[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers by Morgan Howell

couldn’t imagine why. At least the chest’s interior wasn’t entirely dark; there was a hole the size of a walnut in its side. The opening admitted some light and was close to Yim’s eye. When she examined the hole, she discovered that it had been gouged out from the inside of the chest. Something was embedded in the wood about its edge. Yim pulled it out and discovered it was a torn fingernail. Then she noticed that the hole’s edges were bloodstained, and she imagined it had been clawed in desperation.
    The thought chilled Yim. Others have been trapped in here before! The dangling sausages took on sinister implications. Frantic, Yim pushed against the chest’s lid. Her cramped position afforded little leverage. She began pounding on the chest’s side, but it was stoutly made. Soon she heard a muffled voice. Yim placed her ear against the hole and heard Auntie. She was shouting. “Stop yar racket! Stop yar racket! Thar be na one ta hear it ’cept me. Ya wanted ta help make sausage an’ help ya will. Meat be needed, an’ ya’ll provide it.”
    Yim thought it would be best to keep pounding and give the impression that she hadn’t heard. She continued awhile before tapering off. Then she placed her ear against the hole and listened. Yim could hear Auntie Flora moving about the room. Yim peered out the hole and occasionally glimpsed Flora’s skirt as she brought items to the table. It seemed to Yim that her captor was preparing to go to work.
    She’s probably waiting for her daughter to come back, thought Yim. She knew nothing about making sausages, but she had seen sheep and goats slaughtered. The usual method was to stun them with a blow to the head, quickly hoist them up by the hind legs, and cut their throats. That way the blood would drain quickly, helped by a still beating heart. Most like, they’ll do the same to me. Yim assumed Auntie Flora needed her sighted daughter to deliver the blow.
    Yim envisioned her final moments. Flora would quickly open the lid. Fossa would be standing beside her with a cudgel. Yim would be exposed in a bent-over position, her head an easy target. Before she could stand or even raise her arms, the blow would fall. With luck, she’d be unconscious when her throat was slit.
    Yim tried to imagine how she could avoid that blow. The cramped chest would hamper her movements, and Fossa was surely practiced. Yim’s chin touched her knees, a position that would preclude springing up quickly. She could cover her head with her hands, but fingers made a poor shield against a heavy cudgel. Then Yim had another chilling thought. Perhaps she’ll use a cleaver, not a cudgel! Yim wondered if she could land a punch before she died, but even that seemed unlikely. She’ll be expecting it.
    Then Yim thought of something her attacker wouldn’t expect. A kick! Though the chest was cramped, Yim thought she might be able to roll over on her back. Then her head wouldn’t be exposed and her legs would be positioned to deliver a powerful kick, albeit only in one direction. Her ploy would require more than a little luck to succeed, but Yim could think of no other.
    Turning over inside the chest proved difficult, but after a struggle, Yim managed. She lay on her back, her legs folded above her. Then all she could do was wait and listen. Flora continued puttering about the kitchen before eventually leaving. For a long while, Yim heard nothing. Then at last, she heard the tapping of Flora’s cane accompanied by two voices. At first, Yim couldn’t make them out, but they gradually grew louder.
    “…mahself,” said Flora’s voice. “Na sharin’ with nabody.”
    “All fer us. How sweet,” said another woman’s voice. Yim assumed it was Fossa’s. “Be she good stock?”
    “Aye, choice. Young, firm, an’ meaty. Ah squeezed her mahself.”
    “Good. Good. Then let’s do it.”
    Yim tensed as she heard approaching footsteps, then the sound of the latch being unfastened. The lid opened quickly,