Gatehouse

by Bree Aguiar

  Yet she found herself asking a question she did not expect. “Has anyone done it before?”

  “Escaped? I reckon some must have, but it’s not been made known. I do know, however, that Gordoba Lei has tried many times. And failed each time. But he’s different… They say trolls have no pride, but they are proud that they have him; proud that he will always be under their thumb.”

  Gwenyre couldn’t help but feel sorry for this Gordoba. In a previous life, he was a warrior. Now he was stuck. Just like her. It was then that she realized she had truly resolved not to escape. Not now. She would fight her good fight and look for a proper way out.

  “I’ll not try, but thank you Cyran. Truly.” The emphasis on her final word showed it referred to more than just his offer to stay silent. Though it was not much, the man had shown a kindness that she needed during their journey to her new life. She hoped that she could rely on him more, at least at first, but she would not ask. Not at this hour. “Let’s get to bed.”

  With that, he opened the door and they entered the building together. They stepped into what seemed to be a hall, running the width of the building with four doors off of it, two on either side. Cyran pointed to the first door on the right, exactly opposite another. “That’s your quarters. I would just find the first empty bed and go to sleep as soon as you can. There should be a washroom in the back corner, if you need it. Good night, little one.” He turned to the left-hand door and entered the men’s quarters to lay down for the night.

  Taking his cue, she slowly turned the knob and poked her head into the women’s quarters. It was dark, but there was a small fire set up in the back that provided her enough light to find an empty bed. She gently laid on it, realizing quickly that it was really just a lumpy stack of hay with no blanket. Too exhausted both physically and emotionally to even care, she fell asleep within seconds, dreaming up dark and cold visions full of stone walls and bleak forests and a chorus of trolls commanding her to feel shame.

  * * *

  After what felt like mere minutes of sleep, Gwenyre was awoken by someone shaking her shoulders. It must have been her mother; she had overslept again and was needed to go to the market or feed the horses. “Please, mother,” she begged, hoping for a few more minutes. “Can’t it wait?”

  “Wake up, you louse! Wake up!” Whomever that cruel voice came from, it was not her mother. Gwenyre shot awake and sat up quickly to face a pair of round and angry-looking yellow eyes.

  The creature before her looked like Lenora, with her square, trollish features, though this one was much more unkempt in her raggedy shift and apron. Not only that, she was much shorter – not just compared to Lenora, but to any normal sized-troll. Though she was still laying down, Gwenyre bet this troll would barely be taller than herself standing. It was unusual, and not something the little elf had ever seen before.

  She didn’t have much longer to consider it, though, as the creature continued to yell at her. “Stop staring and get up! There’s much to do today, and you’re already ill-prepared.” She began pushing Gwenyre out of her haystack bed. “They should’ve told me there was a new inmate arriving! You should have seen me before you decided to take a lazy little nap, you louse!”

  “But it was the middle of the night!” Gwenyre protested, but the creature (she didn’t want to call her a troll, as she wasn’t sure what exactly she was) rolled her eyes and patted her firmly on her underside. Though she was short, her hands were rather large, and the hurt was surprising. “Ouch!” she cried out.

  “Don’t you talk back to me, girlie. Now get dressed – quick now! You’ll need your intake tours and assignments. I don’t like being in this wretched place, so meet me outside. And don’t you even think of dawdling!” With that, the creature turned around and left through the back door. Her legs and feet were swollen compared to her little body, which made her walk look like a waddle as she swayed dangerously from side to side. Gwenyre couldn’t help but watch her, still trying to figure out what exactly she was, when she noticed that she was not alone. The women’s quarters were almost full, and everyone else appeared to be looking right at her.

  Embarrassed, Gwenyre turned to her bed intending to get dressed. She quickly realized, however, that she only had the clothes she came in. Distressed and wanting to hurry before that creature got mad at her again, she flailed around looking for something to wear before a kind voice spoke up behind her.

  “It’ll be in the bundle they gave you,” it said. Gwenyre immediately bent over to grab it from under the bed, where she’d unceremoniously thrown it before falling asleep. Untying the cloth, she noticed a shift and apron similar to what the creature was wearing, though new and not nearly as tattered. Gwenyre let out a sigh of relief, as the kind voice piped up again.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t notice it last night. The bundle wrapper is your blanket, but I guess your blood must run hot.” A chuckle came from the voice as Gwenyre turned around.

  Across from her, Gwenyre saw a beautiful creature – beautiful to her a least. She appeared to be a human, with small ears, dark hair, and eyes the color of molten gold. Her high cheeks were flushed pink, making the curved nose on her face look more prominent. Flustered, both by the beginnings of the day and her beauty, Gwenyre began to awkwardly smile and nod. “Thank you, thank you,” she repeated, turning her eyes to the ground, too embarrassed to look the girl in her golden eyes. “Hot,” she mumbled with an awkward, high-pitched laugh. “No, no. I am not hot… was not hot… do not…” More embarrassed than ever, Gwenyre felt her own cheeks turn bright red.

  The girl chuckled again, though not unkindly. “Oh, dear. It appears your first day is off to a rough start. You’d better hurry up; you don’t want to make Miz Norethebo any angrier than she already is. Get dressed and I’ll escort you outside. I’m on House Service with her today, so she won’t mind me joining.”

  Gwenyre nodded her acquiescence and quickly donned her new threads. She placed her old dress, rumpled and travelled-strained, beneath her bed along with the remnants of her bundle. The girl walked with her, heading towards the door.

  “I’m Ametrine, by the way.”

  “Gwenyre,” she replied by way of introduction.

  “Gwenyre, a pretty name for a pretty elf,” Ametrine remarked thoughtfully, making Gwenyre blush even further. “I’m a human, in case you couldn’t tell. Though every elf I’ve met usually can. Keener than most, your kind.” As she spoke, Gwenyre noticed that, despite her regal features, the girl had a low-born drawl not uncommon for humans from small villages and towns.

  “I’d ask you what you did,” Ametrine continued. “But Norethebo won’t like us talking about our past transgressions. ‘Might inspire the worst of you,’ she says. I myself may have stolen a few very expensive things from some very important people, but in my defense I didn’t know. That they were important, of course,” she added quickly “I knew the things were expensive. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have tried to take them.” Ametrine spoke fast without any breaks, rambling on until they reached the door. Before she opened it, she turned to Gwenyre to look her directly in the eye.

  “Oh, one other word of advice. Don’t make any comments about half-breeds, short statures, or fat legs around Norethebo. And call her Miz to her face. Otherwise, you’re likely to get a smack in the behind faster than you can yell ‘troll.’” Gwenyre nodded meekly as the other girl laughed, determined to follow her every instruction. A half-breed, she thought to herself. That explains her trollish features with her short legs. Perhaps the other half is elven? Gwenyre tried not to laugh at that concept, thinking of that stout, stony creature having quick feet and elven magic in her fingers.

  With that, Ametrine opened the door to head outside, the sky barely lit by the rising dawn sun. Though it was not much brighter than her arrival, Gwenyre could already make out more of the beauty of this place. The dark forest was now bright, filled with various shades of green making up the trees, grass, and moss-filled ground. Bright pops of colo
r were strewn about here and there, showcased in different flowers littering the area.

  Standing in contrast to the beautiful sight before the little elf was Norethebo, looking miserable and dumpy in her dirty aprons. “Good morning, Miz,” Ametrine called out sweetly, curtsying with her head bowed; Gwenyre suspected this was done not out of respect, but rather so the girl to hide the smirk that had formed on her face. Following her lead, Gwenyre also curtsied quickly. She stayed silent as Ametrine sweet-talked the Miz. “How are you on this fine day?”

  Norethebo snorted violently, voicing contempt for the girl. Gwenyre did notice, however, that her eyes softened a bit. Perhaps out of an unbidden fondness. Or perhaps because even she could not deny the girl’s beauty. “What do you want, Aimee?”

  Ametrine smiled smartly, nudging Norethebo with her shoulder. “I was thinking it would be best if I joined the first leg of your riveting intake tour, so I can give Gwenyre the real commentary on our beautiful Gatehouse.” Her voice had taken on a fake, noble accent, losing its low-born roots. Gwenyre sensed this was her attempt at being snarky towards the Miz, though she saw no real contempt between the girl and the half-troll. Ametrine laughed brightly, continuing her never-ending babble. “And you know I hate when people who aren’t my friends call me Aimee, Miz Nora. But I’ll allow it for you, as you are my bestest friend in the whole wide world!”

  Norethebo couldn’t stop herself from laughing at that last statement. From its harsh, guttural sound, Gwenyre hoped that her laughter was a rare occurrence. Everything about the Miz was off-putting, even her attempt at light-hearted humor. “Ah, a friend?” Norethebo stated incredulously. “I’ll show you a friend when I send you to the Caves, girlie. Now off with you! We’ll meet you at the House.” Norethebo tried to push the girl away lightly, but Ametrine was having none of that.

  “C’mon now, Miz Nora,” she continued in her high speech. “We’re going the same way, and I’ll only tell Gwen here the good stuff. Nothing about the dungeons and dragons and devils lurking around.” Gwenyre didn’t know, but she silently hoped the girl was just joking. She did know, however, that nobody had ever called her Gwen before. She’d always assumed she’d hate getting a nickname she didn’t ask for from someone she barely knew, but there was something about the way it rolled beautifully off Ametrine’s tongue that made it fit. So, Gwen she resolved to be, at least to Ametrine.

  Norethebo, annoyed but receptive, grumbled her assent and the three set off in the direction of the big, brick manor that Gwenyre had briefly seen the prior night.

  “The building you just came from is the main sleeping house for the inmates,” Norethebo began. “There are others, and you may be moved depending on your current station, your behavior, or however the Masters and Mizzus decree. You’ll be there for now, but don’t get used to it,” she warned.

  Ametrine rolled her eyes, piping up. “You can get used to it,” she rebutted. Her voice had returned to its low-born roots, her accent becoming heavy. “I’ve been here for almost two full terms and haven’t been moved.”

  “Shut it, girlie!” Norethebo snapped back.

  “Sorry, Miz! But I should say that we call it the Dwelling. Short for Delinquent’s Dwelling, quite clever right?”

  Norethebo growled slightly but confirmed her commentary. “You will be staying in the Dwelling for the foreseeable future,” she reiterated. They continued walking as the half-troll pointed to various areas in the trees around them. “That path there leads to the Fields, where vegetables are grown and harvested. You won’t be assigned there, at least not yet. That one over there leads to the Stables, where you’ll take care of the horses owned by the estate and its visitors. Again, not your place quite yet. And that one way back there,” she pointed at a very dark corner path, where the air was heavy with a dark smoke. “That there is the Caves. Mostly only men go there, and typically not elves. At least not of your stature. There’s mining to be done, and it can be very dangerous for someone as little as you. But if you don’t watch yourself,” she warned darkly, “then you may find yourself at its door.”

  Ametrine piped up once again, much to Norethebo’s chagrin. “Basically, only the heartiest go there. You’re either strong and volunteer, which can lead to rewards and niceties, or you’re punished and sent there as a result. The Cavers have their own housing, far from us peasants in the Dwelling, which I thankfully have never seen.”

  “And you better shut your trap, or that fact’ll change quickly!” Ametrine lowered her eyes to look meek, but Gwenyre could tell she was faking it. It was clear that this girl could get away with anything with Miz Norethebo. She might be berated frequently, but it was always in a gentler manner than Gwenyre would expect for a prisoner, and a thief at that.

  Norethebo continued on discussing the various assignments. There was, of course, the House which seemed to be the cushiest of them all. The servants there were mostly in charge of cooking, cleaning, and the occasional babysitting for the various high-class visitors that came to vacation at the manor. There was also the Lumber Yard, the Smithy, and the Protectorate (“That one’s only for worthy warriors,” Norethebo explained with a rare look of pride on her face. “Those willing to fight any dragon or villain who dare try to disrupt the peace here at Gatehouse.”) Finally, there were the Rogues, of which Ametrine was one.

  “We can get moved around wherever,” she explained, while Norethebo was busy examining the bottom of her shoe; apparently, she stepped on something unsightly, and she was grumbling trying to wipe it off. “Though mostly I’m kept in House Service or an easier job at the Stables. I like it; it keeps every day interesting.”

  “Is that normal?” Gwenyre asked. “Being a Rogue?”

  Ametrine laughed lightly. “Normal is not usually a word used to describe anything about Gatehouse, but especially not my presence here.” Gwenyre blushed again, though she wasn’t sure why. Something about Ametrine’s easily made her flush. “But it’s pretty standard for newbies like yourself, until one of the Masters or Mizzus takes a shine to you and requests you full-time. Like Miz Nora explained, you can get moved whenever but that’s not too usual. I’m not really sure why I’m still a Rogue this far into my stay here, but I’ve convinced myself it’s because everyone is fighting over me all the time – wanting me and my shining personality around. So, this is their compromise.” Though it was clearly a jest, Gwenyre couldn’t help but think that might actually be the case for someone as enchanting and charismatic as this girl.

  They continued along until they reached the servant’s door of the brick manor. The House, Gwenyre reminded herself. That’s what they call it. I’ll have to get used to their nicknames and turns of phrases; the faster I fit in, the faster I might be able to convince them I have repaid my debt and should be set free. While she was thinking, Norethebo opened the door that Edyweine had used just last night to enter the building.

  The first thing that struck Gwenyre was the chaotic-ness of it all. The room was filled with dozens of various creatures moving around in what looked to be a kitchen. There were fairies cooking, flying above the pots to taste what they had made, trolls and goblins sweeping the floor, elves washing dishes that humans dried and placed on tall shelves. Some were wearing the same garb that she, Ametrine, and Norethebo were donning (though none quite as dirty and ragged as the Miz’s), while others were dressed in varied liveries. Norethebo quickly explained that the pages and housemaidens of the various high-class visitors often helped around the House before she was interrupted by the splash of dirty water that came from an upturned bucket. The stout woman was forced to turn and yell at a scared looking goblin, who was holding tightly onto the handle of her mop and trying not to cry.

  Gwenyre was overwhelmed. She had never seen so many creatures together at once, but there appeared to be an organization to all of the chaos. And though this was technically a prison (Estate, she reminded herself again with Cyran’s words ringing in her ears.), everyone looked… well, happy. Or at least not as
miserable as she expected. She turned to look at Ametrine, to question her about it, when she noticed the girl was gone.

  She looked around to find the girl saying hello to a long-haired nymph in the corner. Their conversation was lively: full of loud words, squeals, and a clear kinship. Gwenyre knew they must’ve been friends and she found herself oddly jealous; though they had only just met, she felt a strange possessive connection to the girl. She shook it off and turned to Norethebo, who was just wrapping up her berating of the poor servant.

  “And it should shine so bright that I’d be willing to eat of it! Now get to work!” The goblin nodded with shame, running off to fulfill her task. Norethebo turned her attention back to Gwenyre. “Alright, time for your intake.” She hiked up her dress, stepping over the newly dirty floor (though a little more dirt couldn’t have possibly hurt her already mangled shift), and led Gwenyre out another door into a hallway.

  The hallway was large, with several wooden doors lining either side. It was clear, however, that this was not a main section of the house, at least not for the high-class visitors. Each door was made of a cheap wood, adorned with several nicks, dents, and scuffs indicating that foot traffic frequented this way. Norethebo led her to one particular door just a few paces away from the kitchens, opening it without flourish.

  Inside was a dingy table and two chairs – nothing else. The room was dark, with the only source of light coming from a very fogged up lantern. Norethebo motioned her to a chair but did not follow. “Sit and wait. Someone will be joining you shortly for your intake interview. Then I’ll come back later to finish the tour, and you can start your work just after midday.” Without another word, the half-troll waddled out to vacate the room, closing the door behind her and leaving Gwenyre alone in the shadow.

  6 MEETING THE HIGH MASTER

  Gwenyre waited alone in the room for just a few minutes, but it felt like hours. There was a leak coming from the corner ceiling, dropping water onto the floor every few seconds like clockwork. Drip. Drip. Drip. The water plunked on the ground, and Gwenyre felt each drop burning into her brain while she waited.