The feast was done, the music had dropped and many of the people attending the festivities had begun to gather their things and make their goodbyes.
The Queen’s Guards stood to the sides of Chestnut Street, bright in their blue and yellow, either bored and uninterested or chatting to the towns folk.
Servants gathered up plates and musicians had begun to play The Night Is Yet Young, the traditional tune that ends a celebration.
One servant made her way through the people, her hands empty, eyes lowered. In the other direction came a small Queen’s Guard with a cruel face. He pushed his way towards the feast table, perhaps to take a leftover chop or mug of wine.
Just before he reached the food the servant bustled into him, her eyes fixed on the ground, one sharp elbow digging deep into his soft belly. He let out a roar, sending those around them back. He pushed the servant into the table scattering plates as she crunched into it.
“Stupid fleabag of a woman! Look where you’re going.”
Some of the other Queen’s Guards laughed but the crowd was wary. The woman on the other hand straightened her smock and turned to look the guard in the eye. “Perhaps you should think about where you are going… buffoon.”
The crowd gasped and he snarled, taken aback “you dare to insult a Queen’s Guard you wretch? Just look where you’re going!”
She did not look down. “And what do I get for the insult? Are you going to slice me with your sword?”
Out of reflex his hand went to the hilt of his scimitar but he did not draw, “Are you joking? I’ll not kill an unarmed woman.” The Queen’s Guard made to turn away.
Shirrin smiled back, looking around her. Stepping to the feast table she picked up a wooden soup bowl, tipping its cold contents to the floor.
“There,” she said, “now I am armed. It’s a fair fight.”
The gathered crowd laughed, feeling the ice break with the joke, but the Guard snapped back around, his face blushing as if stung. Even his captain was laughing, arms folded, delighted to see how the scene would play out, a little drunk from the celebrations.
Growing redder and redder the guard was spitting with rage, he pulled out his blade and shook it in her face. “Old woman! I should kill you where you stand!”
She did not move but said gently, holding her bowl easily in her fingers, “Careful now. I am armed.” The crowd laughed again, but Shirrin slipped forwards within inches of the guard’s face who flinched away in fear, stepping back. “Unlike poor Ogum. The cadet you killed at the Bamboo School training ground.”
The people fell silent, such was the ice in her words. Even the captain unfolded his arms.
“How do you… who the… I don’t have to listen to,” the Guard raged but his Captain interrupted, “What’s this now Takk?”
Takk turned to his commander, “this woman is mad, I will punish her immediately sir, don’t you worry.”
The Captain shrugged but kept a cool gaze upon his man.
“Go on then Takk.” Shirrin said, passing the bowl from one hand to the other, “chastise me.”
Takk shrieked in a frenzy, lurching forwards, his scimitar pulled back to strike. The crowd gasped in fear, the mood suddenly deadly.
Shirrin seemed to barely move. As the guard fell upon her she brought the bowl up with frightening force, smashing the edge directly into his windpipe. In an instant the man’s blade clattered to the floor as he clutched at his throat, his momentum taking him forwards to the feast table where he sat himself down on the bench gasping and wheezing, his pallor suddenly blue.
As the horrified crowd looked on Shirrin stepped up to Takk, one hand reaching out and pulling his head back by the hair to look directly into his eyes. He struggled to breath in terrified, broken rasps.
“Ogum was a good man. He loved his friends and prayed daily to his gods.” She paused, her eyes still soft and easy. “What were you I wonder?”
With that she released his head and the lifeless body fell backwards across the bench, one hand still at his neck, fingers tucked into his blue and yellow collar.
The crowd stood silent in repulsion. Some eyes fixed on the corpse, some on the old woman, bowl still in hand.
The Captain moved forward for a moment but halted when she flicked him a look, “I… what… Takk?” he said.
Shirrin regarded him with a grey stare. Then she smiled, her whole face brightening. “Here,” she said, “keep the bowl.” And she tossed it at his feet before slipping through the crowd who were too stunned to even think about stopping her.