Fifteen silver shillings, that is the price. The mill overseer counts them into McCann’s hand, bright from the mint. New coins for the dead.
“You’re lucky,” says the overseer. “They pay only twelve up at Dunbar’s.”
The dead child’s age will go down in the book as ten; this is a lie.
Read the rest of this flash fiction piece, joint winner of the 2015 HISSAC Flash Fiction Award, on the HISSAC website.