My Father killed people. It was his job, and by all accounts, he did it pretty well. Well, he wasn’t an executioner or anything. He was just the Warden. And that means he as good as killed people. He would send the order for the torturers, and was in charge of the Tower. He had been hired in 1464 by Edward IV whom he had known since childhood when he used to be a stable hand for the Crown, and had held the title for nigh on nineteen years by the time of my thirteenth birthday. Oh, and who am I? I am Catherine, sometimes called Cat, and I am a maiden of the Tower of London. The only maiden actually.

I had lived around the Tower for as long as I could remember. We, my parents and I, lived in small quarters a little ways away from the Tower itself. It wouldn’t have been decent for my Father to raise a daughter and have his wife around where criminals were being held. Of course, that didn’t change the fact that on the days I had nothing better to do, I would meet him for lunch and stay with him until it was time for us to go back home. Mother hated it when I went to visit him. Said that it was not ladylike at all. That I should spend extra time with her, learning how to improve upon my embroidery skills, or my cooking skills, not spend my time around grown men. My Father would agree with her, say that the next day he would send me back right when I got there. Of course, when my Mother would ask what had happened, he would only reply that having his little girl around just made his dreary job a little brighter, and the laughter that I brought made the entire place just a little bit more bearable. She would just scoff and start on to some other menial task and not talk to anybody until Father and her shared their bed that night.

As my Mother busied herself, my Father would just give me a grin. He would tell me that he would never send me away, that he loved having me by his side as he looked over paperwork. I would smile slightly, and nod, replying that I loved being there with him, and would much rather spend my days by the Tower than with Mother learning things I would never need to know. He would laugh quietly and send me off to bed, before going into his and Mothers bedroom and making nice with her. Growing up, I had always just assumed that she was jealous of me. That while she was at home cleaning and cooking and sewing, I was out on an adventure. I was watching murderers as they were brought in, I saw be-headings on a weekly basis. But as I grew older I knew that she just didn’t want me to see these things. Not because she was jealous, or because she wanted to see them. But because it wasn’t normal for a little girl to have grown up around this and actually think it normal.

That was how the first years of my life went. The only friends I had were my Father’s friends, and the street rats and such that lived and made a living around the Tower. During the summer, I pretty much lived in the Thames, because of the close proximity and the fact that you could always find the most interesting things there. One time, I had been almost ready to come back in and dry off, when I stepped onto something hard and slippery. First I tried to find it again with my feet, but after a few minutes of searching for it I decided that it wouldn’t work out. Although the water was up to my waist while I was standing, I dropped right down onto my knees, taking a deep breathe as I reached out my hands, searching around the river bottom blindly for whatever I had felt, my face was fully in the water. I ended up having to stand up and catch my breath quite a few times before I was finally able to grab a hold of whatever it was I had stepped upon. As my hand came out of the water, a small gasp had escaped my mouth. It was a shard of stained glass. I ran a finger along one of the sides and immediately brought my finger to my mouth to stop the flow of blood. It hadn’t been there for too long as it was still sharp. I had brought it to my Father right away and told him exactly what had happened. He gave me a grin, and told me that maybe I should go into treasure hunting, become a pirate. I had giggled and told him that I could never be away from home that long, and that I had never heard of a pirate that had sea sickness which I had suffered from since I was very young and was the reason I also had a fear of large boats).

But it all changed a little after my thirteenth birthday. I had gotten to my father’s office slightly after lunch and had placed the basket of food Mother always prepared for him on top of the table in the corner of the room. Taking a seat on one of the small stools by the window, I had spread my skirts around me and basked in the summer sun as I waited for him to arrive. What seemed like hours later (ad was, I am sure, only a few moments), I heard footsteps coming down the hall. I opened my eyes as I glanced toward the door. My Father rushed in looking quite flustered and mumbling to himself. I asked him what was wrong and his only reply was, “We have two new prisoners.” He laughed afterward, a harsh laugh, one that I had ever heard from him before. It didn’t make his eyes light up, and it didn’t give me the urge to start giggling like most of his belly laughs did. It made me want to go crawl into my bed and hide. And I did not like it one bit.

I tried to question him further, ask him who the prisoners were. Anything that could help me figure out why he, my big, strong Father, was affected by two mere prisoners when hundreds had been brought in over the years he had held this job. He just sat behind his desk and waved off every question that I threw his way. “Catherine, I thank you for bringing me my lunch,” he said, suddenly standing up, “but I think…that it would be best if you went home now. a lot of people will be coming in and out of the tower today and I will have no time to spare for you.” He walked around his desk and put on a smile, but I knew it was fake. That it was for me, so that I would stop asking questions and not be worried. So I let him think that I was alright, and that I had forgotten all about the state I had seen him in.

Opening his arms to me he said, “Now come here and give your Father a hug, and then be off. And don’t let me hear from your Mother when I get home that you were wandering the market or along the river, understood? Straight home.” he kept talking as I embraced him, but I blocked it out. Because if I heard everything he said, then when I promised that I would not do something, then I know I would not. But if I didn’t know some of the things I promised….well, I could always tell him I never heard him say that. Yes, I know, it is wrong to do that. But it helped me keep my conscience a bit clearer. He pulled away from the hug and held me at arms distance from his body, looking at me with a sad smile on his face.

“Off you are now,” he began, letting me go and steering me out the door and toward the stairs, “and don’t forget to tell your Mother.” A kiss was placed on my brow and my bottom slapped lightly as I started off home, hands hold up my skirts to avoid getting too much mud on them. Not that I cared, but Mother had just cleaned it and I wouldn’t want to give her more work then normal. Especially with Father having something going on at work. I looked back over my shoulder, hoping to see my Father sending me one last smile and a wave goodbye, or at least something along those lines. But when I stopped to look back, he wasn’t waving, or smiling, or even looking at me. He had a quite serious look on his face, and was talking to one of the guards and some man dressed very well. They all looked to be in a very deep discussion. After a few moments, my Father finally nodded, though he looked very distressed, and the well dressed man grinned widely and shook my Father’s hand. I frowned as I turned back around and continued on my way home. On that walk home, I vowed to myself to find out what had happened that day. Why those prisoners were so special. And most importantly, why my Father was so affected by it.

a/n: This is my NaNoWriMo for 2007, and it'll probably be updated every few days