The woman made their procession off of the Hill and into the Barrow. The Lady Hill had called up twenty men and half again as many women who could fight to circle their march, and the Lady Leech walked with her with a sense of dread.

  This funeral could be a war party, she thought, as the mourners dressed in their finest paced at the traditional half step. Nearly all the women of the Hill proper had come to walk behind the Lady Hill and her daughter’s pallbearers, and as they walked through the streets more women joined.

  They had raised a banner to be carried beside Posy’s body. Squab flew the red sheets of her daughter’s death bed, as was custom in her homeland. Though the women who came did not know its meaning directly they saw the missing Posy, her mother’s rich and ripe jewel, and the body on the platform and gained their understanding.

  Each of them carried a knife. It was a woman’s tradition, one the people of the valley and river and even of Squab who was once Naset’s homeland held to. The women too poor or too surprised by the procession’s coming were each given one, all of which had been collected by Lady Hill’s men. They would go down to the river and the men would leave. Each woman, whether first blooded maid or worn and wizened grandmother, would shed the blood of her breast, shear a lock of their hair, and toss them onto the pyre with a blessing to her secret god. In this way all women across the known world kept their own council, and it was thought to be the worst turn of luck to deny a mother her handmaidens to guide her spirit to the heavens.

  “I still hate the smell. Forty years since the first time and I still hate it.” Leech whispered to Squab at the head of the long train.

  “Remember our first time? Father’s concubine, girl was not of bearing years but the old goat had her anyways.” Squab muttered, her mind trailing away as her body drudged forward.

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  “Mother took us, yes. I wanted to cut my hair but she refused, saying I would do it enough times if I were to grow old that our gods would not want me to give before my blood.” Even with the events Leech smiled under her makeshift veil,thanking those gods that the women of the house were not to be seen until the body was done. It made her feel closer to Squab, the sister she had lost so long ago, even if the closeness was gained at such a terrible price.

  “I go with the women. Some do not hold to it, they burn or even wrap and bury their dead too soon to gather. I had hoped some would come, but here there are so many to see my… my little… ” Squab broke down then, and Leech saw her racking sobs in her shoulders as they silently marched on.

  They reached the Fleasbridge without incident, the train taking in hundreds of women. Four Guards, their faces hidden behind the helmed masks of their order, blocked the path of the women.

  “Ladies, I do not wish to intrude upon your ceremony, but it is by King and Council that I must ask you disperse. The Bridge of Fleas is closed to traffic as the Guard seek several fugitives associated with a conspiracy to murder and burn down the city.” the Guard sounded young to Leech, unsure of his words. The women pushed forward, like herd cows brought to the locked door of the Yards. Wanting to oil the waters the Lady Leech stood in front of the Guard, wanting to get them through with as little bribery as possible.

  “Sir, you stand for the King, but this is the Lady Hill’s daughter. She passed away in childbirth, and we must give her a proper funeral with all rites. Surely the King would not find anything wrong with this?”

  “I understand, Mother. And if we could we would take you through. As it is the orders stand. Perhaps the Lady Hill, as you so call her, could send a writ to the Council directly.” she heard the smirk come to his voice, “A Barrow Lady? They’ll find quite good cheer in such an idea.”

  The women behind Posy’s platform seemed to form up into a pincer around the Guard. There must have been hundreds, and the Lady doubted that they would be prevented if they went en masse against the force of four men holding the bridge. And call the rest of the Guard down on us all, more like.

  She cried out as the bolt appeared in the Guard’s chest, and Lady Hill rushed forward with her retainers to take on the Guards who remained standing.