On the third morning after Earl's less than triumphant return, Charlie woke to find Herschel was up, but she wasn't sure what he was about.

To Da's annoyance Charlie had taken Rascal's example. They both spent the last few days sleeping in the cell corridor. Because except for taking a few sips of water, and babble nonsense, the tall, dark stranger had been out for days.

Right now, he was facing the barred window swaying slightly from side to side, a bit like the unsteady drunks she knew but didn't love. But the crapulent morning after smell in the corridor wasn't Herschel, that was coming Seamus in holding. In her many jobs, she'd smelt a little of everything. Still, there was nothing quite like the rotting reek of a hangover.

She regretted her other jobs had gone undone, but someone had to nurse Herschel back to health, and Rascal probably had her reasons too.

Since setting herself the task, Charlie even spent most of her birthday in the jail. It had been yesterday, and Fannie'd been in to try and shoo them out for some fresh air and cake. Rascal'd just tilted her head, like Fannie was trying to sell water to a drowning dog. But Charlie's gift had almost got her gratitude to drag her outside, many helped them get her fine grownup dress that was worth more than Da made in a year. She couldn't remember ever having any clothes that weren't meant for choring before.

So as to not get choked up again, she concentrated on their guest. He reminded her of a tomcat, soaking up the morning sun, because the bedclothes wrapped over one shoulder weren't covering him properly. She just laid there, not moving, eyeing the improper backside and surprised how comfortable he looked in nothing but a sheet.

What no one else saw was that this was the most exciting thing to ever happen in this two-horse town: Meeting a real-life Nontie — even if he was only part Áettar.

It wasn't until Earl carried the tanned man into the office that she realised what the missing tracks had meant. As the peas-keeper, Da was still hoping people would accept Herschel as mostly human. But even with his round blue eyes, he still looked much too foreign.

Herschel was taller than most men she knew, but still managed to look frail. While he slept, she tried guessing his age. Earl'd taken to calling him the old man, and with the grey streak in Herschel's black hair, he might be right. But Herschel's skin was smooth, and its reddish-brown colour reminded Charlie of Fannie's precious bar counter.

Remembering skin, her cheeks flashed red. She'd removed his leather gear to check for injuries. In hindsight, she wasn't sure keeping her eyes closed was the more modest choice. But Charlie was far from shy. Growing up around farmers and day labourers took that out of you real quick. Even so, she'd been uneasy about disrobing the unconscious man. And the feeling was making a comeback the longer she laid there watching his bare arse.

So, she summoned her courage, pulled the covers up to her nose, and squeaked, "Good mornin'."

Herschel turned to face her. Thank Zissmus, the wardrobe malfunction was just in the back.

"Hello, it is certainly a morning. But why is it a good one?"

"I dunno. It's jus' somethin' people say. But ya've been asleep for three days. So, wakin' up should be good, rite?"

He raised a black eyebrow and his brow wrinkled as if he was actually considering if waking was better than the alternative. "Yes, I suppose that is good. Can you please tell me where I am?"

"Ya don't know? No, I reckon ya wouldn't, would ya? Ya're in the marshal's office."

Herschel scrutinised the bars. "This is the nicest cell I've ever been in."

The compliment caught Charlene off guard, but not her wit. "Wait, how many cells 'ave ya been in?"

"It's too nicsh,e ifin ya aschks me!" Seamus yelled from holding.

"You get outta 'ere, Seamus! Ya've been snoring in holding for two days! If ya're not sober by now, ya never will be!"

Charlene held up a finger to stop Herschel from talking. There were some grumbling noises, and the front door to holding opened and closed.

"What's a marshal?" Herschel asked, and she forgot what they'd been talking about.

"How can ya not kno' about the town marshals?"

"Everything is easy once you know it, but I try to know nothing."

"Well, I dunno wha' tha' means, but they're lawmen, they uphold the peas."

"Lawmen? Who uphold the peace? That sounds unlikely. The law is always riddled with conflict."

A shock went through her system. Like most Agalians, she was a proud of her law-abiding nature. "How can ya say tha? If there weren't no marshals, people'd run amok!"

"Those who worship the law are often the same who want to bend it to their purpose. And if the only way to uphold the peace is by enforcing it with violence, there couldn't have been much peace to begin with. Don't you think?"

Her lips pursed in annoyance. "I dunno 'bout yer law worshippers, but my da's not like that!"

"Your father? I don't see how he connects to this."

While keeping intense eye contact, Herschel sat down and crossed his legs into a position that looked horribly uncomfortable.

"He's the marshal here, an' he's a good man!"

"Oh, I see the confusion. You're talking about your father, but I'm talking about the idea of law in general. They're not the same. I'm sure your father is a good man...from your perspective."

His calm way of talking about Earl was starting to get on her nerves.

"He risked 'is life to save ya from a lynching! I'd tink that'd make 'im a good man ta ya too!"

Herschel's whole face attacked the idea, not just his forehead. She watched as it wrestled with itself.

"Yes, I accept your premise that your father is both a lawman and a good man, and I'm sorry if I implied otherwise. Does that mean I can go?"

"Eh, ya've been arrested for stealin', so no, ya can't leave."

"Ah, I suppose the most we can expect from freedom is being allowed to choose our own prisons."

She was getting worried. Most of what he said made no sense, but something about how he said it, it just felt right.

"How far are we from the valley of skulls?"

"The passage ta the east? That's a long way aff. An' no one goes there, the Bergs charge mad taxes ta pass."

"Taxes are a good idea when they are spent on the common good, but so many of those in charge of spending taxes are more interested in their own personal good. What town is this?"

"Stagna." Somehow she'd had gotten all turned around and he was asking all the questions.

"Oh, it's that town," Herschel said with a knowing tone. "That's a substantial bit less than further than possible."

"What do ya mean, 'further than possible'?"

No answer, but he started shaking his head in a worrying manner. Looking like a man who'd sold his horse and lost the money. Her da'd been right, getting a straight answer out of this one wasn't going to be easy.

"Jus' forget tha' other thing an' tell me, where did ya come from?"

Herschel frowned like a baby trying hard to soil its diaper.

"I-I ran, for a long time. I have to keep running." He put his arms on his legs, hiding his face in the cradle. "Can I please go?"

This was the first time Charlene'd ever seen a grown man cry. For a split second, she considered letting him go. Rascal was even more enthralled by the plea. The dog'd been sitting in the corner of the cell — they let her in out of fear she'd chew through the bars. Now, she went to Herschel's side and dug her head into his cradle licking his face.

"Sorry, ya're still under arrest."

"For what?"

"The chickens, ya took 'em didn't ya?"

"I was hungry."

"But the chickens belonged to the farmers, so you stole 'em?" Her statement of truth ended up sounding like a question.

"No, we can't own living things, but if we catch one, that makes it food. Putting them in little buildings makes them very easy to catch. I'm sorry if I took something someone believed they owned, but I only took where there was excess. I would never take anything, lawful or not, if I thought it meant someone else had to do without."

"Ookay, I'll go tell Da ya're awake, he can explain all this ta ya." Charlene retreated instead of giving up a full-blown surrender.

On her way out, she remembered what she'd prepared earlier. "Would ya like a bath? I had Da put a small tub in the other cell."

"I'd enjoy that very much, and please thank your father for saving my life."

"I'll see if I can find ya some regular clothes too, and a hat."

"I don't like hats."

"Of course ya do, that's silly, everyone likes hats."

In this, Charlene would brook no argument.

She lit the small office stove to heat some water, surprised at how well the bath idea had gone down. Da always said, 'a bathtub is just a boat that hasn't found enough water to sink in.'

Coming out of the marshal's office, she overhead a group of men loitering around the hanging tree.

"Mi brother saw the marshal 'auling 'im in. He swore it wus one of 'em shifty Nontie. Leather clothes an' everythin'!"

"I ain't ever seen no Nontie before, but with the 'anging, we'll all get a good look."

"Yup, gonna be tha best market in years!"

They were discussing the coming entertainment. It made Charlie sick.