12

"Th'.. the men in the bake 'ouse." Toby stuttered.

"Yes." Sweeney snapped, watching the trapdoor and counting in his head.

Seven seconds, and the innocent looking floorboards swung back into place.

"She.. In th' bake 'ouse… burns them.. by the pies?" The child was grasping at straws, trying to piece everything together, and though the speculations were wild in his head, he knew that he was omitting something.

"She doesn't burn the bodies." The barber, resuming his pacing. Seven seconds… "Not the entire thing anyway," his lip curled into what could have been a smile when he thought back on the baker's idea. Just as genius as the day she proposed it to him, he had been happy enough then to pull her into a strange waltz about the shop, a feat he was probably willing to perform again. Even if it was for that one, simple, idea.

"Th' pies…?"

"Yes, yes." Sweeney snapped. His pace became quicker, and a hand ran through his disheveled hair, making it look even more crazed. "Woefully ironic how the best pies in London are made from the scum of the earth."

"I don't believe you!" Toby screeched, and then pounced on Sweeney's back.


Mrs. Lovett didn't know how she moved, or why she wasn't running, screaming, struggling to get away. She simply stepped onto the premises of the garish home, feeling quite out of place with her bloodied clothes and rolling pin.

The judge gave the tool in her hand a sneer. "A baker?" He didn't seem too surprised by the blood.

"Famous." She choked out.

Turpin raised an eyebrow.

"Fleet Street." Mrs. Lovett managed to say. The surreal situation, the calmness in which the Judge addressed her, well, it wasn't calming at all.

"Ah yes, I've heard about that shop." A reminiscent sneer appeared on the man's face.

A sudden rage boiled inside the baker when she realized what memories the judge was visiting. "O' course tha's wot ya think ya sick-"

The surprise on the judge's faces and Mrs. Lovett's nasty comment were suddenly halted when the Beadle came into the room.

"Joanna as requested lord." The portly man's eyes danced over Mrs. Lovett stiff and blood stained form. That look suddenly reminded her of her disheveled appearance, and of likely tears in her dress from her haul through the barber shop window.

Oh, Mr. T. A despairing voice wailed in her head.

"…this?" The end of the question snapped Mrs. Lovett back to reality.

Johanna stood in the room, looking sickly pale at the sight of Mrs. Lovett. The judge had apparently been addressing her, as the young woman tore her eyes away to look at him. "Yes sir."

"A baker? Nothing more.. suitable, for you new servants to retrieve?" The graying man sighed.

"N-not now sir." The girl had started to tremble at the word 'servants'.

Pity twisted Mrs. Lovett's gut when her mind finally pieced bits of the conversation together. Judge Turpin had apparently made the disgusting horde as a strange gift for his ward. How that happened or why such a thought would possess any man was beyond her grasp.

"Shall I take her up to my room sir?" The young blue eyes darted back to Mrs. Lovett, mirroring her pity.


The air wooshed out of Toby's lungs when he was slammed to the floor. Stars danced in his vision but the assault wasn't over until his head was snapped to the side by a vicious smack. Toby could taste blood in his mouth and feel tears in his eyes, but he didn't dare make a sound when cool metal was pressed against his neck.

"Don't try that again." A cold voice warned him.


A/N Don't fuck with Mr. T! -cough- Sorry.. Anywho, I'm a little surprised more people weren't screaming 'the judge!' after the last chapter, but here's your proof :D This chapter also finally brings up some questions, which will be answered. I hate stories with plot holes, I do, so I'm trying my bes tot fill mine. Y'know.. heh.. just to addle your brains a bit, I'll share something. When I first started this story, Mrs. Lovett was going to be in control of the zombies, but I could draw out the judge more this way, and I wanted to do that.