Piecework Hangman
A guinea for a skinny. That's the piecework rate.
A skinny's an elf--or that's what folks around here call 'em. Not that I do, unless someone's listening, in which case I do, to fit in like.
It's the same guinea no matter who I hang--man, woman, child--yeah, I done it--or elf--but folks always come out for the skinnies. Too easy to see you and yours in the noose when it's a man swinging from the scaffold.
I've been working the noose and spade for years piled on years. I've hung plenty I figure didn't do what I hung 'em for, but everyone's guilty of something. If not murder, then rape, or robbery, or something. Elves are different. I know what they done--nothing. But I don't hang 'em for nothing, so don't go waving your finger at me.
I done a job just yesterday--a fair young lass, nervous as a hind in a bind and sobbing fit to wake the dead. I told her not to fret and she just bawled harder, so I shook her some and spelled out what was what. Didn't hear more than a few sniffles after that.
The art of neck stretching is all tied up--heh--in the length of the noose. You want a snap without a sever. I saw a damn fool hang a fat man with too much rope once. The man's fat head popped right off his fat neck and sprayed bloody gore over half the witnesses. The fool never earned another scaffold guinea in his life.
Enjoying this story? Don't miss the next one!
SUBSCRIBE TO DSF
A master noose worker like me can judge a man's weight by sight, but I never can figure right for elves. They're lighter than you'd think, all slender and wispy like. The lass I done yesterday was like that. The drop was too short or her neck was too thick, so her last dance was for me: the jig in the wind 'till the breath gives out.
This lass' last dance lasted sixty seconds--about typical for elves in my experience. I figured fifteen more seconds for good riddance then cut her down and laid her out. I had to disperse the crowd before I could continue--these arch-necked eye-gapers would follow me all the way to the cemetery if I let them, especially for a pretty young elf like this one.
Not that there is a cemetery for elves. Just a plot of land beneath the eaves of the forest.
Now, hole digging's a curious thing. Almost as curious as neck stretching. The hole has to match the crime. For a man and a rapist, I figure on eight feet to keep the spirit well grounded--heh. For a woman adulterer you don't need nearly so much hole. Four'll do pretty in a pinch. For an elf lass that's done nothing, I use a convenient ravine and a sprinkle of dirt.
The folks 'round here, they keep hanging and hanging, and it don't make a lick of difference. Seems like every time I throw an elf down that ravine, one walks out the other end an hour later.
But that's not my problem.
I got my guinea.
The End
This story was first published on Monday, May 14th, 2018
We hope you're enjoying
Piecework Hangman by
R. Keelan.
Please support Daily Science Fiction by becoming a member.
Daily Science Fiction does not have a paywall, but we do have expenses—more than 95% of which are direct payments to authors for their stories. With your $15 membership, less than 6 cents per story, we can continue to provide genre fiction every weekday by email and on the website to thousands of readers for many years to come.
Tell me more!
Support Daily Science Fiction
Please click to rate this story from 1 (ho-hum) to 7 (excellent!):
Please don't read too much into these ratings. For many reasons, a superior story may not get a superior score.
5.0 Rocket Dragons Average
Please join our mailing list and
receive free daily sci-fi (your email address will be kept
100% private):
