No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands. He had very nearly cleared the board, when a knock was heard below, and descending at the summons, he found his two janizaries. She would take the items with her; bury the items and her bloodstained clothes in one of the many sinkholes in the huge landfill/garbage dump on the south side of town. ‘What are you after this time, miss?’ asked Jack. Miching Mallecho IX.
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