As the church bell tolled the noon hour, the Queen swung a delicate dragonskin boot out of the coach door and stepped out of the coach. The boots had been a gift from the cobbler, so she had decided to wear them on her official visit to the village. As she paused in front of the Red Hand Pub, a screech pierced the afternoon calm. A bald-headed woman rushed at the Queen, shrieking something about the toll of a bell, and flung handfuls of ash at her feet. A puff of gray smoke billowed up toward the Queen's face, settling on her burgundy skirt and even in her dark hair. She coughed, the smell of stale charcoal clinging to her nostrils. When she glanced around, the woman was gone.
"Fire!"
One of the Queen's attendants, a stout, bearded man, hurried her away from the Pub door as a thick stream of black smoke rolled out from under it.
"Reginald," she shouted. "What's going on?"
Reginald shook his head. "They've set another fire, m'lady."
"They? Who is responsible for--this?" She held out her arms, the ivory sleeves smudged with soot.
"Perhaps it was the Virgins Guild? They have been out of work since the sacrifice of virgins was decreed unlawful."
Suddenly, a crowd of white-robed maidens clamored out of the Pub, their dresses and faces smeared with ash. Each maiden wore a dainty silver pair of dragonskin boots. As they paused in front of the door, coughing and gagging from the smoke, three bald-headed women rushed at them with buckets. Furious, the maidens lunged at the women.
"Repent your evil ways," one of the bald-headed women shouted and dumped a bucketful of ashes on them.
"As you can see, m'lady," said Reginald. "They were not pleased by your ruling. I've heard rumors that they are disbanding."
Across the street near the inn, clanging and banging echoed above the shrieks of the maidens. Two hoarse men's voices rose above the clamor. "Sacrifice or Death! Sacrifice or Death!"
)
