The loaves are small, but I know now why the Sin Eater had a slow way about her. Six loaves in one sitting is a great lot. I squat on my haunches since there’s no stool. As I eat the first loaf, the recorder comes to my mind. Grey Beard in the dungeon said the recorder made his own wife a sin eater. So why did he choose me?

The recorder sentenced me in more than this life, I think. A true curse. When it’s his turn to pass, I’ll be sure to thank him in kind.

I chew the second loaf of bread. It’s good. I look for a baker’s mark, but it’s homemade. The others still left to eat don’t look nearly so nice.

The day passes to evening. Some of the families go. The air cools, and finally it’s me in the jail cell, blue like a rock cave, licking cream from a bowl. I haven’t slept in a good long while. It’s in the noticing that I get weary.

My belly is heavy above my hips as I walk home. Rounding the corner onto my lane in Dungsbrook, I see shadows idling outside my door. I get taut as a bow, readying to run. But then the shadows step out into moonlight. Old bodies, bent and cracked, not cut-throats. No fight in them at all.

‘Who’s that come?’ says one shadow as I near them. He carries a long staff, his hand over its top.

‘Frederick’s doxy,’ says the other. At first he looks to be a hunchback, but it’s just a sack hung over his shoulder.

The first shadow gives me a good look, then raps the other shadow on the arm, ‘It’s not! It’s verily not! ’Tis a sin eater.’ He turns and covers his eyes.

‘Hardly fat enough for a sin eater,’ says the second shadow, his eyes on the dirt lane. Then: ‘’Tis a poor idea, a sin eater’s place as a stalling ken. A poor idea.’ He spits and shifts the sack.

‘Don’t offend her now.’ The first shadow doffs his dark cap in my direction, then pulls the second shadow’s cap from his head.

‘What’s that for?’ the second shadow says, but he follows the other, taking a step away from the door so I can go in.

My home has become an inn. Brida is seated in a corner, sipping from a bowl. Frederick lounges by the fire with Jane’s children, chatting with Paul, who has his rags wrapped carefully about his face despite the warmth. An inn and an ordinary house as well, since Jane is also about, stirring a pot over the hearth. Then the door opens behind me, and the two shadows come in too, caps still in their hands. The first shadow places his staff by the door.