened the door to reveal a boy several years younger than either of us. He carried a plate in each hand and smiled at Fisk.

"Hello, Aaron. Thank you for bringing out meals." Fisk's tone was friendly. He must have liked the boy. I wondered if he knew…

The boy nodded and handed one plate to Fisk. He then scanned the small room for his other customer and, when he saw me, went rigid. For a moment I thought he might back out of the room, but the look of surprise that flashed across his face was quickly masked, and he set the plate down within my reach.

I bent down and picked it up, not caring to keep my tattoos concealed, for the boy clearly worked here, and his employer didn't care that I was unredeemed. His eyes locked on the marks for a moment, and he straightened up and smiled again, although it now looked forced.

Neither of us said anything, staring at one another with forced smiles. The boy finally tore his gaze away and looked to Fisk, who was watching me with the sort of interest that always promised unpleasant conversations.

"Thank you, Aaron," Fisk repeated.

Aaron nodded again and backed out of the room, stealing one more glance at me before he shut the door.

"We should cover those," Fisk said, gesturing to my tattoos.

"Lunch first," I told him. 'Twas not as if the whole town didn't already know. There wasn't much worse that could come from them seeing the marks. Although with that boy, it may have been different.

I wouldn't be surprised if he could see the glow of my tattoos, or even a glow around myself. Indeed, I now wondered if I might glow in the eyes of someone else who shared my strange power. I had always assumed I was the only one who could see magica, who could use magic without being simple, but that boy, who seemed intelligent enough, had the unmistakable glow of magic all around him.

-x-

STA: *dramatic music*

Actually, everything up to chapter 23 was written before Theif's War came out, and I was both surprised and a little irked by the mad jeweler, as is always the case when something really interesting happens that josses my headcanon. In fact, there are quite a few details that Bell has come out with since that don't quite suit what I was aiming for with this story… but I'm going to just pretend that isn't the case. So Aaron glows.

Maybe I'll tweek a few details here and there to make it better conform to newer information, but this one stays. It's just easier if they can see each other's magic than if I have to make them catch each other using magic. Especially because most of the magic in Knight and Rogue is so… low key. Fire balls are way more obvious than water that does a better job of putting fires out.

Incidentally… that magica key from the fourth book… did the mad jeweler make that? Magic is only supposed to appear naturally in plants and animals, and I can't think of any other way for it to appear unnaturally in a metal lock. I suppose his magic had a longer duration than Michael's does, too, considering those gems glowed about three weeks and Michael couldn't even make Chant a super horse for twelve hours.