They were in a main square, with a couple of churches and a couple of banks marking the four sides.

  “The two main religions of Carthage City,” said John Binder.

  “I don’t know as how there are many Christians here,” said Measure.

  “Well, however many there are,” said John, “they probably got a lot of Methodists and Episcopalians.”

  “Each of them not quite sure whether the other kind is even Christian,” said Measure. “And they’re right to wonder.”

  “Christian doesn’t mean Christlike,” said Alvin. “It just means they aspire to follow him.”

  “I stand by my words,” said Measure.

  Alvin looked around, past the immediate buildings, but saw nothing helpful. So he led them to a bank. “You might want to wait out here,” said Alvin. “Four of us might look like a bank robbery.”

  “Four unarmed men?” asked Marty Laws.

  “Are we really unarmed?” asked Measure. “Being witches as we are.”

  Alvin walked on up the stairs into the bank. It announced itself to be the Third Bank. Rivers only had two banks, thought Alvin. But the city has three, apparently.

  Measure followed him in, but waited by the door. Alvin went to a man at a desk. “Sir,” he said.

  “You have to talk to a teller first.”

  “Here you are, sitting back, looking at nothing, writing nothing, neither adding nor subtracting,” said Alvin. “And I have the simplest of questions, which you can answer easily.”

  The man sighed and sat up.

  “You aren’t going to open an account?”

  “Not enough money to do that,” said Alvin.

  “What’s your question, then?” asked the man, sounding weary.

  “I’ve been told that I’m under arrest,” said Alvin. “I was hoping to find a sheriff or a marshal or a constable. Or a judge—I’m supposed to appear before a judge tomorrow.”

  Now the man had come awake. “Heard you were coming,” he said. “If you’re Alvin called Maker.”

  “I’m mostly called Alvin, or Alvin Smith, or when I was a boy, Alvin Miller.”

  “Who’s the man at the door?” the banker asked.

  “My brother,” said Alvin. “I think he wants to make sure I don’t get into any trouble.”

  “You’re under arrest already,” said the banker. “What more trouble do you want to be in?”

  “If you could point me to—”

  “If you’re out walking around when you’re under arrest, that makes you an escapee.”

  “Do escapees come and look for the sheriff?” asked Alvin. “Just tell me where to go, and I’ll go there, and you can go back to keeping your chair warm, or whatever you was doing.”

  “Go out the front door, sir,” said the banker, “and cut across the square and go around the far side of the Episcopal. Down a block, turn left, and the sheriff’s office is there.”

  “And the jail?” asked Alvin.

  “I’m sure the sheriff will be able to tell you the way,” said the banker.

  “You’ve been very helpful,” said Alvin. “Thank you, sir.”

  “What I heard,” said the banker, “I didn’t expect you to be so polite.”

  “But I did expect you to be helpful, as you have been, so good day to you, sir.” Alvin walked to the front door of the bank. Measure held the door open for him, and they both walked out.

  “I imagine,” said Measure, “that he’s already rushing around, sending messengers to every law enforcement officer in Carthage.”

  “Well, if folks want to put themselves to all that trouble, I can’t stop them and I don’t even care to try.”

  They reunited with John Binder and Marty Laws, and together they followed the banker’s directions.

  They found the sheriff’s office—a modest building, only one story, but the sign was clear enough, even though “sheriff” was spelled “sherrif.”

  John Binder chuckled. “Maybe your wife, Alvin, could do some good improving the education of folks in Carthage.”

  “Just the sign painters,” said Measure. “And spellings are still settling out these days. Maybe Noah Webster says it should be two Rs and one F.”

  As they approached the door, it was flung open, and the two windows were flung up and open, revealing six muskets or pistols pointed at them. Moments later, a dozen armed men came around the sides of the building, also pointing weapons at the four travelers.

  “Hands up!” cried a nervous looking young man.

  “Oh, you can’t be the sheriff,” said John Binder.

  “I’m Deputy Fiddler,” the young man said. “Sheriff Wiley is out scouting around the boundaries of the city.”

  “Looking for us,” said John Binder.

  “We came in from the northeast,” said Measure.

  “Trying to evade being taken into custody,” said Fiddler, darkly.

  “Well, now,” said Alvin, “This is October thirty-first, and so I’m not due to appear before the judge until tomorrow.”

  “You are under arrest already, by a warrant served on you back in—”

  While Fiddler paused to try to remember the date, Alvin said, “I remember it well, but the summons to the judge was served first.”

  Marty Laws stepped forward. The guns were suddenly aimed at him. “I’m Mr. Smith’s attorney,” he said. “We already settled this with the process server. We’re here to fulfill Mr. Smith’s promise, a day early.”

  “Marty,” said Alvin. “I don’t like having a bunch of guns pointed at you. Or me either.”

  As he finished speaking, hot molten lead dribbled out of the barrel of every gun. It took a few moments for the posse to realize what was happening.

  “That’s better,” said Alvin. “Nice of you to unload your guns like that. Much safer for everybody now.”

  The men examined their weapons in consternation. Some of them reached for powder and ball to reload.

  “Oh, you don’t want to do that,” said John Binder. “The molten lead is already setting up now, and if you load those guns, they’ll just explode in your faces.”

  “We don’t want anybody getting hurt,” said Alvin.

  “Witchery,” said one man, and several others echoed him.

  “I think trying to keep people from getting hurt is more like Christianity than witchery,” said Measure. “But suit yourselves.”

  Alvin said, “You have a place where we can sit out of the sun while we wait for Sheriff Wiley?”

  “And aiming guns at us,” said Marty Laws, “is technically assault, which violates about six different laws. If you think Alvin is under arrest, then it’s your duty to keep him safe until our arraignment.”

  Measure said, “Al, I think I’m going to go see about renting us a couple of rooms for tonight.”

  “I think only one room, if it’s a big one,” said Alvin. “Don’t want us splitting up.”

  “You’re going to spend tonight in jail,” said Fiddler.

  “It’s nice of you to offer us free accommodation,” said Marty Laws, “but incarceration isn’t justified until after we meet with the judge tomorrow.”

  “It’s jail for all four of you, if you don’t stop giving me sass,” said Fiddler.

  “How can I stop giving you sass, when you keep talking crazy?” said Marty Laws. “There’s been no warrant issued for the rest of us. And I’m Mr. Smith’s attorney. Do you generally incarcerate the attorneys of persons under arrest in this fine city of democracy, law, and order?”

  An older man from the posse spoke softly in Fiddler’s ear.

  “That’s right,” said John Binder. “You’re getting good advice now, and it’ll be easy to follow it.”

  There was something in Binder’s voice that made it sound as if they were all comrades in a common cause. Alvin had seen Binder’s knack at work before, but this circumstance was unusually difficult, and Binder was handling it deftly.

  “You’re lucky nobody shot you all dead on your way into town,” said Fiddler defiantly.

  “You had no idea there’d be four of us, or what Alvin Smith looked like,” said Marty Laws. “So are you saying that you folks are prepared to murder us without due process of law? Especially when three of us aren’t under any kind of legal charge at all? You sound like a murderous bunch of rapscallions, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “I do mind, and if you don’t—”

  “Are you, completely unarmed as you are, going to threaten us?” asked Marty Laws.

  “Some people take longer to understand a situation than others,” said Alvin, beginning to enjoy himself. “Mr. Fiddler here, he’s a mite simple, so he doesn’t grasp things quick.”

  Fiddler was furious now, but the other men inside the office drew him back inside, and they all set down their ruined weapons. The older man who had spoken to Fiddler before now stepped forward. “Deputy Fiddler here is my son,” he said. “He’s always been impetuous, but he’s only trying to protect the citizens of Carthage, as he’s sworn to do.”

  “You have my solemn oath,” said Alvin, “that we will not harm a soul in Carthage, particularly if you drop this silly idea of arresting my friends and incarcerating us before we appear before the judge tomorrow at … ten? When can we—”

  “Oh, the judge will be there the moment you show up,” said old Mr. Fiddler. “I suspect the judge is already there, awaiting word about your arrival.”

  “Then you ought to go tell him we’re here and we’ll see him tomorrow at a time of his choosing,” said Marty Laws. “So long as he chooses no earlier than ten o’clock in the morning.”

  Old Mr. Fiddler nodded toward a couple of men outside in the street, who set down their useless weapons and took off at a jog up the street.

  “Now if you don’t mind, it looks like my brother has found us lodging for tonight,” said Alvin.

  Measure was shaking his head. “Nobody wants to rent to us. They think there’s going to be a gunfight or something.”

  “A wizards’ battle!” exclaimed Deputy Fiddler.

  “Can’t have a wizards’ battle,” said Measure, “lessen you find some wizards. We’re just citizens of a city in Noisy River, one of the sovereign states of this federation. The charter of that city has been reaffirmed by the state legislature a couple of weeks ago.”

  “You mean the den of witches and abominations called Crystal City,” said another man.

  “I see you’re a Christian,” said John Binder. “I appreciate your warning that such awful things might be found in our city. We just came from there, and the only abominations were a few thousand bats, who mostly keep our city free of flies and mosquitos. But when we go back, we’ll try to find if there are any worse abominations around.”

  “Don’t bandy words with us!” cried Deputy Fiddler

  “What my son means,” said old man Fiddler, “is that we’d like to ask if you would care to sleep in our spacious city jail, a couple of blocks away.”

  “With the door left unlocked?” asked Marty Laws.

  “We’ll offer you the upstairs suite,” said old man Fiddler. “I hear that a lot fewer rats get up there.”

  “What I’m wondering about,” said Measure, “is whether your jail also serves a nice dinner for its guests.”

  Silence was his answer.

  Old man Fiddler spoke up again. “We generally rely on the friends of our prisoners to bring meals to the jail for them.”

  “You don’t have a budget for meals for the incarcerated?” asked Marty Laws.

  “We do,” said old man Fiddler. “But we can’t spend any of it without Sheriff Wiley’s signature on the paper.”

  “You Carthaginians are mighty devoted to papers with words on them,” said Measure.

  “We accept your kind offer,” said Alvin. “And two of my companions will go out and find a public house or inn that serves a worthy dinner for four hungry men.”

  “And you’ll bring the food back to the jail,” said Deputy Fiddler.

  “Only if the innkeeper will also bring us chairs, a table, and all the dishes and utensils we need, with a tablecloth and napkins,” said Measure. “Otherwise, all four of us will go to the inn and dine there, before returning to the free upstairs lodgings you so kindly offered us.”

  Once again, Deputy Fiddler seemed about to explode; again, his father calmed him with a touch on his shoulder. “We will fully comply with the law, Mr.—Smith?”

  “We’re brothers, but I still use my father’s name, Miller,” said Measure.

  “Mr. Miller, then,” said old man Fiddler. “We will not discommode you or disturb you. We ask that you not damage any more of our equipment, that’s all.”

  “Damage?” said Measure, looking at his three companions.

  “I don’t know what he’s talking about,” said John Binder. “We didn’t damage anything.”

  Alvin shrugged. “Folks are always blaming us knackles for causing things we had nothing to do with.”

  “You’re saying you didn’t cause our balls to melt and drip out the barrels of our weapons?” said another man from the posse.

  Alvin smiled, and Marty gave a tiny little hoot of amusement. “We’re not responsible for anything that happens to your balls. Every man has to look after his own.”

  Now it was old man Fiddler’s turn to look a little annoyed. “I’ve spoken respectfully to you, sirs,” he said. “I don’t deserve to be ridiculed with such crudity.”

  John Binder said, “Oh, I see now, yes, I believe you misunderstood the meaning of our attorney’s words. He referred only to musket and pistol balls.”

  A couple of the men huffed, but since the four men from Crystal City were all innocent and reassuring, what could they do?

  A dozen of them followed then along the street toward the jail. Along the way, they passed a tavern. There were cheerful sounds coming from within.

  “This place have good food?” Measure asked old man Fiddler.

  “I think so,” said Fiddler.

  “And the customers are kind to strangers?” asked John Binder.

  “As long as the strangers are gentlespoken,” said Fiddler.

  Alvin got to the door and turned around to address the throng. “I think we have money enough to buy dinner for only the four of us. If the rest of you want to dine here also, I’m afraid you’ll need to pay for your own meals.”

  Only old man Fiddler and his son seemed interested in following Alvin’s party inside. The others drifted away, while the tavernkeeper found a table for Alvin’s group and another for the Fiddlers. John Binder made it a point to walk over to the Fiddlers’ table and say, to old man Fiddler, “We appreciate your patience and forbearance, sir. We don’t have money to pay for meals for all the men who escorted us here, but we would be glad to pay for your dinner.”

  “In a pig’s eye,” said Deputy Fiddler.

  “If you reconsider,” said John Binder, “just tell the tavernkeeper to add your meal and drinks to our bill.”

  Old man Fiddler thanked him, and Binder returned to Alvin’s table.

  “Well done,” said Alvin.

  “I’m counting on you to make the prison cots comfortable for us,” said Measure to Alvin.

  “When did your bed become my business?” asked Alvin.

  But they all knew that Alvin would do exactly what Measure asked.

  They were just finishing up their meal when Sheriff Wiley came into the tavern. He was a man with a lot of strut, but Alvin could see that he was restraining himself. Probably because he would already have heard about the molten bullets and ruined gun barrels. He came to their table, and after taking John Binder to be Alvin for a minute, there were handshakes all around.

  “Please sit down and eat with us,” said John Binder.

  The sheriff considered for a moment, and pulled up a chair and sat.

  “I hope you’ll have someone guide us to the courthouse tomorrow,” said Alvin, “for my appointment with the judge.”

  “It should be the very judge who issued the summons and the warrant,” said Marty Laws. “We want to make sure he knows we complied with his orders as if they were completely lawful.”

  “They were,” said Deputy Fiddler from his nearby table.

  “We have taken them at face value,” said Marty Laws, “and complied with every particular.”

  “The food here is pretty good,” said Alvin, his mouth full. Then he chewed and swallowed. “I apologize,” he said. “My wife would be dismayed to see me talking to our guests with my mouth full.”

  The Fiddlers and Sheriff Wiley looked confused.

  “My wife says that refined people in Philadelphia, Paris, and London make it a point not to speak with their mouths full of food,” said Alvin. “But I’m glad if you weren’t offended by my faux pas.”

  Again, they all looked baffled. But since Alvin’s tone was quite mild and pleasant, they didn’t take offense at the French words. Foe paw? Meaningless.

  The dinner lasted through drinks of cider and beer—no hard liquor, they needed their wits about them—and several of the posse joined them for those libations, though Marty reminded the tavernkeeper that these men would pay for their own.

  After the meal was finished and the bill was paid, the tavernkeeper looked at Alvin suspiciously and said, “These coins aren’t going to disappear or melt or something after you leave, are they?”

  Alvin smiled. “Since you aren’t aiming to shoot us with those coins, I can assure you they’ll remain solid and inert.” He loved stymying bossy men with the fine words Margaret had taught him when she was still his teacher and not his wife.

  Meanwhile, to avoid rankling them, John Binder quietly explained what “inert” meant.

  “Why didn’t he just say that?” murmured Deputy Fiddler.