Chapter 6: A bit of Elbow Grease
The next day Bo woke up a half hour earlier than usual, feeling stiff. It wasn't until he saw the bruises that he recalled what had happened to make him so sore. Getting up slowly, the teen tried to use his spare time to run through the exercises that Alexander had demanded he do daily. Will woke up halfway through these and laughed at the amusing callisthenics, causing Bo to become so embarrassed that he promptly gave up exercising for the day. On the way to breakfast, the dark skinned teen eagerly looked over the heads of the other slaves, wondering where Allie was, but she never appeared. Bo wished he'd thought to find out her schedule so that he could ask what had happened to her, but as he hadn't, he could only spend the day wondering where she'd gotten to. Will accosted Bo over breakfast about his fresh batch of bruises, demanding to know if Aaron had beaten him up again, but Bo hurriedly assured his friend that no such altercation had arisen, and that he had been caught in the kitchen eating an apple by an enraged cook. He went into some detail, describing how she had chased him around with a broom, and ultimately caught him a ringer across the head. This caused Will no end of amusement, but he was sympathetic, advising Bo that on the slaves' holiday the cooks were always more wary, and that if he thought to plunder food from the kitchen that it was best done while on cleaning duty there. Bo had mumbled his thanks for the advice into his gruel, wishing he had bread or pickles instead.
The day progressed much like any other day. Bo had duties in the laundry that dragged out longer than they should, due to the day being rainy. His hatred of the laundry only grew, and with it a dislike for the women who worked there. They were mostly large, ham handed people who saw the slaves as little more than animals, and were well pleased to work the brassers right through lunch time without pause. One woman in particular, not as old as the rest of them, and a lot more energetic, took a particular dislike to Bo. She just didn't seem to like the look of him, and as soon as she was able, the young woman took it upon herself to criticise his every effort. Many of the other slaves shifted away from Bo, in case the ill-favour rubbed off on them, leaving the teen alone to face the wrath of the washerwoman. A lot of muddied clothes came in for washing, and many of them were too delicate to be done all at once, requiring special care. By the time Bo made it to the armoury the sun was already setting. Alexander raised an eyebrow but said nothing of the late hour, and Bo got to work polishing weapons. Unfortunately he barely managed to get through half the pile before he was forced to return to the slave area, or be locked out.
The next day was much the same, as Bo had been moved to the weekly rosters, now that he had been given an introduction to each of his duties, which meant that he was facing a week of laundry duty. What made it worse was that Johan had a week of mucking out animal pens, so they couldn't even talk and joke over their work. Bo was quickly shifted nearer to the gaggle of washerwomen, so that he could be criticised while they remained seated in a more comfortable position. As the teen washed and scraped and beat the clothes, he listened to their conversation, as they were a good source of gossip if nothing else. It was only when the older women started to chat and giggle about Alexander like lovestruck maids that Bo stopped trying to hear what they had to say. After that he had tried his very best to ignore the raucous conversation as it was too horrible to imagine any of them and the weapons master spending time together. Surely they were too old for such shenanigans? He asked himself, but he didn't really want to find out the answer.
There were a number of other slaves, all of them brassers, that were also working in the laundry. Bo could tell which ones had come in at the same time as him, because their hair was only just starting to grow back, like his own. At around lunchtime on the second day, the washerwomen seemed to forget about Bo, and the teen hastily made his escape, slipping away to a far corner of the laundry where he could talk to his fellows and work without being forced to clean and re-clean the same garments over and over again until they were just right. He quickly got to know his fellows by sight, and one or two of them by name. Again the slaves were worked hard, going without lunch, and continuing at full pace well into the afternoon. By the time it was over Bo was too hungry and it was too late to visit the armoury. He felt unreasonable guilt creeping over him at not going to do polishing, but then he was too weary to pick up his feet properly as he walked. He joined his latest friends and acquaintances in the mess hall for dinner, but for the life of him, he couldn't recall sitting at a table or even finishing a whole serving of the gruel. Shuffling back to his quarters, trying to hold back the yawns that threatened to crack his jaw, Bo briefly took note that Will and Johan were still away. He had no energy to ponder on this, however, and Bo practically fell into his bed as soon as he'd set it on the ground, sinking into a heavy slumber.
The next morning Bo woke half an hour early again, but with an irritated groan he rolled over and went back to sleep. He was roused a second time by Will gently shaking him.
'Wow they're really working you hard this week? Mister Alexander was wondering where you had gotten to, but don't worry, I told him you've been busy at the laundry.' Will laughed at Bo's half drowsy, half confused expression. 'Alexander complained that he should be allowed a slave to polish weapons if those laundry women had them for helping with clothes, but he knows you have to do what you're told' Bo continued to stare at his friend groggily. He wondered why Alexander had been talking to Will in the first place, but his white haired friend didn't seem inclined to explain without prompting.
'What?' Bo asked dumbly. Will stuck out his pale tongue cheekily,
'You think I didn't wonder where you were running off to every day? I'm supposed to take care of you.' The silver collared slave was disgustingly talkative for such an early hour. Still chatting away he hauled Bo up to his feet and helped him stow his bedroll. The dark skinned teen was still extremely tired, but his stomach reminded him that it was time to do some eating. He couldn't remember walking to the refectory, but Will assured him he looked dead on his feet (as many of the new brassers did) and it had involved much yawning and grumbling. Again Bo didn't even taste his gruel, which was more a blessing than anything. Idly, he wondered if it was because he was getting used to the fare, or if it was merely because he was extremely hungry. It was only after he'd cleaned out his bowl that he thought to look for Allie. Glancing around at the large body of slaves who were still eating, he couldn't see her. It wouldn't have been difficult, however, to lose one face among hundreds and Bo cursed himself for not remembering her on the walk from the slave quarters. His gut churned uncomfortably, either from worry about his not-really-a-friend, or from eating his horrible breakfast too fast. As he got up, however, Bo saw the silver collar girl who Allie had been assigned to. He hurried over to her.
'Excuse me!' The girl gave him a disgusted look, of the kind that Bo employed only for his gruel. Without waiting for her to tell him to 'shove off', the teen continued, 'I was wondering what happened to that girl brasser what you were showing the ropes?' The silver collar girl sneered,
'I don't know! Why should I care?'
'It's just - she's sort of gone missing, and I wondered if you knew where she was?' asked Bo, ignoring the looks he was getting from those sitting nearby. He could feel a blush rising in his face at the unwelcome attention, but his curiosity and a sense of duty prevented him from fleeing before he could dig up as much information as possible.
'Slaves go missing often enough. Sometimes they catches the eye of one of the nobles. sometimes they kill themselves. Although I doubt she would have caught anyone's eye, unless they were very desperate.' She looked at Bo pointedly. Feeling that he was going to get nothing helpful from the girl Bo smiled sourly,
'Well thanks anyway.' he said courteously before fleeing. He was so anxious to leave the dining hall that he almost forgot to hand in his empty bowl.
At the laundry it was just as busy as the day before. Bo despaired of both having lunch, and being able to visit the armoury agai
n, although he couldn't help being amused that Alexander was complaining after only one day of having to do the polishing himself. Just after the long mournful horn call for lunch time, the weapon master himself appeared, weaving his way through the large washing barrels and the ever glowing stoves that were used to heat water at all times of the day. He carried on his back two burlap sacks and was greeted a little too warmly by one of the washing women.
'Ho Mister Alexander!' she called, smoothing her skirts and getting up to greet him. 'You got the training clothes here fer us? You know we don't mind going out an' pickin' them up ourselves. You surely got better things ter do than ter visit us washing hags.' The woman's croaky voice was as strong as her wooden spoon, and just as often used on the slaves under her command. Every ear in the vicinity was therefore attuned to listening for her, and every word she spoke rang as clear as day in Bo's ears, despite him being quite a distance away. The washing woman grinned wickedly as Alexander set down the bags and leaned casually against the nearest tub. He had his back to Bo, and didn't speak loudly enough for the boy to hear him, so the teen's curiosity had to go unsated (although considering what he had heard from the washing women, the teen could not decide if this was a good or bad thing). A moment later the washer woman bawled out that the slaves should leave for lunch. There was a flurry of activity as the slaves gratefully fled the laundry, before she could change her mind. Bo looked back over his shoulder just before he was caught in the rush for the dining hall, in time to see the washerwoman leaning on her elbows and showing off large amounts of cleavage. The sight was almost enough to turn him off his lunch, and he hoped Alexander would be able to escape as well. Bo had to wonder if if the weapon master would be able to fight his way out of the laundry if it came down to it, or whether the washerwoman's strong arms would win out.
'Thank you for your brave sacrifice Mister Alexander! We will never forget yoooouuuuu!' howled one of the older female brassers, sending many into a fit of giggles as the slaves hurried at a dangerous pace up the stairs. The washerwoman glared up at the departing brassers, but couldn't single out the individual who had slighted her. As the group exited, and trudged through the mud toward the dining hall, Bo caught snippets of conversation coming from other new brassers like himself.
'The work load wouldn't be so bad, but Jameth didn't show up today! When I get my hands on him!' the voice faded as the speaker turned away. Bo's first thoughts were of Allie, but he told himself it was nothing more than coincidence.
Lunch was a quick affair, as the laundry group came into the mess hall after almost everyone else had left. The group managed to finish their lunches in good time, and quickly headed back to the laundry, despite many a grumble. By the time they arrived Alexander was gone and the washerwomen were back to their grumpy selves.
'They've eaten him' claimed one teen miserably. Bo doubted this was true, but couldn't help glancing at the women to see if they looked any more bloated than usual. The rest of the day progressed at a slow and arduous pace, finishing well after the sun had started to set. Despite the late hour, Bo hurried over to the armoury, determined to get some work done, and hoping Will would be able to let him in if he got locked out.
Strangely Alexander wasn't there when Bo quietly pushed open the heavy wooden doors and entered the familiar area. It was unusually cool, but still afforded greater warmth than outside. It also had a layer of fresh hay on the floor, giving it the smell of a clean barn. In the regular place there was a pile of weapons and the polishing equipment. Half had already been polished and half had not. Not thinking clearly through a haze of tiredness, Bo wandered over and began to polish. It was only on his second or third weapon that he realised, with a thrill of horror, that Alexander hadn't first given his permission. The teen froze up, but nothing had happened so far, and it didn't feel like anything was going to happen. Settling down again, feeling understandably confused, Bo decided that it must be because Alexander had given permission once, but he'd never revoked his permission. Surely that was dangerous, to allow Bo to handle the weapons and never to revoke that permission? What if he picked up a weapon with intent to injure. Would his collar kick in then? The teen continued to muse on his new found freedom while polishing. He didn't get as much done as he would have liked before being forced to stumble tiredly back to the slave quarters, simply because if he did not leave he would have fallen asleep where he sat. He didn't see Alexander at all during that time.
Bo arrived back at the room at the same time as Will who seemed to be in an unusually bad mood.
'I can't wait until those damn curst desert mages go back to their own city, which is so clearly better than ours in every way.' he grumbled. 'They haven't stopped complaining about the weather since the first cloud drifted overhead. They claim the food is making them uneasy in the stomach, and that the peace talks are an outrageous farce. What's worse is that they cut into my time. My time! With all this useless chitter chatter.' Will scowled. 'Next time one of 'em starts yapping in my ear I swear I'm gonna tell 'em where ter shove that great city of theirs.' Bo was too tired to laugh at Will's outrage at being forced to work a full day.
'wouldn't it be great to hear about distant places?' murmured Bo, thinking of the wonderful stories the desert people must have of their home town. Will gave him a scathing look but said little in return. As everyone else was already drifting off to sleep, they put down their bedrolls as quietly as possible.
'Hey Will, have you heard of slaves going missing?' whispered Bo. The expression on Will's face was inscrutable, and half hidden in shadows. He didn't answer immediately, leaving the room silent but for the rain pattering down on the roof. Will spoke slowly,
'What – like ever? Sometimes slaves go -'
'No I mean recently' interrupted Bo impatiently. He struggled against sleep, listening for Will's response, but the other teen remained silent. After a moment Bo realised Will was asleep. 'Will!' He hissed in irritation, prodding the other teen with his foot. Will flopped onto his back, but didn't stir. Bo felt a stab of anxiety. Surely no one could fall so deeply asleep that quickly. There was a 'click' from the door as the lock was opened and Bo froze, trying to sink unobtrusively into a more natural 'sleeping' position.
'Just get the one nearest the door' said a bored voice, 'it hardly matters which one. Scrub away the grime and you'll find they're all much the same.' There was a grunt and the sounds of a bedroll shifting around. To his ever lasting shame, Bo stayed silent and unmoving, wishing that the unknown intruders would simply go away. He didn't try to see them, or follow them, and when they were gone, and the door had once again been locked, he stayed on his bedroll, heart in his throat for a good fifteen minutes before daring to move. Sitting up slowly and carefully, he scanned the room. His eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he quickly saw that someone was missing. Bo turned to Will, trying to shake his friend awake, but Will was unreachable. Getting up quietly, Bo carefully stepped over everyone, making his way to the door. He tried to open it but it was locked as tight as it always was. He could see no way to open it, and he couldn't use magic like Will. In desperation, Bo tried to wake up the closest slave, but like Will they were sound asleep. In the end Bo was forced to admit defeat. He walked back over to his bedroll, intending to think about what on earth could be going on, but in the end his eyelids drooped, and the teen quickly fell asleep.