Chapter 48

Redberg Village

Near the mangroves little moor, the panhandler rested his back against the post of the keelhaul and stared up at the afternoon tangerine sky. The clouds were parting and, after a few moments, the sun was exposed and he felt warmed by it. Nevertheless, he kept his shroud tightly draped around his body against the early spring wind. As he stared up, the ebony crow appeared, straddling on the keelhaul's leveled extension above.

"I have nothing for you little crow," let out the panhandler. "Not a single traveler has departed by these last few hours you know."

The man longed for that crow's parents - or perhaps his friends - might have dined on caged bodies of witches that hung and half-burned at the crossroads by the Old Father. And some of the corrupt chaplains, reverends of Redberg who forbade recanting, shunned lovers, betrayers - both true and fictitious - their cadavers had been presented from the keelhauling as a warning to others