The Room

The Room

                Henry had been afraid of the room ever since she was very young. Her parents had told her stories about it - how the criminals in their society were placed within the room to await their fate. On every twelfth day at four hours in the afternoon the room would be cleansed in a great beam of light. All those locked within would be destroyed instantly; judged wanting by the god of justice himself, Maria.

                Or so Henry's parents had said. Apart from the destruction of whatever was within the room there was no evidence that Maria existed, let alone the other gods. Most were fairly critical of the old legends without any consequence - and even about Maria himself. This doubt didn't translate into not making use of the room, though. Those who committed crimes against the town were thrown into the room to await their fate. If they were lucky, they were exonerated before the beam came. There were quite a few stories of those who were freed at the last moment - or not quite soon enough.

                "How much longer do you think we have left?" asked the only other current occupant of the room, Tina. The comment dragged Henry back to the now - the two of them, locked in the room and waiting their fate. It would be painless, at least.

                "Not long," replied Henry. She rubbed her eyes gently, and took another look around the room. It was the same as ever - a six metre cube with an impregnable door on the west wall and a small hole in the north wall. The room was cut right out of the rocky mountainside - there were no joins in the walls, and the door slab looked like it had been cut from the very door frame it sat it. With the door heavily barred on the other side, there was absolutely no escape.

                "You know, we're the only ones in here..." began Tina.

                "Nope," said Henry. "I'd rather not hear giggling from outside. There'll be kids peeking in the hole right now - there always are." Henry had done it herself when she wasn't much younger. About eleven years ago, she thought. The room had fallen out of use in the past ten years - a well-spoken visitor from a neighbouring town had convinced them that twelve days was a little quick to mete out justice, and that death wasn't a good answer for minor crimes.

                Only major crimes, like those committed by Henry and Tina, qualified for death any more. Not that she'd actually done anything - it was the law of 'closest associate' that had got her and Tina sentenced to death.

                Due mostly to her own laziness, a few days ago Henry had been late walking out to her work. She'd run into Tina, who had been doing his morning post round, on the way and they'd briefly chatted before being interrupted by a stranger. The stranger had been a tall woman - Henry hadn't even caught her name - who'd asked about the mountain to the north. Locally it was called the 'Eye of Justice'; supposedly Maria lived atop it.

                "You have my thanks." The last words the woman said before she'd nodded and set off towards the mountain had lodged themselves in Henry's head. It was something about the way she said it - like Henry had just done a proper good deed.

                That good deed hadn't exactly had a good result. Several of the townsfolk had been found dead a little bit north of town the very next day. They'd been killed with a sword - a rarity in town, but exactly the weapon the stranger had been carrying. Given that the townsfolk in question were fond of banditry (something perfectly fine to do to wandering strangers according to town law) the constabulary quickly put two and two together and pegged the crime on the stranger.

                'Justice' came for Henry and Tina a couple of days later, tossing them in the room together to await their fate. Several others had seen the stranger, of course, but only Henry and Tina had foolishly admitted to talking to her. Given that all others to admit as much would be judged as 'equal associates' others coming forward would merely result in more deaths.

                Awful, idiotic laws, thought Henry. But better than the bearshit insanity of the past. In her father's day anything worse than a petty crime had a penalty of being kept in the room; sometimes for less than twelve days - which had given rise to waves of crime on particular days. The stories Henry had heard made it sound like good drama, but horrible justice. The association law had been worse as well - on quite a few occasions the only witness to a crime had been held accountable.

                "Why'd that skull-lick have to kill them?" muttered Tina angrily.

                "They almost certainly attacked her first," said Henry. She ran a hand through her short-cut hair, leaving a few bits of it sticking up. "Can't blame her for defending herself."

                "But why kill them? Why not just teach them a lesson? They were obviously no match for her," continued Tina. She was right about the fight - no trace of blood or anything else belonging to whoever killed the townsfolk had been found.

                Henry shrugged. She didn't feel like talking about their impending doom. She didn't feel like talking at all. Dying while at peace felt right, better than dying in a panic or hysterical. There'd be scarce a flutter in her heart when the light came.

                "I don't want to die," said Tina. "I don't want to fucking die!"

                "I know you voted against the second overhaul," said Henry.

                Tina looked at her angrily. "And that means I deserve this?"

                "No, it means you should've thought it through better. It's also ironic - dying according to the silly traditions you voted to keep is, I mean," said Henry. She wriggled against the wall. Even she hadn't thought much of the second overhaul not going through - the first had minimised the number of executions, and the tweaks had helped as well. Voting for it had been obvious, though. Killing people who don't deserve it just because it was tradition had been obviously silly.

                Tina huffed and dropped his head back against the wall. "Fine, I was wrong," he said. "Maybe. There were so many changes..." Henry gave him a look that prompted him to add "That I didn't read them."

                "I don't think many did," replied Henry. "It was a lot of stuff to take it. Everyone should have, though. It's important to know this stuff, at least a bit."

                Tina sighed. "Yeah, I know." He slumped down. "I'm sorry. I just, there's so much I wanted to do and now I'm, we're fucked."

                "Same. But we're going to die. Any second now." Henry felt tears lurking at the edge of  her eyes. Crap, she thought, I better not die sobbing.

                A deep breath in was Tina's response. It sounded like he was trying to calm himself for the moment they both died. "You know," he said, "I should've taken the heat for both of us."

                "I would have," said Henry, "but there were witnesses who saw us both talking. Lying about it would have gotten them the same."

                "Heh," said Tina, amused, "change might be good but we probably shouldn't push people towards lying."

                "Yeah-" began Henry, only to be cut-off as the town bell echoed in the distance. That was weird - it had to be the four past noon tolling, but the bell always rang slightly after 'justice' was carried out.

                "That's our cue to die," said Tina.

                After a few further moments of listening - mostly to make sure the bell rang four times - Henry said, "That wasn't quite morbid enough. We should be dead already."

                "Really?" asked Tina.

                "Yes," replied Henry. "The beam usually hits just before four. If they do it like the old days-"

                Suddenly a rumbling scrape came from the door, as the huge slab of stone was pulled outwards. Behind it stood two very confused looking individuals - a priest and priestess of Maria who had been tasked with reopening the door.

                "Justice be praised!" yelled one. "They have been spared!"

                Henry was clever enough to leave town before anyone realised that the stranger had broken the Eye of Justice. Later she learnt that Tina was locked until the laws changed nearly a decade later - but at least he lived. The old traditions had no alternative means of execution.