The Lord of Misrule

Chapter 2

"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned"

A few passersby cast dubious looks at the scene before continuing their journey towards Totnes. The dirt road transitioned into a paved cobblestone track as it reached the town gates, flanked on one side with coarse bush and overgrown weeds. To the east, where herons hunted frogs, was the Great Forest of Trigenta.

"If I may, Master Mawsby," Mikeal said, then continued after the pompous banker nodded approvingly. "I rather think it be too harsh on her to condemn her so easily.

"I am sure it's her first time, and given the hardships that have plagued our great land recently, it won't go to naught if we let her go. It's quite obvious she's from a respectable family that has fallen on hard times, not some hardened criminal that deserves the full force of the hammer." He spared another glance at her and saw a pair of surprised eyes stare back at him. Mawsby tilted his rotund head and looked at Mikael questioningly.

Mikael sighed. He reached out and grabbed the girl's hand, holding it up towards Mawsby as if he was presenting him a pair of cufflinks. She snatched her hand away from his grasp and glared at Mikael.

"It's as evident as the corruption in our nobility! Her hands aren't rough and chapped, and her fingernails aren't chipped at the tips." The girl curiously inspected her hands, following the movement of Mawsby's eyes. 

Again, Mikael reached out and this time presented a palmful of her hair to Mawsby. It felt incredibly silky and soft, and there was a hint of fragrance. "Her hair isn't damaged from being tugged at by badly-carved combs, is washed frequently, and has been regularly treated with balms. Just look at its shine!" She swatted at his arm with an annoyed grunt. Her hair fell limp beside her. 

"And this," continued Mikael, pointing to the clothes that peeked out from behind the opening of her cloak, "is obviously a fine silk, way out of reach for a peasant thief." 

Mawsby opened his mouth to object, but was cut off quickly. "No, no, man. She didn't steal it." He tugged at her cloak so Mawsby could see more of her outfit. The deep blue silk shimmered in the sunlight, glinting against the delicate gold embroidery that patterned the front of her tunic. "Judging by the fit, it's obviously been tailored to her form. Unless she pilfered it from her rich twin sister -- which would be a bitching plot twist and make for great material for a playwright, I admit -- she definitely bought those clothes."

"You may have a point," said Mawsby, scratching his chin thoughtfully. The girl snatched the ends of her cloak and pulled it taut across her chest. Her foot began to tap vigorously against the packed gravel.

"I always have a point. Besides, if she was incompetent enough to get caught this easily, then I don't see much harm her petty bungling can cause if we let her go." That statement earned him a bewildered stare from Mawsby and a piercing glare from the girl.

"If her family is of status, then that is even more reason why she should face up to her punishment. Surely she is educated enough to know better!" Mawsby shook his head, as if he was convincing himself. "Nonsense! The wench shall receive no leniency from me," he said, extending his arm to convince Mikael to take the money and leave.

"But, if you be so kind—," his objection was cut off almost immediately.

"No, I fear you ask what does not concord with my honor. She and her kind can rot in hell for all I care. They are a plague; a Black Death to society. Scrounging around and being a nuisance to civilization. Even worse, they have no sense! A petty thief should be targeting small dealers. Targeting someone like me is akin to a profound sort of stupidity I have not been accustomed to in a long time." Mawsby clucked his tongue and faced the girl with a sneer. Mikael took a step back, his brows furrowed in disbelief.