Author's Notes: My apologies for the long wait, people. Hopefully we'll be able to finish this ride before school starts again for me. But the good news is, the school won't start till 2 days beyond my expectations! I've got roughly a week to finish this, or at least to lay the groundwork for the story so it'll be easier to round up. And one thing I forgot to warn you: This story is a CHARACTER STUDY, so there'll be much introspection and fairly little action. I'm sorry if this disappoints you and perhaps some of you will opt out of reading it, but that's the fact and I won't buck out of it. Plus, I won't move over from scenes done in this new land till the groundwork is finished, and this all will be in the boy's point of view if I can help it. Again, my apologies for not warning you all right from the start. And here another bunch of profuse apologies too to those who have put this story on their story and favourite alerts, and especially to those who have reviewed – History and jedielfsorcerer – for putting this acknowledgement last. Trust me that you are NEITHER the least NOR the last in my mind! And with all said and done…
The Slave Boy
He is just a boy, a little nameless one at that. He is just a slave, a most unattractive one at that. But he has a big heart, an extraordinary one at that, and many other unseen weapons to boot. So the question is: Which will win over him, along the bitter path chosen for him by all too many? And when they all find out…
Chapter 4
In Subtle Ways
Rating: K+ / PG
Warnings: Background of Child Neglect and Abuse, Indirect Mention of Slavery
Word Count: 3,895
Day 14 of Spring, Year 50
Leona Lake, Leona District
The Lord seemed as implacable as ever, after all that he had done, but the newly-dubbed Murghan could not hope to imitate him, not in the foreseeable future at any rate. Even the biting chill of the late-afternoon spring breeze on his nearly-naked skin did not prevent him from grinning like a loon. He was out of the box now, and the Lord had ordered him to both clean the box and himself in the nearby lake, but he did not mind it. He was used to cold water, and the Dursleys had done worse to him than ordering him to bathe in a lake in spring anyway. This did not beat the record of being left out during a snowstorm in mid-winter with empty belly and no shelter whatsoever. His belly was not empty this time, and the wind was not so chilly as it had been during the blizzard, and the water must be way warmer than those whipping snowdrops too.
Dragging the box to the edge of the still water was somewhat a chore, since it was surprisingly rather heavy. The uneven, rocky terrain only hindered him further, but he was persistent, and with an unpleasant scraping noise of wood and stone managed to tow the box inch by inch to where rocks met water. He could not feel the Lord's eyes on him, but imagined so anyhow, and that boosted his determination. He would show the Lord that he was worth the name bestowed upon him, and he would not disappoint the Lord if he could help it. It really was a nice bonus that the exercion battled the spring chill for him on its own.
However, when he was finished cleaning the box, a problem presented itself to him: He did not know how deep the lake was! When taking water for cleaning the box with his cupped hands, he had not needed to get deeper than a few inches into it. When he had been frustrated with the small amounts he could get with just his own hands that seemed to only dirty the box even more, and thus dragged the box closer before splashing water towards it with his arms, he had not gone more than a foot into the lake, and it had indeed told him that the body of water before him was deeper than a foot! He had never gone swimming with the Dursleys and therefore never learnt to swim, and the Dursleys had never gone to any sport-like activities either save for golf, but Dudley had tried to drown him in the bath-tub once when he had been much younger and Aunt Petunia had been forced to take care of him, and he could not forget the experience. But the Lord wanted him to clean himself…
It was frustrating. He did love to play in the water, as he had found out himself when trying to put water into the box to help clean it from filths unseen, but it was absolutely no help to him when it came to put himself in the water. And unlike the box, he was acutely aware that he did need the bath. Just how would he achieve that when the water itself was his enemy?
And then the problem was solved, instantly and frighteningly to him, as a gust of strong wind knocked him from his place tittering on the edge of the lake, straight into the fathomless water. His shriek echoed in the open air and his own ears, half a moment before his body connected with the water with a big splash. But, the thing that shocked him just as much as the dunking had been, the box was suddenly round him, as if he were a rubble ball scooped up in a basket! The water only reached his neck, and it staid that way since there was barely a ripple once the lake had resettled past both violent intrusions. He could deal with it, as long as there was a solid bottom under his feet.
And what a shock it was, to blatantly see the Lord's hands holding the edges of the box! He looked up with awe at his saviour and opened his mouth, wanting to thank the Lord for everything and more. But the Lord seemed just as unruffled as usual, as if saving stupid little freaks from drowning were an everyday occurance to him, and while rising his eyebrows just said calmly, "I said clean yourself, lad, not gawk at me. Be quick about it too, or I shall send you straight to the bottom of the lake. And do not forget to get rid of that piece of rag you use as loincloth. It is never to be seen again."
Well, the threat seemed quite real, and holding the box that way must be tiring too, so Freak – no, no, Murghan – must not waste the goodwill offered to him. He therefore inhaled a breath and held it, then dunked his own head into the water and furiously scrubbed his hair and face with his hands, before resurfacing for lack of air. Getting rid of his underware on the prospect of having none to change into was rather horrifying, since he would be truly naked then; but the Lord must have already thought of it and its solution beforehand, right? So he awkwardly lowered his underware and stepped out of it, trying not to get his nose underwater meanwhile, and let the also-oversized-and-overused piece of cloth float up and away from him, farther into the lake. He attacked his own body and limbs afterwards with a furious handscrubbing, before proclaiming rather cheerfully, "Am done, Sir." The not-so-cold water had helped cheer him up, much, and he had no time to think on why it was warmer than when he had made waves to wet the box recently.
The Lord pulled the box out of the water then, to Murghan's bemusement, but it all cleared when, after the box had been perched securely back on solid land, he was handed the container of soap and ordered to lather himself with it. He had never thought nor guessed that any of the items he had chosen would be used by himself! Did it mean that the clothes would be for him also, then?
No no no no, he must not think that way, or he would be heading for a huge disappointment. He must always expect the worst and hold no hope, lest it would be used against him. He just had to enjoy himself whenever he could, as per usual, and he would be fine. Thus, remembering the Lord's order for him to be quick with his bath, and reminding himself that the threat was still as real as a few minutes ago despite him currently being perched on firm land, he hastily lathered himself with the soap, using the remaining water on his body to liquefy the surface of the thick bar. Still, he was thankful that, with his belly sated and his throat lubricated, plus his body having gained some respite, the not-so-strong babyish masculine scent of the soap no longer made him quizzy. He could only hope that he would be just as lucky with the shampoo.
Done with lathering his body and after returning the now-sleek bar of soap to its container perched diagonally on one corner of the box, he retrieved the open flask of shampoo standing precariously on the opposite corner, put a small amount of the mud-coloured goup – though thankfully fragrant enough to be considered some kind of shampoo – on top of his head, then returned the flask to its corner. The whole activity felt odd to him since he had rarely had a chance to use either cleaning agents on himself while living with the Dursleys, getting lucky only when a bar of soap had been reduced to a strip ungainly to be held in one hand or when shampoo could no longer be squeezed out of its bottle, but the Lord's order and threat made the motions swift and mechanical, disallowing any other thought or feeling to enter his mind in the process. He supposed he ought be grateful for that, since he would have dawdled and revelled in the smell and feeling of the soap and shampoo if not, instead of cleaning himself up.
He wondered why no breeze seemed to touch his wet unprotected skin after he had been pulled out of the water, briefly, but his attention was drawn away from the baffled notion when, as he was done with lathering his no-longer-so-rebellious hair, the Lord handed him yet another small wooden container – but oval-shaped this time – and instructed him to scrub the floor and bars of the box with it. Cleaning something with a soap: He was much more accustomed to this than cleaning himself. It brightened his mood, and saw him scrubbing vigorously and meticulously at the aforementioned areas with a small smile touching the edges of his lips. It helped also that the pine-needle scent of the semi-solid cleaning agent reminded him of the faint scent of the Lord's cloak, which he had been accustomed to while trailing after the Lord in that village.
The dunking this time was gentler, and as the result Murghan relaxed in the water quicker than before. He even managed to steal some time splashing round with his hands, as he rubbed the soap and shampoo off of himself and the submerged box. It was surprisingly fun! Well, the presence of solid bottom underneath his feet lent most influence on his current opinion, but he was not going to complain about anything right now, and he was going to briefly 'forget' the Lord's threat on him dawdling on his bath too.
It was rather unfortunate, really, when the box – and therefore him also – was abruptly lifted out of the water, without so much as a brief warning, after some time had passed. He could only be grateful that the Lord had not caught him red-handed playing with the wavelets he had created himself! He dared not imagine what would have happened then.
Certainly not being handed a fluffy light-green towel to dry himself, yes, he was sure of it, as he was currently experiencing. The towel was so soft and downy! And it bore the pine-needle scent that he was beginning to like too, which teased a startled smile from him. Having to dry the inside of the box with the rag once more handed to him did not let down his spirit any bit; he was just glad that he was not made to dry himself with the coarse rag, having the chance to feel a real towel for once in his life.
And then, to his absolute astonishment, he was handed the silken clothes that he had chosen before! He could not help but gawk uncomprehendingly at the garments draped oh-so-casually over the surprisingly-dry-so-quickly rim of the box. He had thought that the Lord had wanted him to choose those garments for either his son or some fortunate child in his care – never a freak.
The only thing that at last made him move was the Lord's clipped admonishment of "You are wasting my time, lad." Thinking and fearing that the previous threat was still intact, he put on the black trousers and baby-blue long T-shirt, then the baby-blue socks and the black gloves and the grey scarf and the green woolly cap as they were handed silently and mechanically by the Lord. This was feeling more and more and more and more like falling into a dreamland! He had caught glimpses and heard tales of the story of Alice in the Wonderland from the other children in the neighbourhood, yet this felt times and times better than that. Alice had not gotten new, comfy clothes but he did! Even if the clothes were going to be taken away from him later, he still got to own a set for himself for the moment, a totally new set at that. He could not – would not – complain, for certain. And what a wonderful – if slightly alien – feeling was it, to feel the soft friction of the silken garment against his body and the warmth maintained by the socks, gloves and cap! He felt like a totally-new person, a totally new being, and he loved it very much.
Murghan the neat, diligent, respectful, smart worker had a nice ring to it. Oh yes, he was going to be the best; he was going to be the best for the Lord.
It was nearly too much though, when he was ordered to step out of the door on the side of the box, and was greeted with the sight of a pair of comfy-looking black cloth boots lined on the grass on his path as if just for him. "For me?" he asked the Lord in a shaky tone, while waving a trembling hand at the boots without even trying to meet the Lord's eyes.
"Do you think my feet can fit in those?"
The still-soft-spoken, still-mild-toned response threw him off, and he could not prevent the bout of giggling that escaped his lips for a moment. Those boots were roughly his size while the Lord was a huge man!
With the problem solved in a roundabout way, he stuttered out a no and an apology between breathless giggles and quickly stepped into the boots. He even tested the new, fitting footware round the box till the Lord ordered him to take a seat on a sheet of brown pelt thrown on the grass. The feeling of wearing fitting things for once, especially at once and since those things were as luxurious both on sight and feeling as he could think of, made him feel queer and unreal, but he could not deny that he was ecstatic over the prospect of looking forward for more of this treatment, and he could not deny the fact that he felt quite warm and comfy in this new, unexpected attire either. It was what prompted him to thank the Lord as soon as his silk-covered bottom hit the pelt, uninstructed and in his sincerest manner yet.
His profuse gratitude got no verbal response, not even a grunt, but he did not mind. The Lord was sitting cross-legged on another length of pelt thrown on the grass opposite him as though they were equals, and it felt both marvellous and astonishing, and Murghan somehow loved it – or the idea of equality, he did not know – and he thought that it might be the Lord's way of acknowledging his thanks.
He got more convinced of it a moment later. The Lord got out a wooden bowl and spoon from inside the brown leather pack then something from a pouch belted to his left, then somehow made water appear inside the bowl before sprinkling the something from the pouch into it and stirring it with the wooden spoon. And then, with the water in the bowl somehow steaming and spreading a delicious aroma, he handed it to him! But what for? He had eaten before. Sure, the aroma of the strange broth before him made his mouth water and got his belly rumbling again, but he had already eaten those two pieces of bread before the Lord got him a bath!
He told the Lord just that, tentatively, but what he got was only: "Better your speech, lad. I shall not suffer an unlearnt child under my roof."
And, 'smartly' and promptly, Murghan's reply was only: "Wha?"
The Lord let out a sigh, got out a wooden plate from the pack, put it on the grass, put the bowl on top of it, then fished out what looked like a child-sized napkin also from the pack, before he deigned to elaborate, with an irritated tinge in his for-once-not-so-placid tone of voice. "Improve your… the way you are speaking. Make your words heard clearly, and use the right structure. It ought to have been 'I have eaten just now,' not 'I eat jus' now.'" And meanwhile, blasély and crisply, he fixed the napkin round Murghan's front collar, before once more handing him the still-steaming bowl. All the while, the chastised child, gaping with a gobsmacked expression on his face, sat rigidly in a mimicry of the Lord's posture, shocked and disbelieving of the Lord's treatment on him. This was really, really, really, really way beyond what he had gotten while living with the Dursleys!
Only the Lord's sharp glance at the bowl in his hands got him to close his mouth and look down at the heavy thing supported by his trembling glove-clad appendages. But really, he needed to get at least one of the questions bubbling dangerously to overflowing level out from his system, or else the dam would break and all the questions would come out. "You not going to eat too, Sir?" He made sure that his words were pronounced clearly, and that his grammar was good, but it was hard given that he had rarely spoken before he had landed in this strange place. The amount of conversation between him and the Lord would have been equal to his 'conversation' with them for a week! Reading something in a book and practising what he had read were two different matters, he was finding out to his shame and chagrin.
The Lord's thin lips pressed together until it was hard to detect if they existed at all. Annoyance and what might be discomfort flickered in a flash past his countenance, disturbing his calm mask a little, but he seemed back to his unruffled self when he spoke. "Eat now. I do not wish to be here until sundown." But he did get out another bowl and spoon from the pack and poured half of the broth from Murghan's own bowl into it, lightening the load in Murghan's hands considerably and thus enabling him to spoon the liquid with one hand while supporting the bowl against his napkin-protected chest with the other.
Perfect.
It got even more perfect, unbelieveably, when, after finishing the broth with nonexistent spilling and taking a few sips from the water-pouch, he was ordered to chew a couple of leaves that tasted leafy and minty and freshened his mouth wonderfully, before he was ushered back to the box. The Lord's red cloak was inside it, layering the floor of the box nicely and leaving much to act as a blanket if wished, with a pillow made up of rolled leather on top of it! Was it really for him? But he could not deny it when, with a nudge on his bum, he was sent sprawling into the box and right on top of the cloak. Another nudge saw his legs being retracted almost fully into the box and the cozy nest the folded cloak and rolled-up leather had created, and he got to retract his feet close to his body after the Lord had tugged the brand-new boots off of him anyhow. And for the first time in his current memory, he felt how it felt to be bundled for bed, as he was nudged here and there till his head rested comfortably on the rolled-up leather, before the folded-up cloak was wrapped cosily-but-securely round him and the woollen cap and scarf were refixed for more comfort and warmth.
The top lid and side door of the box were locked shut then, but Murghan never felt better and more secure in his life as far as he remembered, as the wet-pine-like scent from the cloak surrounded him as thickly as its warmth, and the box rocked gently back and forth alongside the gentle crunching of a pair of large boots nearby, and the nature all round was preparing for the evening-to-come. He was clean, he was smelling of soap and shampoo even, he was warm and even cozy, and he was cared for and well-fed too for once in his life, and it all because he had been spirited away from the Dursleys. He could ignore the scary Aliens, the human-sellers, even the fact that he had been sold to the Lord just this morning, if only he could experience something like this as often as it might be.
And perhaps, he ought to thank the necklace – Harry's necklace – for that? After all, it might have gotten him here, wherever this was. Perhaps it was what Harry's mum had meant when she had said that the necklace would protect Harry. He felt like a usurper and dapelganger now; but really, he did not know where Harry was, so he could not have returned the necklace and letter to the other boy, could he? Plus, he could have made use almost anything and everything to escape the Dursleys, come to think of it again, now that he had tasted how it possibly should have been had he been raised even marginally decent. He was finding it intoxicating and addicting, having somebody take care of him, even if the said someone was also his owner.
Back, forth, back, forth, back, forth… His thumb mirrored the lulling motions of the rocking box, gently tracing the carving on the oval plate of the pendant back and forth, back and forth, back and forth… He did not need to see the carving anymore; he had memorized the image captured on the embossed metal, right from the very first time that he had beheld it that long time ago – or so it felt – under the weak illumination of the cheap lightbulb in the cupboard under the stairs: a sword and what might be a staff crossed on the middle and superimposed by an oval shield on the crossing point, done on an earthy light-brown background, with an open book placed beneath a closed one on the left quarter, a blooming white rose on the top quarter, an open hand with a blazing flame on its palm on the right, and another hand clutching – or perhaps shaping – a lump of dirt on the bottom. The image had been bewildering to him, and still was, but the sight and memory of it somehow comforted him; and perhaps later he could ask the Lord of what those symbols meant? The pendant had been done quite beautifully and with astonishing detail anyhow, a good model for drawing, and he would have to see if he could practise his drawing with it, maybe on a bit of mud or sand?
But now he was terribly sleepy, and he would rather enjoy the present, so he settled with simply holding the pendant, and drifted into sleep even as he felt an invisible cocoon encasing him just as thoroughly and warmly as the cloak, spreading out from the pendant in his hand. He did not know all the subtle things that the Lord had done for him and to him, had realised just a few like the insistence for him to eat and take a bath, but he trusted the Lord even on that small evidence of care, and he was not going to fret on where the Lord was bringing him to. There had never been use for fretting in his life and he did not know how to begin doing so, all the same.