Celeste

3.

During my fathers time on the high seas, I had been to only four Hangings.
Matron newt wouldn't let me go, scolding me each time I tried to sneak past her beady eyes.

It doesn't matter. I still know the routine. First, I sit in the middle class row, fanning in the heat. Everyone sits, carpeted benches creaking and nobles muttering just above me.
Then, once everyone is settled, the main gates open, and a black carriage trundles through, driven by Nancy the mare.

It's full of pirates.
I can't help but clench my fists at them. I remember when my mother's murderers were hanged. A simple snag, and they were gone. They confessed first, starling most of the crowd...

"She was a good shag, I'd do it again just tae hear 'er screamin'."

My fingernails, long and polished, dig into the flesh of my palm.

The waggon continues until it meets the podium, a simple thing, with four nooses hanging ready, and a trapdoor ready to fall away with a yank of the lever. A few guards stood near, gazes locked on the sleek black waggon as it slowed.

The pirates never tried anything, but often children, giddy with delight, would try to get closer, to see the legs stop jerking, to hear the last strangled gasp of a pirate.

Nancy the mare came to a dead stop, urged by an apple. The guards moved fast and precisely, pushing wood under the wheels and gathering to the back to transfer the criminals to their fate.

As always, the guards took a prisoner between two, struggling or dragging.
They took them up the stairs, to where the nooses swung in the slight breeze. They were shoved and squeezed into the nooses, standing in a row.
Then the executioner walked in, to the mild claps of the crowd. They would clap harder when he did his job.

He isn't a big, towering, hulking, man who barley spoke a word - he is quite the opposite.
Thin and wired with muscle, he had a big mouth, and had no need of an announcement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to this months hanging! Here be four pirates, caught by our own vessels under the influence and navigation of none other than 'red death' , who is assisting the king with a mission, and cannot be here to witness the death of those he chased across the seas." He spread his arms wide.

"Shall we?"
The answer came in a clamber of yeses from the children.
"I said, shall we?!"

The cheer was louder this time, and so the executioner marched onstage.
"This remainder of a crew stole, pillaged, and raped! What is the sentence for such crimes?!"

The reply came in a unified shout: "death!"

He turned to the pirates, who just glared. "Any last words?"
One or two pirates opened their mouths, a smirk growing, and that was when he pulled hard on the lever, and with a choke, the pirates dropped.

Children cheered. Parents clapped, and I craned closer, past all the standing people.

The applause echoed around once the bodies stopped jerking.

People began to leave when the executioner left, leaving the cleaners to remove the bodies that hung limp from the ropes, faces blue and tounges swollen.

The crew loaded the bodies onto a simple half-waggon with remenants of hay the only luxury the dead got. They weren't to be buried but hung like lanterns by the dock, a warning to any pirate that dared to trespass

I was the last to leave, giving Nancy the mare a pat on her scraggly head. She nickered softly in thanks.

The heat continued as I walked the streets, my fan combating the warmth that flushed across my cheeks. I stuck to the welcome shade.

I wasn't going home just yet, the hangings bought some good into the community, in the form of the market.

The stands themselves were dull wood, but still caught gazes at what was on them. Bright boiled sweets adorned one stall, neatly organised by colour. I liked the apple flavour best, sweet and simple. They were my mother's favourite too.

Another stall sold a variety of fans from boring grey to the brightest yellow, accompanied with matching parasols. I had chosen blue lace when I had my parasol. It reminded me of the sea, where my father spent most of his time.

There were a surplus of other things to lengthy to mention. Notebooks, pastries and jams, books baskets and bags, and yards and yards of fabric rippling in the slightest breeze.

The town clock struck four by the time my purse ran dry. Laden with goods (though mostly sweets and sugar sticks, to which I am addicted.)

The sun slipped from the sky, sending long dark shadows creeping over the cobblestone. I gave a sigh, and, arms ladden, made for home.

A carriage trundled past, curtians drawn and driver disheveled despite the energy of the horse.
A gentleman tipped his hat as greeting when I passed. I simply smiled back.

I walked past a tavern, and the door opened. My eyes widened as Eli stumbled out, looking miffed, with blushing ears. Laughter follows him out.

"Eli?" I asked, pushing a stray lock of hair over my ear.

He isn't drunk, but even so he trips over a cobblestone, shocked.

"Celeste? What are you doing here?" He asks, stepping close.

"I was on my way back from the market. What are you doing in a tavern of all places?"

I watch as his face flushes slightly in the gloom.
"Err. I was celebrating being home?"

I cross my arms, luckily not dropping any of the crinkling packages in my wake.
"You've never done that before."

He says nothing. I sigh.
"Fine. Enjoy your celebrations."

With that, I walk away.
He doesn't call after me.

I wrack my mind on the way home, drawing a blank.

I soon arrive home, to the simple iron gate and bright pink flowers ticklng my senses. The gardener came once a week, a thinning grey head with a sniff of disapproval every time he saw me. I think he still remembers when I accidentally dropped a bag of fertiliser on his toes.My steps crunch as I approach the door.

The gleaming black door opens smoothly. My father is sat on the chair, turned to face me.
"I didn't think a hanging took that long." He says gruffly.

I swallow.
"In two days a carriage will arrive, sent from highbrow. I expect you to be there. You are getting married."

My parasol drops to the floor.