Some of their pills were worse than poison. She could feel the witchcraft in them. They would bring demons, even raven mockers to her bedside, where they would leer over her, fangs glistening, hoping to devour her conscious soul and steal what was left of her allotted time. She would have to bravely sing the old songs until they left, hours later. So far, she had held them off. She needed to smudge the room with cedar. She needed to go to water. Water. She needed water to drink. She scrabbled weakly at the nightstand, but she couldn’t reach the cup of water with its accordion-like straw. Perhaps if she left her hand there, the next witch that came in would notice she couldn’t reach her cup. Unless that was going to be the next torture they had planned. Cut off the water. They could keep their shitty food. It too was poison. She wished Bill would stop by. Damn him, anyway. When he’d been courting her, you couldn’t have driven him off with a stick. It was the Depression, but nobody in. I wanted them to be cheap, so that my people could buy them. We were going to be introducing good paying 'factory work', here, also.As a result of everything I was doing, there was a huge boom going on. Money was being spent and made. The tax coffers were filling almost faster than I could spend it, which was good, as I was spending a lot.I called a meeting with the 'slumlords'. I gave them a choice. I would buy them out at their property's current market value, and they could go their way. Or, they could tear down and rebuild the homes of their tenants. They would have to be built in a better and safer way, and with better materials. Of course this would be done at their expense, not Landkur's.As you might guess, there was posturing, hemming, and hawing. Only one man actually looked thoughtful, and agreed right away. I was surprised with that man, right off the bat. I asked him later why he had agreed, while his compatriots were pissing and moaning."I inherited that mess, my lord. I.
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