Missy asked around town, and soon found that Muntz had checked himself into the Royal Oscoda Hotel by buying a room from an existing tenant. The man had been paid a single dollar for the privilege, and had smelt of burned flesh when he did so. With a room secured, the pyromancer had holed up in the cigar lounge, according to the bellhop.

“Oh, look who it is,” Muntz said, seeing Missy enter. “Hello, little lady! You come to see your betters working miracles with the Art?” With an expensive cigar in his mouth, Muntz was making a series of lit matches dance in a figure-eight pattern about his hands. The other cigar lounge patrons watched with amusement, but the presence of a bellhop with a fire bucket was enough to tell Missy there had been more than a few accidents in the short time he’d been there.”

“You’ve had a busy day, Mr. Muntz,” said Missy. “In addition to a fight requiring the intervention of a deputy sheriff, I have people willing to swear in a court of law that you attacked one of Miss Scarlet’s girls. I’ll bet I can find another who’ll say you scorched him up good for his hotel room, and the Royal Oscoda certainly has a claim for malicious pyromancy.”

“You have an orc who doesn’t know his place, several liars, and a business that, if anything, is improved by scorching away the homliness,” Muntz laughed. “Hardly anything to worry your little head over.”

“Nevertheless, I am, as a duly sworn deputy, compelled to demand that you surrender yourself to the Smokewood jail for flagrantly violating your sworn oath,” Missy said firmly. “There to await trial or bail, whichever comes first.”

The locals in the smoking room moved away at this. The out-of-towners leaned in for a further listen.

“What if I decline, little missy?” Muntz said. “Time was, people without the Art couldn’t even make such a bold claim.”

“Times have changed, Mr. Muntz, and now the law is the law regardless of what sort of magic courses through those veins,” Missy said. “If you decline, you will be compelled.”

“Compelled!” Muntz roared. “By what?”

Missy reached into her duster and produced a piece of paper. “By the law,” she said. “This is a signed warrant for your arrest. Of course, things being as they are, I’m prepared to accept trying you in absentia if you were to disappear.”

Muntz flicked his hands, spraying lit matched all around the room. The bellboy and several other patrons scrambled to clean up the dozen small fires he’d lit with that action. “This town sure is full of people who don’t know what’s best for them,” he said. “Tell you what, little missy. I’m calling you out.” Speaking louder, while rising from his setee, Muntz continued: “That’s right. I’ll come to your silly little jail at sundown, to see it burned to the ground.”

“I always say that violence is useless,” Missy said.

“WE’LL SEE ABOUT THAT!” Muntz howled. “Sundown. And if you’re not there, I’m going to come looking for you.”

The locals looked to Missy, their faces apprehensive. “Am I to take that,” she said, “as a refusal of a lawful court order?”

“Take it as whatever you like,” Muntz said. In a flash, he had torn a hole in the Royal Oscoda’s exterior wall, filling the room with cinders and smoke. Riding a wave of heat down to street level, he laughed as he walked away, leaving glassy footsteps burned into the soil.”

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