“Yes, of course.”
“While you were in the garden, did you nestle a gnome lure into a flowering spirea?”
Mr. Eastwilden blinks. “I’m sorry?”
“An inspector discovered a gnome lure on the property. Miss Merriweather’s lawyer has requested a magic match, which we have granted. That’s why you’re here.”
The leprechaun suddenly looks very nervous. I hold my breath, wondering how he’s going to try to get out of this.
“You have no grounds to accuse me of such a thing!” he objects.
“It seems Mr. Neilfellow has unearthed an interesting town history,” the magistrate says, sounding marginally less bored. “Gnome sign was recorded in Fae Preservation Society records before you purchased the property for your microbrewery. You had to sign an agreement with the society that you wouldn’t begin construction until they moved on. Fortuitously, they left within aweekof your purchase.”
The man sputters, “I don’t know what that has to do with anything!”
“Perhaps nothing. But it is a strange coincidence, don’t you think? Either way, a quick magic match will tell us all we need to know. If you’ll please follow Jeremiah into the side room, he will conduct the test.”
“This is ridiculous.” Mr. Eastwilden rises, so agitated he nearly knocks over his chair. “I didn’t agree to this. I came as a witness, not acriminal.”
“You are under my jurisdiction,” the magistrate says, his tone sharp and unyielding. “You will comply.”
“I will not!”
“Then you will be arrested,” the elf says sharply. “Pleasefollow Jeremiah.”
The leprechaun stands at his full height, looking livid. He casts me a dark look and then marches toward the waiting dwarf.
With a soft thud, the door closes behind them.
“It won’t take long,” the magistrate assures us, adjusting his position on the throne.
We sit in uncomfortable silence for five solid minutes, and then the door opens, and the mountain dwarf emerges. “It was a match, Your Honor.”
Ash makes the most triumphant noise I’ve ever heard, but it’s quiet enough that I’m sure I’m the only one to notice it.
“Please tell the rangers outside the door to take Mr. Eastwilden into custody.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Moments later, two humorless high fae men drag Mr. Eastwilden from the side room, ignoring his indignant threats.
“You cannot do this to me!” he protests, fighting his escorts. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“All right,” the magistrate says when the back doors shut with an ominous thud. “Where were we? Ah, Miss Kathleen.” He studies me, mouth in a thin line, tapping his fingers on the arm of his throne. “You have had a rough few months, haven’t you?”
I don’t know how to answer, so I offer him a weak smile.
He clucks his tongue several times, thinking. “These are unusual circumstances indeed.”
“Your Honor, if I may, Kathleen and I would like to offer a potential resolution,” Ash says.
“Please, go ahead.”
“Along with the tea shop, Kathleen has inherited a half-acre of forested property in a rural section of the town. She would like to create a gnome sanctuary in her backyard. If you find it acceptable, we would be grateful if you would consider that as compensation for the mistakes she made in her dealings with the gnomes.”
The elf nods. “You propose a relocation, then?”
“The gnomes are in danger in the tea shop garden,” Ash says gravely. “Yes, the garden itself is quaint and safe, but the route to get there is not. We believe it’s in the gnomes’ best interests to be relocated.”
