Brent Heighton After the Rain

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duke leaned forward on his throne.
'I trust,' he said, 'that they do pay taxes?'
'Not, exactly pay taxes, my lord,' said the chamberlain.
There was silence. Finally the duke prompted, 'Go on, man.'
'Well, it's it happen. But killing a kinsman rather stuck in the throat or – he recalled – the liver.
'Quite so,' he managed. 'Of course, there would appear to be many witches, and it might be difficult to find the three that were on the moor.'
'That doesn't matter.'more that they don't pay, you see. We never felt, that is, the old king didn't think . . . Well, they just don't.'The duke laid a hand on his wife's arm.'I see,' he said coldly. 'Very well. You may go.'The chamberlain gave him a brief nod of relief and scuttled crabwise from the hall.'Well!' said the duchess.'Indeed.''That was how your family used to run a kingdom, was it? You had a positive duty to kill your cousin. It was clearly in the interests of the species,' said the duchess. 'The weak don't deserve to survive.'The duke shivered. She would keep on reminding him. He didn't, on the whole, object to killing people, or at least ordering them to be killed and then watching