I

This was not a good day for Freula. She had not managed to find a customer all day. Not that that was for lack of self promotion, as she had hitched what passed as a skirt above the knees and her small breasts were a mere nipple away from being totally bared.

Her skirt was an off-white rag and her tunic – a recycled castaway from an affluent home – had once been turquoise. Her slender legs were shod in crudely carved cogs with an intricate pattern of splatters of unknown but best left unidentified origin. Yet even in the cheapest area of the marketplace she found no takers. The rough and brutish men preferred their women to have more meat on their bones. Thus the scrawny teen was passed over for more curvy bodies. The dirt and bruises on her skin didn't help much, either. Or maybe it was because faded turquoise did not quite suit her complexion. Her large green-grey eyes with a heavy curtain of crusty eyelashes could easily be mistaken for wells of madness. Her dark blonde hair was matted with dirt and hung in uncombed slightly wavy strands down to her elbows. Several whiteheads surrounded by aureoles of reddened skin gave testimony to her age. Around fourteen, nobody knew for sure.

Her one redeeming feature was her teeth. Her faked lascivious smile showed that, though not particularity even, all her teeth were still there.

Hunger was driving her crazy - had been all day, if not all her life - and in the early afternoon she snapped. Two wagons tried to pass one another in a tight spot and locked corners. The drivers were at the stage of cracking whips over their heads, which inevitably brought in a crowd looking for entertainment. If the discussion over right of way went badly there would be blood from their mutual flogging. Pure fun!

In the commotion she grabbed a pie from the stall and tried to run for it. But her cog slipped on something - probably horse shit, though she didn't want to think much about that - and she fell on her back and was caught by the panting teenage boy assisting his parents in the pie-stall. He screamed in triumph as he caught her arm and then in pain as she bit him. A fist to the face whacked her head against the ground and she was too dazed to struggle. Strong hands grabbed her and a kick or two encouraged her to get to her feet. She felt that herself being dragged away but Fruela did not care anymore. She had lost the pie.

"To the stocks! To the block!" She could hear the crowd scream. "Take a paw off the stealing git! Pillory and cats! Take 'er paw orf! Pillory and cats!" Terrified, she prayed for the chopping block. She'd manage without a hand – she could spread her legs just as well without it, but rotten vegetables, stones and a couple of enraged cats thrown at her face would cost her whatever beauty she might posses – ripped lips, torn nostrils and ears if she was lucky. Both her eyes if she wasn't. –Let it be the block, let it be the block,– she prayed to whatever Goddess or God would care to listen. And she howled with fright like an animal.

Finally she was thrown onto the Justice platform at the corner of the marketplace. With the sentence already passed by the mob, an impromptu jury of several men was engaged in a tug of war over the method of execution. She was being alternatively jerked towards the stocks and the block. The pain made her howl even louder. Amongst the mob she could see some boys and girls she knew and worked with. They were screaming for bloody punishment along with the others. Why? They were just like her. Why did they wish her ill? Had she ever wronged them? WHY?

With her vision blurred by the jostling and tears she thought she saw something large and white pushing its way towards the platform, shoving people out of its way.