The Executioner's Wife

The Torturer's Remorse

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The morning of the wedding was pale and cold as a funeral. Bells tinkled ominously from the towers as carriages scraped over the cobblestones, carrying the nobles and lords who had come from all over the kingdom to witness the king's new bride. The people themselves rushed out of the way as the wide wheels cluttered past, barely saving the toes of their children or their own clothing from the crushing weight and splashing mud. Even from the low valley of town, everyone could see that the castle was busy, as the gates opened for guests to enter, and the courtyard became colorful with swirling ribbons and party decorations. Most people had too many things going on to care much about the king's surprise wedding- children with colic or men with hard hangovers. The morning was the time to go to the stalls- that was the best time to work down a price, when the seller was tired and eager to make their first few coins of the day. The torturer's husband had taught him this trick, but the torturer himself didn't need it. Most people were willing to bargain with him without much issue. 

"Watch out!"

The tall, gaunt man easily pulled himself and his chattering husband from the barreling wagon that had suddenly raced around the corner. The driver cast a dirty look at him, but the torturer ignored it and continued toward the stalls. His husband scoffed and held the torturer's hand tighter.

"I hate these people," his husband, Louis, quipped. "Every time they come here they have to run over everything and everybody. We need a new plague."

The torturer smirked. "The plagues only affect the poor. They'll be just fine."

Louis grumbled at the unfair fact of life presented to him. Before them, the markets were opening. The glittering scales of fish and steaming bread were piled high for the first sales of the day. Louis' eyes scanned over the presentation, and the torturer watched, amused. Louis had a talent for haggling- he could talk down anyone with the precise manipulation and false friendliness of a trained interrogator. The torturer often darkly joked that Louis should join him in the dungeon- together, they could get anyone to talk.

But Louis was not interested in capital punishment, or anything preceding it. He was interested in the fresh bounty of clover honey,  sparkling like amber in the dull sunlight. Louis walked up to the seller and gave a life-saving smile. "Beautiful day for a wedding, isn't it?"

"Five pounds, no less," the seller droned, already knowing Louis' angle. He cast an anxious glance at the torturer, but remained firm.

"Five pounds, really?" Louis glanced up at the torturer as if to share the shock. "No discounts for today? It's the royal wedding, after all."

"It's another morning, and every morning, we sell at five pounds a jar. I'm not debating with you today."

Louis smirked, "And all this time I thought you were a royalist."

The torturer snorted. The seller flinched slightly. But Louis waved his hand carelessly and gently pushed the torturer away. He liked a challenge- he didn't need the torturer's help to whittle down a stubborn price. Louis nodded for his husband to go on, and winked.

The torturer smiled his wincing smile, and left Louis to do his work.

The torturer was among the many who couldn't care less about the wedding. Like the rest of the people, there were too many things that needed attention in his own life. Louis had noticed a rat in their house, but neither of them had managed to catch it. He was thinking about hiring a trapper, but that would cost a fair amount of money. Thankfully, he'd been paid recently, and abundantly, for working overtime to convince the executioner. The torturer grimaced as he remembered the poor man straining on the table. He had been able to throw the switch for many a prisoner, listening to their screams with hardly so much as a headache. But the cries and sobs of the executioner had stuck with him, keeping him up at night until Louis called him back to bed. It must have been because of what the executioner said, right after the electricity first ripped through him.