~*~
When they finally continued on the road toward Greatbridge, they traveled slower than before they met the highwaymen. This was in part because of a light drizzle pestering them on and off but mainly due to their three captives and the body that they dragged behind them.
Grandpa Nash bound the highwaymen’s legs in a clever way resembling shackles so they could walk but could not run. He had also tied their hands securely behind them. Two of highwaymen pulled a hastily constructed travois holding the corpse of their former leader. None of them said so much as a word during the entire trip.
When Trixie and Grandpa Nash presented their prisoners at the Royal Constabulary garrison at the next way station, the constable on duty did not attempt to hide his surprise or skepticism at seeing an old man and a young woman delivering three captive highwaymen and the body of another. He kept glancing behind them as if trying to find a small, concealed army or anything else that might explain things better. It did not take long, however, with Grandpa Nash doing most of the talking, to convince the constable that events unfolded exactly as they related them, which more or less described how things had actually happened, although stressing Trixie’s skill and underplaying Nash’s involvement.
Grandpa Nash filled out a complaint form and signed it. Trixie signed it too. She did not just make her mark. This marked the first time she ever signed her name to a document, and she felt quite proud of being able to do so.
She also signed a separate form about the highwayman she needed to kill. Extra paperwork must be done when someone arrived in a nonliving state, the constable explained. The rules stated this very specifically, and everything needed to be documented just so.
She provided answers to a rather long list of questions and began to think she should have just left the body by the side of the road. That would have been littering though, and she did not like to do that kind of thing. It showed a complete disregard for others. She always hated it when she came across such things when she ran messages.
Grandpa Nash probably would not have gone for it anyway. He insisted they carry the body with them on a travois so any family or loved ones the man might have would not wonder what became of him. Trixie figured the dead highwayman’s list of loved ones began and ended with the three hoodlums bound and quivering against the wall. An extremely tall constable with dark, wavy hair, coal eyes, and muscles under his shirt bulging like a bag of boulders, watched them closely.
Not my type, she persuaded herself silently.
She appreciated Grandpa Nash’s point, she supposed. The dead brigand might have a mother or someone who would want to learn she could now sell his old clothes and rent out his room or something like that. Most people probably did have someone who cared about what happened to them. Of course, this did not mean they cared if the happening proved fatal, only that they would care to know about it.
The two travelers stayed the night at a small inn collocated with the way station. She and Nash occupied two of the six rooms available and were the only guests that evening.
The simple room, although sparse might be a better description, did have a nightstand with an oil lamp. She raised the wick and read for a while to distance her mind from the events of the day, and she found herself smiling at the words and pictures in her book. Eventually, she turned down the lamp and settled under the blanket, listening to the drizzle turn to rain.
Chapter Ten