After the Legate came two law enforcement officers, Sheriff’s deputies, Jane now saw. The younger man, with buzzcut hair and a thin mustache, was in front. He called out to the Legate, asking the older man to stop and getting a cold shoulder in return. Behind him came an older, heavier deputy, with a beard and a paunch and his hand resting on the butt of a gun at his hip.
“And you there,” Mustache continued, pointing at Jim. “Drop your sword, sir, so we can have a polite conversation about what’s going on here.” The deputy looked around at the Bearers of the Sword that surrounded the building. “A polite conversation that also made some sense would be a nice bonus.”
Jim only narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on his sword. Jane was sure she had seen him somewhere before, though not recently.
“Thank you, Qayna,” the Legate said. He stopped and sat on the metal casing of the generator. “You’ve done exactly as we’d hoped.”
“Funny,” Jane said. “I don’t see that I have.”
“Everyone here should consider himself under arrest!” Deputy Mustache insisted, pointing his pistol at the ground beside the Legate. “You with the sword, put it down… now!”
“Raphael,” the Legate said, and his voice sounded old. “Can we end this?”
Deputy Beard drew his pistol, a large-caliber revolver. “You heard what the man said.” He raised the gun.
“Thanks, pard,” Deputy Mustache glared at Jim.
“It’s over,” Beard said.
Deputy Mustache fell to the ground, bleeding from the back of his head.
“Thank you, Rafi,” the Legate said. “Now, let’s get down to a little business, shall we?”