Chapter 10

Disclaimer: (Spoken by Shaun) Dain't ye ken it by now? She dain't own nothin' of it!

Louise: Ahem

Shaun: Oh, 'cept you Miss Louise (Louise beams, Authoress waves flag with Go Erik! on one side and Yay Shaun! on the other).

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Cap'n Meg: I know!(weeps over shirt)

Lady Assasssin Moonbeam: Thankyou, Go Shaun!

Keeper of the Dreams: I'm musically illiterate so I don't know, but thankyou

Masked Grace: Poor Eri, he suffers such torture at my hands, I want more of your phic!

Starlightcrybaby: I'm glad you love it, so do I

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Louise stalked down the stairs of the Bickerman home, her back as straight as an arrow, her head held stiffly. But the babe she clutched was kept in a hold so gentle and tender, it was as if the tiny boy was made of fine china. Erik followed, pausing a moment to snatch up his crutch at the door and chased after her down the dusty street.

She walked determinedly past several houses and a clump of women who stood aside quietly when she approached with her bundle, making the sign of the cross as she and the masked Erik passed them by.

She halted outside a crude log building, a lopsided sign swinging above in the breeze proclaimed the place as a tavern with its clumsy painting of grapes and a cup. She turned and looked for Erik, who came puffing up behind her.

"Whatever happens inside, just stay silent and hold yourself tall," she warned, "And don't take your mask off, the people of this town are not as forgiving of appearances as I am." "People everywhere are unforgiving of my appearance," he panted, leaning on his crutch. Louise gave a short, sad laugh and walked up the three rickety steps to enter the tavern. She stood just inside for a moment, blinking to allow her eyes to adjust as Erik came and stood behind her, leaving his crutch leaning against the steps.

The tavern was low and smoky, raucous voices laughed and mugs chinked as the men inside drank. Half a dozen thick-bodied labourers were scattered across the single room, drinking and talking loudly. One by one conversations broke off as the men looked up to find the local midwife standing holding a blanket wrapped bundle, and a mysterious tall man standing guard behind her.

"Mickel Bickerman rejoice," her voice rang out across the now silent room, "Today, you are a father again!" a shout went up and the men raised their tankards in cheer to a low browed, muddy haired man who sat clumped on a bench. He blinked and raised his mug in return, accepting claps on the back with pride, as though he had been the one to suffer the labour.

"What have I?" he cried, rising like a thick-headed bull, "Have I a son to carry on the Bickerman name at last?"

"I bring word of twins" Louise proclaimed, several shouts and whistles went up across the room, and muttered comments like "Still got it eh, Mickel?" and "The old dog!"

"Your daughter lies safe in her mothers arms," Louise continued, walking towards the ugly brute of a man, the men of the bar all caught the singular use of the word and waited with ale heavy breath for her next words. "And here I bring," she paused as Mickel came towards her, stumbling slightly under the influence of the ale he had drunk. She pretended not to notice as his eyes fell to her full breasts lustily as he panted with a dog's desire. She held out the bundle, letting the cloth fall away from the tiny body to reveal the distorted chest of the babe, "Your son!"

Mickel took one look at the flesh of his flesh and leapt back with a howl, knocking over another man and the bench he had been sitting upon. The other men clamoured loudly to see the babe, their ale fuddled wits confusing their sense of what was wrong. Louise advanced mercilessly on Mickel, thrusting the dead boy under his nose.

"Seed of your sowing, Mickel, issue of your flesh, and distorted by the weed you smoked with your ale mates as you pretended to hunt wild hares!" By now the rest of the men had been the baby, or at least gathered what had happened and they fell silent. Watching in agitation as the midwife tore down a man twice her age and size.

"Your own doing, Mickel, your own fault, none but you are to blame for this tragedy, your son's death lies now upon your soul, already the weight drags you down to the fires of Hell."

Mickel leapt up angrily, "You lie, whore!" he shouted, "This is done be your hand, yours or that scheming slut that is my wife, so weak she can't even care for her own children, a task that falls to my shoulders!"

"And such a fine job you do of it too, Mickel" Louise answered sarcastically, "Here in a tavern while your daughters stitch their hands to the bone to make ends meet."

"What use are they?" Mickel shouted, "Lazy bitches the lot of them! And what does it matter?" he spread his hands and appealed to the men around him, "I'll father sons yet, what is one mistake now?"

"No, you wont." Louise replied, "Sara has no wish to bear your seed any longer. She asked me long ago, if she ever lost another child, to make sure she would never carry again." She looked death at his gaping face, "So if you wish for sons, Mickel, you will have to seek out your mistresses to mother them. I warned you when I first met you that the drug you smoke will destroy you and those around you."

With that, she turned to leave but Mickel's voice rang out, "You will not touch my wife you thieving little gypsy slut!" Louise stiffened and turned, her grey eyes flashing, but Erik was faster. One long arm shot out and grasped the man's throat in a vice-like grip.

"You will not speak to the lady so, you indiscriminate dog" Erik hissed, slowly beautifully, no one was to insult the one person who had ever looked upon his face without alarm. Mickel stared up at him, shaking in fear as Erik began to squeeze.

"No!" he gargled as his air was cut off, Erik looked questioningly at Louise, she shrugged, still holding the babe and walked outside into the sunlight. Erik glared around the men at the bar, and then did the same, releasing Mickel to the ground with a dull thump.

They made a short detour back to the Bickerman house for Louise to collect her kit and break the news to Sara. Erik stayed outside, clenching and unclenching his fists angrily as a wail of sorrow sounded out from the window above him. Louise walked out, dressed in a clean shirt and faint smears of blood still on her breeches, her head was bowed and she had a numb, calm expression on her face. With unshaking hands she untied Cinnamon and climbed onto her back. She turned and offered a pale hand to Erik, her face still etched in that endless withdrawn calm. Erik accepted and pulled himself up behind her, Cinnamon pranced nervously, but Louise stroked her neck and she calmed down. Taking up the reins, Louise gave a sharp "Hya!" and they cantered down the dusty street, and back to Louise's cottage.