Chapter 3

I was balls deep inside Lara when the next set of Sparrows broke in, clearly wishing to avoid their friends. What they didn’t reckon on was that all of my girls were armed, and we outnumbered as well as surrounded them. I pulled out of Lara for a moment, seized my cutlass, and began slashing at one of the Sparrows, even as another of his companions had his brains beaten out of his skull by Nora. Alyse skewered another one with a spear, too, making it clear that no Sparrow was safe in this brothel with my girls and me. We were determined to fight back. After all, I was inspired by the history of my own world, with the Stonewall riots, for instance.

This time, I spared one of them for the moment, but I sliced off his balls and cauterized the wound with a heated knife. He shrieked in agony, but he got the point. I wanted information, and if he gave it to me, I’d let him keep his dick at least. I wasn’t keen on castration, but it was an effective threat and means of coercion, wasn’t it? Besides, as someone noted yesterday, it wasn’t as if he had a use for that part of his anatomy anymore, not as a fanatical celibate.

“It’s really quite simple. You tell us what you know, and we let you live, though we might cut out your tongue to keep you from giving us away. We have to be pretty confident that you won’t give us up before we save that part of you. Oh, and if we find that you’ve rejoined your company, we’ll dismember and disembowel you alive. Just remember that,” I warned the monk, who pissed himself in terror.

“Well, we Sparrows are instructed that the smallfolk must be purged, too, not just the high and mighty. We must become pure, so that we can demand purity of the highborns. Flea Bottom was to become one of our strongholds, but now you’re threatening that. If people can knife Sparrows in the gutters, no one will fear and respect us, and if that happens, we certainly cannot impose our will on the lords of Westeros. That’s why the Sparrows will never stop coming after you now. You’re a marked man to all of our kind. It won’t matter what you do. There is no way that you’re coming out of this alive, not if the High Sparrow has his way. You’ll be tried, tortured, and put to death, if you live that long,” the Sparrow warned us now.

“Good to know. Thanks for the information,” I told the man before slicing open his throat, “apologies, but given what you said, I can’t spare your life. You might escape and tell the others. It’s too much of a risk. At least I didn’t sever your cock first. That’s a mercy, given your plans for me.”

“Girls, we have a problem. How to dispose of this body, in a city like this? The others have been left to rot on the streets, to get robbed and stripped by urchins, but that was a mistake, as it drew more Sparrows. Let’s do something with this corpse before it stinks,” I warned the ladies (not that others would consider them that, but I wasn’t partial to such distinctions).

“Let’s salt him, skin him, dismember him, and cook him for supper. I know that sounds disgusting, but hear me out. We could use a good meal, all of us, and people rarely ask questions about what cuts of meat go into bowls of brown. If properly salted, cured, and flayed, no one will be able to tell the difference. What’s the alternative, honestly, and he’s already dead, right? I suspect that we’ve all eaten dead men before, whether we knew it or not. In a siege, people do this a lot. Seven Hells, during the Battle of Blackwater Bay, more than a few ruffians ended up in bowls of brown, I’m sure of it,” Emely proposed, being a very practical woman.

It sounded disgusting to me, and I started to turn up my nose. I didn’t see an alternative, though, certainly not a useful one, and we could all use some meat. The Sparrows were more useful dead than alive, it seemed, and I laughed at the thought that some of them might end up eating their own kind ... Well, before I killed them, too. If they wanted to feed the poor, fine, nothing wrong with that goal, unlike their others. They would just do it in a way that they never expected.

“They believe in self-sacrifice, don’t they? Time to put their flesh where their mouths were. Let’s do it. I wonder how dead Sparrows taste? Tough meat or tender?” I chuckled, lending my hand to the work of cleaning and preparing the meat.

It was hard work, at least harder than expected, but we got the deed done, and the poor young Sparrow ended up in a nice, hearty stew. We certainly could use the calories, and frankly, it was a decent breakfast. I suspected that it was one of the better meals that the girls had of late, in fact. I tried to put it past my mind that I had just eaten a dead man’s parts, but it was touch and go for a moment. I told myself, “toughen up, you might well need to do this again, and it’s perfect revenge on the Sparrows, anyway.”

Afterward, I resumed my good, hard fuck with Lara, eager to get in my turn before her patrons did. The other girls were naturally already busy, though it was tougher to get work while the Sparrows roamed the streets of King’s Landing, scaring off clientele. We all watched each other’s backs, particularly myself who was eager for a fight. I kept an eye out for more Sparrows, and sure enough, more came, just as I did, shooting my spunk inside Lara’s creamy twat. She kissed me for luck before I stormed off to face the new threat.

Sixteen Sparrows happened upon the area, only this time, I wasn’t alone, nor were the girls. As they turned the corner, Justen the tavern keeper and his two companions, Damon and Arnie, fell upon them with cudgels. Several of the local women, and not just my girls, joined in on the action, including the two young tavern wenches from yesterday. I fired off my shotgun repeatedly, keeping it hot as I struck two Sparrows dead center. When enough of them had fallen, I joined in with my own dagger and a seized cudgel, cutting them to pieces.

The screams of the last four Sparrows rang out as the local citizens kicked and beat them, stripped them of their robes, and frog-marched them through the streets of Flea Bottom. Their arms were bound behind them as they left their fallen comrades dying on the ground. The more that they shouted, the more that we assaulted them, until they took the hint at last. Twelve of their number were slain now from this latest ambush and we were far from done with their lot.

“What shall we do with them, ser?” Justen looked to me, as if the natural leader, but then I had started this business of open resistance to the Faith Militant, hadn’t I?