“Aren’t you going to eat?” Remy asked.

Ainsel looked down at the chunk of what was supposedly bread on her knee. “This isn’t food.” She’d nibbled on it, and she was pretty sure sawdust mixed with water would have tasted better. There had been some hard, sour plums with tiny spikes on the skin, too, which she’d found marginally better. And there was a mildly sweet warm drink that tasted like tree bark. It wasn’t completely unpleasant.

The bread had originally been a round disc the size of her head, scored like a pizza. Remy had eagerly broken it into pieces and just as eagerly eaten most of it. When he reached for her uneaten piece, she hesitated before handing it to him. Her every instinct as a baker rebelled against handing somebody terrible bread, even if she wasn’t responsible for it. She’d thought the jail was pretty nice for a jail, but this food changed everything. It was cruel and unusual punishment. Even Jim had refused everything but the drink when she’d woken him to offer it, instead falling back asleep again.

“It’s terrible food,” corrected Remy, after scarfing down the final piece of bread. “But it’s better than an empty stomach. I don’t like being hungry.” He tossed her his final sour plum. “You can have that, though.”

Ainsel gnawed on it, thinking about all the ways she could have improved the meal. It kept her mind busy, kept her from thinking about how close she’d been to kissing Remy before the jailor had delivered the faux food. Even now he was stretched out on his side, watching her. She couldn’t guess what he was thinking.

A rattle from the door interrupted her wandering thoughts. When the door opened, a shape filled the lower half of the frame, with the jailor lurking in the background.

The squat, wide shape moved into the jail. It was a man, with a neatly trimmed beard, a broad-brimmed hat, a coat that dusted the floor and half-moon spectacles on his nose. His ears stuck out under his hat, large and spiky.

“All three of ‘em,” said the jailor. “The older fellow’s a lump but I told you about the young ones.”

Ainsel scooted over to Jim protectively. “He’s not a lump. He’s just confused and afraid.” It wasn’t entirely true; even in his own home there were often lump-like qualities to Jim. But it didn’t matter. He was Zoë’s father and Ainsel wasn’t going to let anybody treat him like an object.

“This is the Judge,” the jailor said briskly. “He’ll decide. He says a man’s a lump, he’s always right.”

“Thank you,” said the Judge, stepping forward. “You may wait outside for my signal, Warden.” The jailor nodded and slammed the door closed with a clang.

Remy rose to his full height, looking down at their visitor, who was two thirds his height and twice as wide. “You’re not human like the other ones. What are you?”

“The question on the table, boy, is what are you? And what will we do with you?” The Judge was a lot easier to understand than the other natives Ainsel had heard so far. Mostly they seemed to speak some heavily accented dialect of English but the Judge sounded like he’d studied in some European boarding school.

“Let us go?” suggested Ainsel tentatively.

The Judge raised one bushy eyebrow. “One of three things can happen to prisoners of Bone Station. They can be summarily executed, if they promise too much trouble. They can join us and serve as defenders of the Station. It’s not a bad life, such that it is, and it’s more than most had beforetime.” The Judge paused, surveying Remy skeptically. “And then there’s exile. If you’re not so much trouble we want your blood on our hands, and you won’t join up, well, we send you back out into the wastes again. Frankly, it’s a different form of death sentence unless you’ve got friends waiting for you out there. Do you have friends waiting somewhere?”

“Yes,” said Remy at the same time that Ainsel said, “No.” They glanced at each other.

Remy shrugged. “You do have friends waiting somewhere.”

“Not here.” Ainsel’s chest was tight and she swallowed the lump in her throat. So many lost friends. They sank back into the darkness of her lost memories, those she’d loved and lost more completely than to death.

Despite her attempt at self-control, tears slipped from her eyes. Remy watched her without offering comfort, which she appreciated. She didn’t know how she’d react to comfort right now but it probably wouldn’t be helpful.

The Judge frowned. “Step closer, girl. Let me look at you.”

Wiping at her eye, she did as requested, stopping out of arm’s reach of the Judge. He looked her up and down, then adjusted his spectacles and did it again. His mouth set into a grim line. “I thought so. What are you doing here?”

“I fell through a hole in my world and ended up here. It wasn’t on purpose.” Ainsel crossed her arms over herself, as if she could shield herself from the Judge’s penetrating gaze.

“That’s impossible,” the Judge said flatly. His previous tone of voice had been friendly in comparison.

“She means the Middle World.” Remy voice was lazy, incongruous paired with the tension radiating off him. “She seems to have forgotten a lot recently.”

“Ah? Ah, I see.” The Judge relaxed. “How serendipitous. I think for you there is a fourth choice: something other than exile, recruitment or execution. I will take you to see the Admin.” He turned his attention to Remy. “As for you, you have already proven yourself an asset to Bone Station if you wish to stay.”

One corner of Remy’s mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “I’ll stay with the girl.”

The Judge clicked his tongue in disapproval. “That is not your choice. You may choose between exile and service.”

Remy looked down at his fingernails. “You really don’t want to try taking her away from me. It would be unpleasant.”

The Judge assessed Remy, scratching his whiskers and then adjusting his hat. Then he transferred his gaze to Jim, clearly tabling the discussion with Remy to be picked up at another time. “That one… We have enough of the sick and invalid cluttering Bone Station’s alleys. If I had my way, we would put him out of his misery. But the Admin disagrees. He and I have very different definitions of ‘trouble’.”

“What does that mean?” Ainsel asked. “What will you do with him?”

“It means that he can stay here and rest until he is sane enough to ask for release, and then he will be free to join the rest of the refuse cluttering the streets.”

“I think he should come see this Admin too.” Ainsel wasn’t at all sure what the Admin was and while he didn’t sound wicked, what with his tolerance of the broken and broken-hearted, she didn’t know where she was going to end up next and she was determined not to leave Jim behind. If she could return him to Zoë, she was going to do so.

“Of course you do,” said the Judge sourly. “Can he even walk?”

“He can if we help him.” She shook Jim. “Wake up, Jim. We’re going someplace.”

The older man opened his eyes, blinking in confusion. “Home? Are we going home?”

“Maybe,” said Ainsel, with false cheer. “Let’s go find out. And if you walk around, you’re sure to feel better.

Jim staggered as she pulled him to his feet. But he wasn’t injured in any way that prevented him from walking and with a little help from Ainsel, he caught his balance. He frowned at Ainsel and shook his head, then said, “This crazy dream.”

“If only it was. But maybe once you’re home again, you can pretend. We just have to get home first.”

The Judge and Remy were having a quick whispered conversation. Ainsel’s sharp ears caught only a few words: ‘healing’, ‘danger’, ‘smart’. At least the Judge broke away with a huff, snorting loudly. “Fine, you’re convinced me. She must go to the Admin, and you can at least go that far with her.” He cast his gaze over Jim and added, “You can carry her pet old human if he forgets how to walk.”

Ainsel pulled a face. She didn’t even particularly like Jim. He was just… Zoë’s. And he was a person, and he didn’t deserve what had happened to him. “What is this Admin?”

Jim raised his head, blinking. “What about an Admin?”

The Judge rapped on the closed door in a pattern and it swung open. “The Admin governs this station. He has a special interest in persons like you, girl.” He gave her a keen look before leading the way out of the cell. “Don’t think because he tolerates trash that he’s a gentle soul. He is very dangerous and very unpredictable, so mind your step around him.”