Wednesday, August 21, 2013

The Steel Mistress



Emil had never in his life received such an extravagant gift. It took three men to bring it into his home, and though he was as strong as three men, he could hardly lift it himself. Once the burlap covering had been removed Emil could do nothing but fall to his knees and weep. The edge was keen as a wolverine’s claw, it’s surface so highly polished that any man standing between it and the sun would surely be blinded. King Richard had held true to his promise, working above and beyond the call of duty had paid off handsomely.
It was a week before the gift could be mounted and raised unto the sky, and another day before the first guest would stare in awe at it’s shiny new character.

“Please help me” said the young girl Jean DuForte, accused of heresy and other high crimes; “I am so afraid.”

“Do not fear lass” replied Emil; “you are her first, she will make certain you feel no pain, I promise you.”

Jean might have smiled if the executioner’s assistants had not placed the slit block over her neck, forcing her face into a freshly washed wicker pail.

Emir tugged at his rope, and was barely able to mutter “God have mercy on your soul” before his guillotine’s brilliant blade had tasted its first blood.

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