Emile was having so much fun, but she kept thinking about the egg. This was turning out to be one of the most interesting days in the past year. After Julie went to turn the trophy into the magistrate, Mother Maia showed up to borrow a book. She said that Norm and Leroy had a foal gone ill and that she needed to double check something she was sure she already knew.

Emile was always glad to see Mother Maia, “I want to show you something,” she said, grabbing the old woman’s hand, “It’s in my room. I think you’ll really like it.”

“It’ll have to wait, child,” Mother Maia was already reaching into her deep pockets for a sweet, “but you can come with me and see the foals, if you’re pa doesn’t mind that is.”

Frederick was in the kitchen, folding and kneading dough. He spoke through the little window that let out into the bar, “You should go Emile, you spend too much time cooped up in this place.”

Emile wanted to see the foals, but she didn’t want to see them today. She was thinking about the egg again, and already wondering if she should turn her again. Emile didn’t like the idea of the egg being warmed on one side for too long. “I think I’d rather wait here,” she said, “for when Julie gets back.”

It didn’t take long for that to happen. She had just barely turned the egg and sat it back carefully in its blanket nest, when Julie ran in crying. She could hear her all the way from the hall, and Emile darted to the common room to find out what the problem was.

“And then he said,” Julie was getting the words out between choking sobs, “that I must have stolen the sack from some real adventurers, and I was lucky he didn’t have me arrested!”

Frederick let out a long whistle between his teeth, and said “Ahh, lordy. Sounds like Brutus is on one today,” he looked around and his gaze fell on Emile, “oh, good, thought you were holed up in your room. Come on, Emile, we’re going to see the honorable and just magistrate.” He produced a short oak club tipped in iron from beneath the bar, and strode purposefully over to the door.

Julie looked startled by all this, and wiped her eyes and said, “I don’t know if you should go and talk to him. He was really angry.”

Frederick seemed to stifle a laugh and said, “I’m sure he was, but don’t you worry about me. Or Emile for that matter,” he looked at his daughter with a smirk, “you ready to go little lady?”

Emile was worried. She wasn’t worried at all about the magistrate, he wasn’t a very nice man. Emile was worried about the egg, she didn’t want to be away from it for very long. She said, “We’ll get your money, Julie, it won’t take a minute!” and crossed the room to stand next to her father by the door.

The unlikely trio made their way through the town, and to the old cobblestone building that passed for a courthouse. It was squat with big boulders for the foundation, and looked incredibly shabby compared to Frederick’s inn.

Frederick shouldered his way through the hewn timber door to the anteroom. There was a weasley, haggard old woman sitting behind a desk knitting. She looked very surprised to see Julie again, and with such sour company. “The magistrate isn’t seeing anyone else today,” she croaked, “and I don’t think he wants to see you ever again.” She cast a pointed look at Julie.

Frederick rolled his eyes and said, “I’m sure he doesn’t,” he crossed the room and banged on the door to the right with the iron end of his club, “Brutus! Get your pants back on! You’re going to talk to us, right now!”

A thin squeaky voice, nothing like the voice that Julie heard a few minutes before said, “Frederick?” and this was followed with hurried rustling sounds. A second later the bolt was thrown open and a half dressed woman came rushing out of the room holding the rest of her clothes to her chest.

Emile recognized her as one of the regulars at the inn, and called out to her as she was halfway out the door, “Jenny?”

The woman stopped, and looked back surprised, “Oh. Um, hi Emile.” She waved and hurried out the door, closing it behind her. Frederick didn’t even look back.

The magistrate was standing in front of his desk, his clothes looked rumpled and his face was red. Well more red than normal. Emile always thought that he looked like a squashed beet. She had never seen him inside the inn, but she had seen him around town. He was always breathing hard like he’d been running, though she had never seen him actually run. Her father always called him names, but Emile thought he was the saddest person she’d ever met. Except for maybe the people she’d gotten the egg from.

The man was trying to flatten the wrinkles out of his clothes as he spoke, “You’re not really here for that girl are you?”

Frederick reached for the parcel he had tucked in his belt. He threw the heavy envelope with the magistrate’s seal on the floor in front of Brutus. The magistrate’s eyes followed it down and then snapped back up to Frederick’s eyes. The innkeeper met his stare and said, “That’s your seal on there is it not?”

The already sweaty man started looking uncomfortable, and seemed to be looking for anything else in the room to look at, “Well, times have changed in the last two days,” he began making his way behind his desk seeming to want something between him and the angry innkeeper, “I can’t be held responsible! You should have seen what king Curt- I’m mean Everard, has been sending my way!”

Frederick was nonplussed, “I saw the guards come in last night, and we can discuss that at the next town meeting. That’s not what I asked you. I asked you if that’s your seal on that writ of bounty.”

The man made his way back around the desk, to a shelf laden with bottles and glasses on the wall. He began trying to pour himself a shaky drink and said, “Well, it’s not as if Robert Two-eyes is really a problem anymore. In the face of all this royal pressure.”

Emile was getting more and more anxious, this was taking much too long. She needed to get back and check on the egg. “He’s not a problem anymore,” she said, “because Julie killed him!”

The red-faced man snorted derisively, and said, “That little trollop? She hardly looks qualified to earn money on her back, let alone at the end of a sword!”

Emile was done. She reached for the sling at her belt, and faster than anyone else could react, she whipped a palm sized stone across the room.

Brutus Hedgford doubled over in pain. His drink fell to the floor and shattered in a spray of glass and bourbon, foul smelling fumes rose up from the debris. The drinks we serve never smell like that, it must be really cheap stuff. Emile walked casually across the room, and looked down at the man doubled up, with his hands on his groin. “I don’t have time for this,” she said in a soft and silky voice, “you need to fulfill the contract. And now you need to apologize to my friend for being rude.”

His eyes glazed over, and he stood up slowly. “Of course, I’m very sorry. I meant no offense,” he made his way behind the desk, “let me open the safe, and you can be on your way.”