The executioner shook his head. The boy’s besotted. Our men had him fast, held down in a chair. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. ‘Is it worth it?’ he asked at last. ’ ‘How could he when he didn’t even handle it himself? Went off, I told you, and left it all to me. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. One keeps rules in order to be one’s self. ” He said.
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