As She Wrote

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"There are reports," I said, following a pair of lessers through the kicked-in doorway, "from your neighbours."

She turned from the kitchen sink, hands at her waist and gaze downcast. A drop dripped from her finger to her apron.

"I expect there are, First Highest Lordness Hurrthay."

A moment of surprise at her recognition, easily ignored.

"Why?"

"Those who see fault in themselves seek to punish those without. Those who sin dislike those who do not."

"You name your neighbours sinners?"

"I offer possibilities."

"It is the eighth bell."

"My pantry is swept, my canning is stacked, my fire is set."

"Thirds," I called over my shoulder and a pair of spite-eyed bitches stormed in to dart about.

"On the seventh bell," I left it hanging.

"My corners were dusted, my frames were wiped, my privy was scrubbed, my silver was polished."

"Fourths." Four of them swarmed into the already crowded space.

"It is now a quarter past the eighth bell."

"It is."

She returned my hard stare with one to face Her Wrath without flinch.

"Second!" I barked the word and he entered. Soldiers kept a hand near their swords. He held his openly. "Quarter past eighth bell."

"Pots."

"Scrubbed eight times, each direction."

"Sheets."

"Straightened and leveled."

"Nothing, First Highest Lordness Hurrthay," one of the lessers whispered to me. I backhanded him across the face.

"Gutters."

"Two buckets down each side."

He hesitated.

"My chickens are dusted, my herbs are watered."

He stared.

"As the fourth sub-edict of the eleventh standard parables third translation clearly dictates."

"Soldiers," I said with a vague wave, "kill the Second."

"You interest me," I said as four leapt upon one. "You were trained?"

"Trained? Me?" She patted the air with her hands. "No, First Highest Lordness Hurrthay. I read."

"Everything is—" I swatted the lesser aside and stepped towards the fascinating woman.

"Kill them all."

The lessers were well trained, but unarmed. They cried out before they died.

"Half-past twelfth bell."

She sniffed.

"My oven is swept and my clothes are hung."

"Half before dead of night."

"Coops are closed, windows are shut, teeth is swished, praise is said."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Tucked. Double fold."

"Quarter to third bell."

"My bladder is emptied." The defiance in her eyes was magnificent to behold.

"You know much."

"I know what She wrote."

"Trahha, four doors down the street."

"Pregnant four times. She ended them."

"Gnrill."

"Four streets up. He lusts for the young ones but doesn't touch."

"Were he to?"

"I'd be first to tear the scalp from his skull, gouge the eyes from his head, tear his manhood free, and cast it upon the fire of twelve trees."

"Twelve?"

She gasped.

"Fourth inclination of the seventh devoutist adventual hinderance."

"Remarkable. You are a true believer."

"I am."

"Most intriguing." I turned to the soldiers. "We can't have those. Kill her too."

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