“Come forward, my son.”

Nine-year-old Robin, timid as a finch, trudged to the head of the table from the group of around twenty young boys.

Protector Tobin, a fat and repulsive man dressed in a flowing charcoal black robe, leaned back in his chair, a wide spread of plates and bowls full to bursting point laying before him. He held a fork in his chubby fingers with a small clump of steaming, perfectly cooked chicken impaled on the prongs.

The rest of Protector Tobin’s subjects sat in their seats around the table, gazing in reverence at their leader, their god, the one true thing in this world of deceit and false idols. Their cutlery sat untouched, as was custom in Protector Tobin’s sect of the True Faithfuls. The Protector ate first, with the exception of his tasters, usually young kids chosen for the greatest of honors: protecting Protector Tobin while at his most vulnerable: during the sect’s glorious feasts. The punishment for breaking the sacred vows was death.

Young Robin arrived at Protector Tobin’s side, his hands held behind his back as he stared at the floor, unsure whether he was worthy to meet the Protector’s gaze.

“How long have you been a taster, my son?”

Robin looked positively terrified, not used to being this close to a god. He had learned so much about Protector Tobin from the teachings. About how he could click his fingers and have any person he wanted gone, gone. About how he was the father of all things good and beautiful, including Robin himself, as well as all the other kids within these walls.

“Two months, sir,” Robin stammered.

“Have you had to step up and fulfill your duty as of yet?”

“No, sir.”

Protector Tobin grinned widely. “It’s quite simple. You simply eat what I eat, before I eat it. It’s quite an honor, safeguarding the life and wellbeing of your Protector. You should be proud.”

“I am, sir.”

“Good lad. Here, try this first.” Protector Tobin handed Robin the fork. “Smell it first, ensure that it smells as chicken should smell. Remember your lessons.”

Robin held the forkful of chicken underneath his nostrils and took a long, slow whiff. Protector Tobin watched as the steam swirled from within the white flesh and into the boy’s nose. Robin thought for a moment, considering the morsel before him, then nodded.

“It smells nice. Really, really nice. Sir.”

“That’s a good sign. Don’t delay, son. Take a bite. Chew and swallow. Enjoy yourself.

Without hesitation, Robin bit down on the chicken and slid it off the fork into his teeth. It was gone in moments, the starving child wolfing it down without much else of a thought. Robin smiled, apparently satisfied. Protector Tobin watched the boy closely.

“It’s very delicious chicken, sir. Doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with — ”

Robin froze mid-sentence, the smile vanishing from his face. He twitched and doubled over, degenerating into a coughing fit. Protector Tobin continued to observe, his eyes dark as he watched Robin hack and heave and gasp for air, until seconds later, he vomited blood and stomach acid and collapsed into a pathetic, shivering heap, the light disappearing from his eyes.

Protector Tobin turned his attention to the plate of chicken sitting before him, among a sea of other delicacies. He pushed the plate away and stood, turning to the rest of the young tasters.

“Thank you, my sons. You may go. Take your departed brother with you, please.” The boys left, carrying Robin between them, doing their best not to sob and show weakness before the Protector.

The other sect members sat in silence at the table, matching expressions of anger and disgust on their faces.

“Brothers and sisters, an attempt has been made to take my life, and potentially yours too. In this family, we do not take killing lightly. It is a punishment for sinners, and sinners only. Sister Gale, fetch the cooks for me, would you?”

A mousy young woman stood from the table and walked hurriedly across the dining hall to the kitchen doorway, disappearing inside. She returned a moment later accompanied by two burly men wearing aprons, both drenched in sweat.

Protector Tobin observed them as they made their way over to the table, maintaining an even stare at the two men. They seemed nervous and jumpy, but many did around the Protector. Both had been hard at work over the past few hours, preparing the day’s feast, and it showed in their looks, and odour.

“Greetings, my brothers. I just wanted to commend the two of you on your efforts this fine evening. The food is a sight to behold. Here.” Protector Tobin slid the picked-at plate of tainted chicken over to the cooks. “Have some of this. I’m a huge fan of the taste, and I’m sure you will be, too.” He handed a fork to each of the cooks, who were looking at each other, not sure what to make of this.

“Thank you, sir.” The cook to Protector Tobin’s left accepted the fork without a second thought and plunged it into the plate, skewering a generous serving. By the time the left cook had brought the chicken to his lips, the right cook had only just picked up his fork.

Before the left cook could bite down on the chicken, Protector Tobin held up his hand. “One moment, my brother. Are you the one who prepared this delicious dish?”

The left cook shook his head and lowered his fork. “Alas, unfortunately I was preoccupied with the soup while Benji here prepared the chicken.”

Protector Tobin nodded slowly, absorbing this. “I see. Well, brother Benji, I insist you try it first. While it’s still hot. After all, you did make it, am I not mistaking?”

In the dead silence of the dining hall, everyone could almost hear Benji squirming.

“I did.”

“Then please.” Protector Tobin opened his arms wide. “Enjoy. Don’t insult your Protector by refusing a meal.”

Benji took a look at the fork in his hand and winced. With every eye in the room on him, including the other cook, who had taken a few steps closer to Protector Tobin, Benji lifted the fork up to his lips and took a timid nibble of the chicken.

“The whole thing, my son.”

The cook took another small bite. Then another. Before he could even lift the fork for a third, the man collapsed to the ground, seizing and convulsing. The fork clattered to the floor; half a piece of chicken still impaled upon its prongs. Benji clutched his stomach in pain, making horrible gurgling noises as he belched and a horrible eruption of blood and fluids spurted from his mouth.

Protector Tobin and the rest of his congregation watched as the traitorous man perished before their unwavering eyes. Once the body was finally still, Protector Tobin stood and turned to Sister Gale.

“Sister, ensure brother Robin is buried with all taster customs adhered to. I shall speak to his mother.”

Sister Gale nodded. “Yes, Protector. And the traitor, Benji?”

Protector Tobin’s face darkened. “His name is forever forbidden within these walls from this moment on. Take his corpse and hang it in the town hall with the other sinners, as a reminder we will never stoop to their levels for as long as we inhabit these hallowed walls.”

“Of course, Protector,” said Sister Gale.