The Wicked and the Just

Charming. We're going to be murdered in our beds.

Even better. We're going to be murdered in our beds by infidels.

I have not harmed her. I have not allowed harm to come to her. It's more than her lot has ever offered me, and English has seen what befalls them when they press the boot on our necks. She has survived the wages of justice through luck, mettle, and wit enough to open her eyes. English finally sees. If I'm to be ruled, may it be by those who see.

God save me ere I have any babies. They are grabby, clingy creatures who steal your figure and always want a ribbon or a wooden sword. And who sometimes make you die bearing them.

One day, a shadow will come to my door. He will push his head back and scuff the dirt with one heel, and he will tell me to go to the market common should I want to say farewell ere the hangman does his work. Or that my brother died well in some anonymous way, calling down the only kind of justice the likes of us have recourse to. Then I will have naught left to lose.

There are no more gates, only hinges clinging to the walls like broken spiders.

The poor lads called and called, but they were grown and had forgotten the best places to hide.