by Tye Tivillus
Chapter 3: Trouble in the Weapon Storehouse
The quarters were little more than a closed room with a privy bucket in the corner. The goons didn't even bother sorting males from the females, instead they opted to shove everyone into the same spare room. Despite the cramped nature of the area, it was at least clean, with fresh reeds on the floor and thin, well used mattresses for each person. Bo was used to sharing a room with his siblings, sleeping close enough to be able to count their lice, and so he wasn't perturbed by the arrangements. The mattresses nearly covered the entire floor, making it difficult to move about the room without standing on someone else's bed. As soon as they were locked in, the new slaves visibly relaxed. Some scrambled to get themselves beds that were next to a wall, or in a corner, and more than one fight broke out over who would sleep where. Bo's hand still ached and throbbed from his still fresh tattoo, and glumly he resigned himself to a mattress somewhere in the middle of the room. Despite the fact that many went early to bed, being tired and having little else to do, Bo lay on his mattress unable to achieve sleep. To distract himself from the pain in his hand, the teen thought about all the things he'd meant to do with his life, and all the things he'd wanted to do later on. He already missed his mage friend and it was starting to feel as though his life was over before it had even had a chance to begin. Silently he fingered the brass collar. He already hated it, but he could feel no catch or lever or lock to pick. With a sigh, Bo sat up just to stretch himself and started to unwrap his bandages. Near the flesh they were crusted with ichor and he didn't want to peel them from his skin, as it might damage his hand further. Peering curiously at the parts of the wound that he could see, Bo didn't notice that the girl-who-was-17 was also still awake. Rather unsurprisingly she had secured herself a bed by the wall and was resting against the cold stone, and was clearly also having trouble sleeping.
'What's your name?' she asked curiously. Her voice was little more than a whisper but it carried clearly over the light snores of their peers. Bo swiveled to glare at her, and briefly considered advising her to mind her own business, but in the dim light, and given that this was likely to be someone in a similar predicament to his own, Bo reluctantly responded,
'Bo Gart, son of Tin Can. Yours?' The girl eyed him for a moment,
'Allie Ais.' Allie didn't bother mentioning her lineage, which was generally considered bad manners in The Gutter, where there was no such thing as a family name. She didn't seem to care about manners, however, launching into a new line of questioning, 'What happened to your hand?' Bo scowled at the impudent girl, though the darkness hid the expression from it's intended target.
'None of your business,' he snapped. For a second the girl just stared in his direction before lying back down on her mattress without responding. Bo felt a stab of guilt, but she was an irritation. Why had she sold herself? More importantly why was she so damn happy about having done it? It rubbed at him the wrong way to think someone had willingly given away their freedom, even though he knew many in The Gutter would leap at a chance for reliable food and bedding. Grumbling to himself quietly the boy wrapped up his wound again, and tried to get to sleep.
Early next morning, even before daybreak, the slaves were abruptly awoken. They were roughly divided into groups of two and each group was given to a mentor slave with a silver collar. These silver collars were to take care of them, and teach them what to do and what not to do, in theory. In practice the silver collared slaves sported ill-disguised sneers of contempt for the newbie brassers. Bo watched was the ever irritating Allie was partnered up with another girl. The silver collared slave that they were assigned to was a thick set girl with ruddy skin and hair like muddy straw. Bo was quickly distracted however, when he was teamed up with a another brasser who looked to be a strange fellow. The boy was tall and lanky, with a dozy looking expression that indicated he was of a sub par intelligence. Despite this, the light of mischief gleamed in his eye whenever it caught the light in a particular way, suggesting that despite his appearance the lad might make interesting company. His name was Johan. They were handed off to their silver collared guide, a boy called Will with hair as white as snow, and skin to match. His eyes were an icy pale blue that nearly blended in with the whites of his eyes, making the black pupil within extremely obvious. He would have looked frighteningly evil with his strange clear eyes had he not been grinning in an open, and friendly manner. The silver collar around Will's neck looked good on him, and he seemed to wear it more like an old, familiar necklace than a shameful burden. Bo and Johan tentatively approached the grinning boy, and he offered a hand for them to shake, introducing himself in a friendly tone. His grip was strong, but not crushingly so, making him seem welcoming and reliable to Bo rather than an overwhelming bully.
'Aright. My name's Will O Wisp and I'll be your guide. Got any questions? Cus I am ready an' raring to answer 'em' Bo smiled shyly, shaking his head,
'I'm Bo, and uh, I don't have any questions yet.' Johan introduced himself to Will as well, and seemed to instantly like the white haired slave, although instantly liking Will was not difficult. Unlike many of the Silvers, the boy did not stick his nose in the air, nor put on airs and graces in front of the brassers. If anything he seemed to readily accept them as equals.
'Whatchit you two. You is shakin the hand of the devil 'isself there.' warned one of the other silvers. Will stuck out his pale pink tongue at the other slave.
'Shove off Thom, I'm innocent of any mischief, cos I've never bin caught at it. Incidentally, I hear the wine at tonights feast is going te be of an extra special variety. Very well aged indeed.' Thom shook his head, managing to look both exasperated and amused, but before he could ask any further details, Will had whisked Bo and Johan away to start their day of learning.
They left the room that the brassers had been sleeping in, with a speed that indicated Will was not at all interested in sticking around in such depressing quarters, and moved further down into the main slave compound. The entire compound was made of a muddy brick that looked unfinished at best. The straw underfoot was also often mouldy, and smelled rather suspicious in some places. As they made it to the more well used quarters, however, things seemed slightly more cheerful. A few slaves moved between rooms with a laundry cart, while others were busy replacing the straw in the quarters themselves. Will showed Bo and Johan where they would be staying from now on – a room with 4 other male slaves. Although none were there at that time, Bo could tell that there would be a tolerable amount of personal space for everyone when it was a full room. All of the bedrolls were neatly stacked in a corner, as they were not in use, making the room seem somewhat homely, like those that lived in it cared for it. It was only that the door locked from the outside that betrayed the feeling of being in a dormitory for a special school. Will smiled,
'I decided that I'd be kippin in the same quarters as you lot, keep my eyes on you.' Bo looked nervously at the eyes in question and Will's grin widened as if sensing the other teen's discomfit.
'Don' worry I won't magic you. Not like some of these mule ends.' Will's voice took on a warning tone. 'You stay well clear of the silvers fer now. We silvers have a lot of people lookin' down their noses at us, so lots of silvers like to have summun to look down on as well, an you brassers are the only ones lower on the ladder.'
For the first half of the day, Will took the time to explain that Silver collar slaves usually got to do serving work, or kitchen work, and a number of other interesting jobs, while Brassers main tasks were cleaning rooms (including the slave quarters), polishing boots, taking out the trash, mucking the stables, and doing the dishes, or the laundry. Occasionally they saw another groups of three that were going through a similar introduction, but they never mingled for long, as Will seemed genuinely enthusiastic about showing his new friends everything they could want to know about slave life. Not only did he show them the kitchens, and where all the cleaning equipment was kept, he also showed them things such as various weeds that grew
between the stones that could be eaten, if they were feeling hungry between meals, or good places to hide if they were being searched for. He even showed them a small fresh water pond that was fed by an underground water system. It was cool and clear and had fish in it. The entire area was enclosed by the trees of the castle's royal gardens, making it very private indeed.
'If you have a lady friend worth botherin about, this is the place ter take em, right? But make sure no one is a'ready here first!' Will laughed, explaining a story about the day he hadn't checked to make sure the spot was free, and the ensuing mix up that had seen him lose a girlfriend and kiss a toad (which hand't turned into a princess afterwards, much to Will's irritation). They didn't spend too long in the gardens, however, as Will warned that on a working day it was usually bad form to spend time so far from the castle, and so they began to wander back, taking note of interesting things on the way.
The castle was built of large grey stones, all roughly the size of a two horse cart. In many parts lichen grew on the outside wall, while on the inside the stones were polished smooth. The walls were largely unadorned giving the castle a bleak appearance that sapped at Bo's spirits. He was used to the ever colourful Gutter atmosphere where every wall had its own carvings and colours, whether legitimate or graffitied. Johan, however, seemed a little overawed at the castle, his gaze widening and flitting wildly from one place to another. Will merely laughed, and explained with obvious pride that many visitors were thus taken by the grandeur.
Here and there slaves swept the halls, their work illuminated by the many braziers that hung overhead. Once Bo even saw a person lighting the braziers with magic, and making sure they were working. Will explained that such a job was given only to one of the most trusted slaves, and sure enough the man doing the work sported no collar but a golden bangle on his right arm. That was his only marking; unlike Will, Bo and Johan, he did not have an X tattooed into him, and if he went outside the castle on an errand he could easily be mistaken for a free man.
Will spoke wistfully of the upper levels of the castle, describing windows that allowed air and light into the building, and of small balconies. He even mentioned that The Queen, Damini, insisted upon keeping flowers around the place that made everything smell nice, and gave a natural splash of colour to the otherwise featureless halls. Most of the lower level, however was devoted to kitchens, and other serving quarters, and the guided tour took over an hour, even without Will showing them as many hidey holes and secret tunnels as he'd found over the years (enough to make Bo wonder if the castle wasn't made out of a piece of cheese).
The last place they visited was the laundry, and Bo found it a cramped, airless. and depressing. It was hot and steamy and after just a few minutes there his head started to spin. The stairway up and down to the laundry was exceedingly narrow, and Bo had to catch himself more than once as his light headedness nearly tipped him over the edge and into one of the vats of bubbling water. Exiting as quickly as they were able, the trio emerged into fresh air, and Bo sat on the ground taking in deep cooling breaths. Will seemed too preoccupied to joke about the vapours of the laundry, however. He was busily searching around in one pocket and then the next. Surprised to see that the white haired slave had pockets, Bo looked at his own pants to discover that he did not have pockets. Will must have noticed him, and with a laugh the boy explained that brassers weren't trusted with pockets, because they might use them for stealing or smuggling bad things into the castle. On saying this, Will pulled out a mouse from his clothing.
'I found him down in the washroom. If he'd a been caught down there they woulda boiled --' The gruesome sentence was interrupted by a shout. Will spun to face an oncoming group of silver collars, discretely shoving the mouse into Johan's large, knobbly hands. The leader of the group walked up to Will and pushed the teen hard in the middle of his chest. Will was forced to take a step back, but even so he retained a blithe expression on his countenance, as though meeting with an old friend. Each of the silver collars facing him were of a burlier stock, and they reeked of the unmistakable scent of horses and leather, indicating their place of work.
'What's this we hear about you looking at my girl?' growled the leader. He was dark skinned (although not as dark as Bo) with black hair and soft brown eyes. Going by appearance, one might have been forgiven for thinking him a gentle sort, but his actions undermined any such impression that he might make on Bo or Johan. Will pretended to think about the question for a second or two, rubbing at his stubble thoughtfully and watching the other slaves out of the corner of one eye.
'I really wouldn't know Aaron. Sorry! Was I supposed to keep my eyes on her?' Will smiled sweetly as Aaron gave him a further shove.
'Don't mess around wi' me Will. The others might put up with it but I'll dig those pretty little eyes of yours right out an feed em to the crows if you bin near my girl.' Will sighed in distaste. Although he was outnumbered, the only thing stopping him from getting into a scrap was the thought of his new brass collared friends getting beaten up on his account. Will had explained to Bo and Johan already that he tended to get into fights – he had even perfected a number of spells to assist him, but they, being brassers, would have to try to stay out of trouble. If they came up against a silver collar the best thing to do would be to run away.
'Tell me Aaron' Will said, changing the subject, 'Where are your brassers? I heard you got hobbled with a pair like everyone else?' Aaron growled.
'They were crampin' me style yeah? Told em ter go polish swords, din' I. Anyhow it's none of your business, just cos I aint cozy with mine- OY Where are you goin? Runnin' away are ya?' Will had grabbed Bo and Johan by their shirts and had started sprinting in the direction of the weapon practice yards. He turned slightly, calling back to Aaron, the anger in his voice was clear.
'You idiot, you should know brassers can't grab weapons without settin' their collars off!'
Will, Bo, and Johan ran for the area where the practice weapons were kept. Although Bo could have run faster than Will, he didn't know where he was going, or what he was supposed to be doing, and so he was forced to stay behind his guide. The weapons were all stored in a building that was separate to the main castle, stables and the slaves' quarters. The building itself was prefaced by a large open square where there was already an impressive group of would-be soldiers going through drills. The instructor was a short portly man with a bushy black beard, and beady blue eyes overshadowed by thick bushy brows. His naturally pale skin was tanned from working outside and looked as rough as leather hide. The thick, bushy, anchor shaped beard was not well trimmed, and seemed to indicate that the person behind it was a wild, homeless man. It was only the clean, military style training uniform that the man wore that reassured Bo that the instructor was meant to be inside the castle walls. Bo would have estimated the man to be 50-60, as there were quite a few strands of grey threaded through his otherwise black beard. The instructor barked orders at his fighters in an almost impenetrable foreign accent, and the fighters hurried to obey them. In the man's hand was a whipstick - something that made Bo immediately wary of him. Only bullies and people who enjoyed causing pain, like Master Sir, tended to use those. The man frowned furiously at one of his fighters, cracking the whipstick down on their offending hand, which was gripping the practice sword incorrectly. The swoosh and crack made almost everyone in the immediate area wince and check their hand holds discretely.
Will seemed driven by some inner urgency, however, and rather than skirting around the terrible figure, he raced up to the instructor showing no sign of hesitation, despite the threat of a solid caning. Bo and Johan weren't quite so bold as to wish to approach the intimidating man, but Will was pulling them along behind him whether they wanted to come or not. The instructor growled at Will to show that he knew the slave was there, while keeping his beady eyes on the trainee fighters.
'Excuse me Alexander Sir, Aar- er one of the silver collars said he sent brassers over here to shine some of the swords.'
Alexander seemed to consider this for a moment, his expression of irritation remained unchanged. With one stubby fingered hand, he waved over another man who was standing at the sidelines. The man quickly jogged over, clearly ready for whatever may be asked of him. He wore the uniform of a guard, and carried a sword at his hip. Stooping slightly to listen to a few murmured instructions, the guard nodded a few times to show that he understood, before saluting Alexander with a clip of the heel and a tug of his collar. He then turned back to the practice session, taking Alexander's place at its head, while Alexander started off toward the weapon storehouse at a brisk trot. Despite his girth the man could move surprisingly quickly, and had a gait that suggested he could keep up the run for hours at a time. Looking grim, but unhurried, Alexander opened the doors to the warehouse and stepped inside.
Inside was dry and a little too warm for comfort. Will let go of Bo and Johan, warning them not to touch the weapons. Bo noted that this was going to be difficult, because the walls were lined with them, and there were weapons in racks up and down the length of the building.
'Will why can't we touch the weapons? What's going on?' Whispered Bo anxiously. Will turned to face his charges, his eerie light blue eyes peered at them sharply,
'Remember this well – don't pick up weapons, or your collar will be set off.'
'Zplit up, yez? Geev shout eef find.' Alexander ordered, interrupting. He had a heavy accent that made it difficult for Bo to immediately comprehend what he was saying. Will nodded soberly, more serious than he'd been all day. He warned Johan and Bo once again not to touch the weapons before flitting away into the gloom. Bo looked at Johan apprehensively.
'Let's start upstairs.' He suggested. There was no question about him and Johan splitting up, as neither of them knew the place well enough, and being entirely new to this world they found comforting unity in their shared ignorance of its ways. Johan nodded silently and they began to move carefully through the weapon stacks to get to the staircase.
The whole building smelled of oil, metal and leather. The floor was coated with clean dry straw, and the newer weapon racks gave off the slight scent of pine. Bo thought he could get used to that smell, as it was warm and clean, but he had more pressing matters at the forefront of his mind. When Will had said their collars would go off, Bo could only assume he was referring to what had happened with the boy who had tried to punch Master Sir the previous day. He shuddered at the thought, moving still further from the weapon racks and sucking his belly in to reduce his already thin girth. He didn't want that kind of thing to happen to him.
Despite not wanting to be anywhere near the weapons that were displayed, Bo couldn't help admiring some of them. While most of the equipment was very basic, one or two items looked almost as though they had fallen out of a story book, and Bo ached to hold them for just a short while, and to feel their weight in his palm. The looming threat of his collar going off, however, was more than enough to dissuade him from touching anything in the Aladdin's cave of weaponry. Johan and Bo moved silently, and it was obvious to anyone who was familiar with The Gutter that they had lived there for a long time - with key emphasis on the word 'lived'. Each footstep was silent, and they moved with surprising speed, pausing only every now and then to check the intersections as they crossed them, almost as if worried about being caught by some unnamed foe.
Despite the light feet of the boys, the stairs creaked and groaned pleasantly as Bo and Johan climbed them, and the area grew ever darker as they moved above the light sources. The upper level was more like a balcony, from which the entire lower level could be observed, rather than a full level unto itself, and here the heat was even more pronounced than down below. Leaning over the wooden rail, Bo could see Alexander as a fat blob of darkness, quickly and efficiently searching the ground floor. Will was more difficult to make out, and Bo didn't have the time to be dawdling. Turning, the teen thought he heard heavy breathing amongst the otherwise dusty silence of the weapon racks. A thin film of sweat was already forming on the boy's brow. Gesturing at Johan to follow him, Bo hurried closer, trying to remain quiet so he could track the noise. Quickly he found a boy with a brass collar, lying on his side, splayed in an unnatural position. The boy's chest was heaving as he laboured to breathe in and out. His eyes were rolled back in his head, and a thin line of drool flowed from his mouth. Bo hissed in horror, wondering how long the boy had been this way. Hurriedly, Johan called out,
'Up here!' Nearby there was a small dagger that had been flung from the teens grasp when he had been flailing about. Clearly he'd taken Aaron seriously about polishing the weapons, and had chosen a small dagger to start with. Bo could see that it was going to take a while for Will and Alexander to get to the stairs, as they were each on opposite sides of the warehouse. They could either exit one of the doors and walk around the building to enter in the main door again, or thread their way back through the racks of weapons. Either option would take quite some time.
'Come on, let's get him downstairs, it'll be faster that way.' Suggested Bo, thinking it would be best to meet the others halfway. Johan nodded his agreement, and together they hauled the stricken slave to his feet.
The teen started mumbling and rolling his head slightly. Worried about the condition of the fellow, Bo and Johan hauled him back toward the stairs. He was surprisingly heavy, and smelled of a mixture of sweat and the lingering odour of the flea powder from the day before. Slowly the mumbling grew louder, and the boy's eyes rolled back down to glare at Johan and Bo in an unfocused way. He soon began to struggle in their grasp, twitching and twisting, crying out piteously for them to stop hurting him. Bo grit his teeth, trying to keep control over the troublesome load when the brasser managed to free one of his feet, kicking Bo in the chest and sending the teen stumbling backwards. Bo quickly found himself rammed up against the wooden railing. With a fearful yelp he was violently shoved over the edge. Bo's stomach lurched sickeningly as he scrabbled to gain a handhold. He managed to grasp the lowest point of the railing with both hands, but his injured right hand gave a stab of pain, draining the strength of his fingers and making it useless to hold his weight. Gasping, Bo dangled by his left hand, slowly losing the battle against gravity. At this time Alexander had already made it to the stairs, and was rushing to help restrain the stricken slave. Will, however, watched with horror from the bottom of the staircase as Bo's grip on the balcony slipped further and further.
Unable to support himself any longer, Bo fell the twelve feet onto a weapon rack below. The wooden rack smashed easily under his weight, and the horizontally stored weapons did little to help ease his fall. Later, Bo would thank his lucky stars that the weapons had not been stored pointing upwards, but he had little time then to think anything beyond 'pissbucket'. The teen groaned as pain shot through his back, encompassing his rib cage and spreading until his whole body ached. His breath had been driven from him. Far above Alexander finally managed to calm the other slave, taking them into a bear-hug. He muttered a few words, and the collar was deactivated. The slave boy slumped in Alexander's arms, unconscious with the relief from his torment. Bo didn't move from where he had landed, at first he was sure he had broken his back or something of the sort. Anxiously Alexander peered over the balcony, shouting,
'Not move! I veel be down, do not make move, yez?' Bo didn't respond, feeling too stiff and sore to even nod, while Alexander gently placed his armful of slave on the floor and hurried down the stairs. Feeling foolish, Bo shoved some of the debris from his body as Will and Alexander approached. Johan had stayed up with the other slave in case the teen came back to consciousness, but he too was busily gawping at Bo from above to be paying any attention to his closer peer. As soon as Will saw what Bo was doing, he froze with horror, before hurrying over and calling out for the brasser to stop. Bo frowned. He wasn't so badly injured that he couldn't move, so he wasn't sure what Will was shouting about. Looking down at his right hand, Bo grimaced as he realised what he was brushing asid
e with it – a number of weapons had fallen across his chest. The teen expected his collar to go off at any second, and closed his eyes tightly in anticipation of the ensuing pain. After a second it became clear that nothing was going to happen, so Bo opened his eyes again and glanced at the weapons around him in confusion. Most of them were short swords, blunted for practice, but still heavy enough to break the bones of the unwary in sparring matches. Bo yanked his hand away, looking up at Will, who was simply glad nothing untoward had happened. Will grabbed Bo by his good hand and lifted the teen to his feet. Huffing with relief, Bo coloured with embarrassment, looking back at the mess he had created. He glanced back up to see Alexander giving him an odd look, almost as though the weapon master was considering attacking him there and then.
'I'm sorry about breaking the rack, Mister Alexander, Sir.' wheezed Bo honestly, fearing that the man would take instant retribution. He felt a spark of dread at the thought of causing such damage when he was only on his second day at the castle. Alexander was still giving him an odd look, but he did not rush forward and beat Bo with his whipstick, nor bellow abuse at the young slave. Eventually mastering his anger, the weapon master seemed to come to a conclusion.
'Iz okay. Ve take your friend to quvarterz now, he iz not so good.' Bo let out a sigh of relief, glad that the portly, bearded man wasn't going to make a fuss. The teen winced as his back gave a sharp reminder that it would probably be badly bruised the next day, and reached around himself to knead at it gingerly. Picking his path through the weapons and debris with care, Bo followed Will and Alexander back up to the second level of the building. The unfortunate unnamed brasser had not yet awoken. Will took the slave's feet, while Johan had his head and shoulders. Bo was about to help when Alexander grabbed his right hand and held it up for inspection. The man's grasp was like a vice, and his hands were covered in thick scars, probably from blade work and fighting. Bo restrained himself from yanking the appendage away, as he instinctively wanted to.
'Vhat iz wrong vith hand?' demanded Alexander with a slight hint of accusation to his tone. His blue eyes glittering dangerously in the half light.
'My uh, tattoo didn't heal yet. The mage said he was too tired, I think. Mister Alexander, sir' Bo said nervously, trying to keep his voice steady. He didn't want to get in trouble for something that was beyond his capacity to control. Alexander held Bo's gaze for a few seconds as though trying to discern if the boy was lying, before letting out a dissatisfied hurrumph. Dropping the hand, the instructor turned away, although his body language suggested that he would soon discover the truth of the matter. Breathing a sigh of relief Bo scrambled to assist Will and Johan. The three of them carried their charge out of the building, incurring many a curious glance from the people who were still training. Alexander's sharp eyes quickly saw what was going on, and he stomped off to discipline his fighters with a few quick switches from his whipstick without so much as a goodbye or good luck to the slaves.
Bo couldn't help looking back at the strange portly man, as he stumbled under the weight of the unconscious slave. He was unable to make up his mind on how to feel about the whole situation.
'Alexander's the weapon master, he's okay' grinned Will, seeing where Bo's gaze was lingering, 'he's just a little set in his ways. Rumour is he's getting too old but no one has the gall to tell him so.' Will chuckled, thinking of Alexander's reaction should he ever be told such a thing.
It was something of a struggle to get the unconscious teen to the slave quarters. Once there, Will bade Bo and Johan to stay with the brasser, and jogged away to get a healer. The teen was just coming to his senses when the healer arrived, along with Master Sir.
'What in the hell is going on here? I hear you have gone off task, and have been interrupting the Weapon Master with your tom-foolery. Just who do you think you are?' Will attempted to explain matters, but Master Sir would have none of it. He insisted that Will, and by extension, Bo and Johan, were in the wrong. 'It'll be washing up after lunch by yourselves, and you better think yourselves lucky, ye good for nothing horse droppings, that I don't have yer flogged in the main square fer inhibiting the work of Mistah Alexander.'
'Don't you lead these brassers astray Will.' Master Sir added over his shoulder, fixing the white haired slave with a steely glare. 'Everyone knows about your wickedness, and if this kind of trouble continues then you've a brass collar to look forward to yourself.' Will scowled fiercely but didn't say anything to defend himself. It would have fallen on deaf ears in any case. Master Sir took the time to find out who the unfortunate brasser belonged to, making sure he heard it from Will's mouth alone, before heading off with a brisk, clipped pace, his monocle glinting in the light. As he left, the man had a smug grin plastered to his face that even his well waxed moustache couldn't hide. Bo didn't like the expression, it looked too much like Master Sir had just won something.
Seeing there was no more that they could do, the intrepid trio slowly made their way to what Will called the 'lunch hall'. He explained that if they were to be washing up, then they should have lunch before anyone else, so that they could wash up as the dirty plates came in, rather than waiting until the end when the stacks of dirty dishes would be so high as to be unmanageable. He sounded well practiced at the chore. For this reason the guided tour was cut short. Will was clearly a bit of a dab hand at the exercise, and well known with the kitchen staff. Several older looking slaves were making the lunch. It was some kind of gruel or soup that looked about as appetising as slugs in mud. Each slave was handed a metal plate with the gruel in it, and being hungry as they were Bo and Johan even deigned to try a first mouthful of the stuff. Bo spluttered, only just managing to keep his mouthful down, instead of throwing it back up again. It was one of the worst tasting foods he'd ever had – and he had lived in The Gutter where food was a very malleable term that could be used to describe even technically inedible objects. Will and Johan, on the other hand, seemed unable to scoff it down fast enough.
'It tastes much better than it looks, Doesn't it Bo?' Johan asked happily around a mouthful of the stuff. Bo looked down at the sludgy content of his bowl, and had to agree that it did taste better than it looked, although that really wasn't difficult.
'Are you sure this is edible?' He asked Will despondently, prodding the mess with his spoon. Will eyed Bo from his own place at the otherwise empty table, speaking with his mouth full.
'It's ver' healthy. Cooks say 'm magic words over it an whatnot ter make it taste good as well, otherwise you'd rather starve than eat it.' Bo's face fell. So far his day wasn't working out. More and more he cursed his luck at having been sold by his family. 'Still it's not fer everyone' said Will somewhat kindly, clapping Bo on the back, 'you'll get used to it.'
With eyes watering, Bo held his breath and ate as much of his lunch as he could (nearly all of it). It was bitter, and slid down his throat in a very unpleasant way. Afterward, Will and Johan helped clean out the leftovers, grinning ghoulishly at the sick expression on Bo's face as he watched them, and deliberately remarking upon the exquisite flavours that graced their tongues like a couple of educated nobles at a restaurant.
'Reckon this has a subtle flavour of chunky vomit and the delightful texture of river mud, eh Johan?' began Will, grinning as Bo turned green.
'I think maybe it's more like twenny year ol' undies that have never been washed,' disagreed Johan, sitting up straight and sipping a grey lump from his spoon with his pinky raised daintily. The image was ruined somewhat when he slurped the lump down inexpertly, leaving a sludgy trail on his chin. Eventually the ordeal of lunch was over. The trio collected their plates and wandered around to the back of the kitchen. The cooks grinned and winked at Will, sometimes calling out to him asking what he'd done this time. Will would always shrug his shoulders and give them wide innocent eyes,
'That hurts lads, you know I'm completely -' he'd start, and they would always finish the sentence for him-
'Innocent!' Then they would roar with laughter.
Will didn't seem overly worried about being in trouble. He revealed, as they fetched hot water for a large tub, that Master Sir had been threatening to make him a brasser every week for the last three years, but it wasn't within his power.
'I bin serving at the castle since I was three. Been a brasser up till I hit eight and now I'm a silver see? I do a good job of it too, no matter what them others seem to think. Some folk don't like me, but my eyes get attention from the guests, and the regulars and whatnot. It means everyone would notice if I was knocked down to brass again, and they'd want to know who authorised it – so Master Sir can shove it up his monocle, he knows he can't do anything about it. Worse he can do is dole out punishments.' Bo wondered if he should mention how happy Master Sir had seemed when he had finished talking to Will, but decided against it – Will seemed to know what he was doing after all.
Well into the afternoon they were stuck washing up dishes. Bo had been given the task of drying dishes and taking them back to a huge storage closet. Will kindly claimed that sticking an injured hand in scummy water would only make it worse, and then it would have to be chopped off or something else that was equally horrible. Will and Johan came away with horribly wrinkly hands, and the water was a disgusting greyish brown by the end of lunch, despite Bo being sent for fresh water at least twice. Bo noticed that Will managed to clean the lunch platters quickly and efficiently, going through twice as many of the battered metal bowls as Johan, and stacking clean plates faster then Bo could dry them all. As a kindness, the kitchen staff used the plates that were cleaned and dried, rather than taking more of the bowls out of the cupboards, to reduce the number of times Bo would have to pack away dishes.
While the three worked, gossip and laughter drifted in from the kitchen. Despite the chill of the late Autumn air, it was always warm beside the large stoves, and Bo enjoyed joking and talking with Will and Johan. Will happily listened to the tales Bo told of adventure as the teen repeated the stories that had so enchanted him when he was a child. Stories about feasts, and nobles and monsters. Will liked to hear about the fighting and the monsters the best, and Bo was happy to oblige, although Will quickly began to admonish Bo for his vulgar Gutter speech, and would often interrupt to correct him.
'You have to speak nice for the nobles, Bo, or you'll never make it ter silver, see?' It was the first time Bo had spent so long with people of his own age, and he started to relax more and enjoy himself, forgetting that he wore a metal collar and that the only monsters he was likely to fight looked a lot like dirty dishes, while his weapon would be a scrubbing brush. Despite his grim prospects, however, when Bo looked back on the moment later on, he was greatly comforted by the thought that not all his life would be a miserable drudgery as he had expected.