Kwikstaart was woken by the ringing of the bells. She startled. It was already light. Not quite sure if she had just been dreaming or if something bad had really happened that early morning, she got dressed and went downstairs to have breakfast with the printers' guild. 
She saw the two brothers already sitting on the quay. They sat in silence with a cup of coffee in their hands, staring into nothing. Their breakfast was untouched. Kwikstaart looked at their sad faces. “What’s wrong?” she asked sleepily, fishing a fried egg from the communal bowl with a fork and placing it on her plate. She yawned. It had been a late night yesterday and she was woken up by some commotion in the middle of the night.
Modleif shrugged. Olfmodur swallowed something away and looked at her. "Mother left our world last night," he answered her. 
"Oh." Victoria said. 'Sorry for your loss.' 
Modleif shrugged. "It was her time. She hadn't gotten out of bed for weeks."
Olfmodur glared at his brother. “Is that reason enough?” he asked. "Everyone can be sick sometimes, right?" 
Modleif made a dismissive gesture and looked away. Olfmodur peered across the water again. Kwikstaart wasn't quite sure what to say. Olfmodur poured her a cup of coffee. “Do you want to see her?” he asked.  

Kwikstaart looked at him in surprise. She wanted to refuse, but she figured that Olfmodur might need some company now. It appeared that his brother wasn't much help. She nodded her agreement. 
“Come on then,” he said, standing up. 
“Let her finish her breakfast first, man.” Modleif began irritably. "No, no." Kwikstaart said hastily, standing up too. "I'm ready." She followed Olfmodur into the house and up the stairs to the room above her. She expected a scene of an old woman lying neatly and peacefully in state, but when Olfmodur opened the door, Kwikstaart was confronted with a scene that testified to a brutal murder.
Kwikstaart put her hand over her mouth. On the bed lay a woman. One leg was sticking out from under the cover and her arms were in a strange position beside her, as if someone had held them while she struggled. In the bedding, the impressions of the knees of the person who had been doing the strangling were still clearly visible. There was blood on the bedding and on the wall behind her. The expression on her face was one of pure terror. 
But none of that was the most shocking part of the scene. 
A large nail was driven into her forehead. 
“What happened here?” she asked Olfmodur, swallowing hard. Olfmodur had looked a little puzzled at her reaction. "As you see, the Blacksmith had to lend her a hand," he declared, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 
Kwikstaart looked at him speechless. She didn't know what to think about that. Olfmodur saw her reaction. “She was sick and old.” he shrugged. "If you can no longer contribute to the world, then it's time to move on." 
Kwikstaart's eyes darted from the young man back to the woman. The woman didn't seem that old to her. Her own grandmother was much older. Kwikstaart turned abruptly and ran down the stairs. She just made it. Her breakfast disappeared into the first toilet she came across. Nauseated and trembling, she wiped her face. “What kind of people do things like this?” she wondered. She heard steps behind her. She looked up to see Olfmodur looking at her through the toilet doorway with a concerned expression on his face. “Are you sick?” he asked.

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