A Bullet Or Two

Chapter 3.2

Once she set her mind to it, Delilah found the pile of papers shrinking and shrivelling away. Each little complaint, property request, and enquiry for assistance required only a signature or rejection. Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no. One after another the papers were reviewed. Placed in a pile to her right.

Yet, to each letter she responded and placed in that pile, another pile expanded to her left. One that towered atop the Mitsby note that prodded at the back of her mind.

Delilah picked another letter from the unread pile.

Baron Franklyn,

The weeks past have seen me come into possession of a couple of acres to the north of my manor. I wish to convert these into cattle farms to see my estate and town through the autumn before the winter snow from the North hits.

With your permission, may I request a dozen cows to be transported from Smacallves? My cousin, Fred – I introduced you both at my last soiree - is willing to spare some from his herd.

Johanne Cobson

Johanne Cobson was always looking for more cattle. More cattle to replace the hundreds upon hundreds of coins he had lost to his gambling addiction. The coins that would have paid for more crops, clothes, and repairs had he had the decency to save them. He was a large fellow if she recalled him correctly. His greed often got the better of him. She worked that out the moment that he lost to her in a card game after the last ball Baron hosted and the greedy Lord attempted to pay to play again with the deed to his estate.

Signed: Baroness D. Franklyn.

Even so, she had to ignore his gambling troubles, and accept his request. The town's people of Hyllworth did not deserve to suffer because of their Lord's stupidity.

She moved Cobson's enquiry to the right and found herself tempted again by the riot papers.

Her hand hovered to the left, desperate to know more. Desperate to be involved.

Delilah picked up another unread letter instead.

Baron Franklyn,

My youngest son is to be married. A fine girl from within your very City. Mary Showtsdale. She is a fair bit short on looks unlike your daughter is said to be, but my boy is much infatuated by her. With your blessing I would like to have them married in one months' time, upon the Equinox, within Saol's Temple.

Of course, I would like to extend an invitation to yourself and the future Baroness. It would be my pleasure to have you join our celebrations.

Simon Copperfield.

Spring always saw the beginning of the courting season. The end of Summer saw those couplings cemented in marriages. One by one the young, the old, and those with no better options would wed. Party after party would ensue. Invitations would flock through Baron's letterbox. And every single one wanted the temple as their venue. Simon Copperfield was not the first to extend his invitation to the Franklyn house, nor would he be the last.

Delilah felt no sympathy or remorse as she wrote her response.

The date they chose, the venue, even suggesting that the Franklyn's would attend was mocking. The Temple that day was being used. The Franklins were completely occupied. The Copperfields were even invited to attend.

Delilah kept her response curt but polite.

The day was being made a Quarter-wide holiday where no other events would be held, and they had the gull to request a wedding at the very same venue on the very same day that her coronation would be.

Delilah threw her pen down next to the paper, hung her head in her hands and breathed.

Months were passing by quicker than she had anticipated. The week she had spent inside the study, only able to see the world outside from the bay window, had felt so slow in comparison. As if she had been locked away with piles upon piles of paper for a lifetime.

Her future was looming. Creeping up so much faster than she was ready for. Copperfield's letter was an unwanted reminder of that.

Leaning back into her chair, Delilah stared at the growing pile of completed papers. This was to be her life. Stuck in a study. Sat in an old wooden chair. Expected to respond to letters for the rest of her life. Jobs would be no more, guns would be kept to her guards, and she would never go anywhere alone again. Not like she could do that now. Even so, she had more privacy than her stepfather did. Come coronation day, he would pass the burden to her.

Baron Franklyn,

I apologise for my poor writing; I've not written many letters in recent years. I hope this finds you well.

The past few weeks are a travesty for my flock. Nightwigs have tormented and terrorised them in the night, some of the lambs have been stolen or left torn to pieces. I've heard that you've helped other farmers in my county when the Nightwigs have come. I beg you to help me. They're my livelihood. If the Nightwigs take them all than my family will starve. I'd have no income to feed them or keep the roof above their heads.

Please, I beg you.

Peter Schippart.

Two seconds, then three passed. Delilah picked up her pen again. The coronation was forgotten. The riot papers and Mitsby note brushed away.

Dark ink curved and dotted against the paper as she sprawled out her response. Not even a fourth second had passed before she knew what she would say.

Afterall, a Nightwig took no more than a bullet or two to kill.