Mo Dickens was Hetman of the Slagers and this was his domain, his fiefdom, his abattoir.  He occupied a large cavernous stone room, built by the Old Ones, where he skillfully butchered his meat, conducted his business, ate his meals, and occasionally fornicated with his wife. He had one rule during the solar: no fire indoors. It had the potential for spoiling the meat. When the weather got extra cold, Jojo’s arms and legs turned blue, but Mo Dickens never felt the effects of the icebox. He told his charges to move faster to keep warm. Once the solar’s business was done, and the last carcass was carved and bagged, then the large roaring fire was lit in the vast fireplace, sending black smoke up the flue and crackling warmth to the room and Jojo’s frigid bones. The old bag laughed then. She always laughed when she was warm, had tabak in her pipe, and a pot to piss in. She softened Mo Dickens’s mood.