Tori and Cathy took over the job of cutting the Barian boy's hair. When the prospect of a haircut came up, they absolutely insisted. "We're then only women on this ship," Tori had said, "And we can't trust you men to cut hair without doing something horrible." So, Lord Kay had forked over the scissors over to them and they quickly went to work. The boy had put his shirt on and was sitting, fully dressed, on a stool while Tori and Cathy examined him and murmured to themselves. It was very disconcerting.
The slave sat tensely, his shoulders hunched over, waiting to see what would happen. He'd never been fully groomed before- at least that he would allow himself to remember- and it made him nervous. Snip, snip, snip. The noise startled him to the point that he almost jumped up from the stool. Gripping his seat, he managed to stay put while the green-haired girl- Miss Tori- went to work. She trimmed his hair expertly, eliminating the shagginess it had taken on within three weeks on board the slave ship. Cathy consulted her, asking about various spots and if it would look better with such and such, and so on, until they finally stepped back and admired their work.
Nodding her approval, Cathy handed the boy a mirror and asked him what he thought about it. Studying his reflection, the slave suddenly felt very strange. It had been months since h's last seen himself in a looking glass, and at first glance he didn't appear all that different. However, there was a subtle difference in his face- a gaunt, haunted look made all the more prominent by his hollowed eyes. The slave glanced over at his master, who had stayed and watched the whole affair with interest. He didn't dare respond the gray-haired girl's question without his master's approval.
"Does it please you, Master?" He asked, hesitantly reaching up to touch the tips of his hair. His head felt much lighter without the weight of the dirt, tangles, and dishevelment gone.
"You look a lot better," Yuma told him, not sure what else to say. The slave bowed his head again.
"Thank you, Master. And, thank you, M'lady." He handed the mirror back to Cat, who blushed, not used to being addressed so respectfully.
The friends had already decided that the new boy- they still had no idea what to call him- should spend his time helping them with their various tasks. "You have to make sure he's doing something," Kazuma had told them. "Otherwise, he'll feel like he's being useless, and who knows what he might do then." This arrangement also gave Yuma the opportunity to practice what Lord Kay had suggested at breakfast.
"This is Bronk," he told the boy, introducing him. "He works in the galley making food for us, just like his mom does at the palace. I want you to help him make lunch. Do whatever he needs you to, okay?"
"Yes, Master," the slave answered automatically. "And another thing," Yuma said, "Don't call me master. Just call me-" he was about to say Yuma, but remembering how effective that had been before, he said, "Call me your Highness."
"Yes M-your Highness," the boy corrected himself quickly.
"Good." The slave felt a rush of satisfaction at this praise from his master. Why he wouldn't want to be called by his proper title, the slave had no idea, but he wasn't stupid enough to question direct orders.
The one called Bronk took him down to the galley, a small and pleasant kitchen that smelled of many different spices. The slave breathed deeply, enjoying it for a brief moment before he caught himself. Enjoyment of any kind was forbidden to slaves, unless they were told to enjoy something by their masters. He flinched, expecting a blow, but Bronk didn't seem to have noticed the infraction.
"We're going to make soup for lunch today," he started. The slave nodded, knowing that lunch was the Heartlandish word for dinner. Bronk studied his stocked shelves, trying to make up his mind about ingredients. "Noodles," he said at last. "We'll make a spicy noodle soup." He began to take things down and assemble his supplies, choosing between various spices and vegetables. "We have to use these now, while they're still fresh," Bronk explained as he pulled out carrots and celery. "After a few days at sea, they'll start to spoil. Here, wash these and cut them into small, bite-size pieces. Make sure to cut off the ends; they're not good for eating. You can use the running water," he reached over and turned on a faucet, which that slave had noticed and wondered about. Clear water poured out of it and into a basin. "Another one of Lord Kay's inventions. I assume he told you about the hot water bath?"
The slave nodded, staring transfixed at the stream and fresh water coming from somewhere inside the massive ship. Slowly, he reached out and placed his hand under it, letting the cool liquid flow over his fingers. He was so mesmerized by it that a clatter next to him made him jump. He turned back towards Bronk to see that the black-haired boy had had dropped a knife and was reaching to get it.
"This is a good knife for cutting vegetables," he said, handing it to the slave. "And I know the running water is fascinating, but don't use too much. We have a limited supply."
The slave's reaction was instantaneous. He shrank back and fell to his knees, trembling. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I'm sorry. I was foolish. Please, please have mercy on me."
Bronk was aghast. He had never imagined that someone could be so terrified by a simple reprimand. "Uh…um…that's alright. It's no big deal," he said hastily, reaching out to shut off the faucet. "Just get up and help me with the vegetables. Don't worry about it. Really."
The slave scrambled to his feet, almost disbelieving Bronk's words that he wasn't going to be punished. Chironex would have started beating him the moment he'd realized the boy was wasting water. He reached for a carrot and began his task, sparing the water as much as possible as he washed it. He didn't know what his master's friend would do to him if he thought he was still wasting it.
Yuma was anxious for lunchtime- well, to be fair, Yuma was always anxious for a meal- but he was especially impatient today because he wanted to see how Bronk and the Barian were getting along. He pushed open the door of the kitchen to find Bronk putting things away and the boy setting the table. "Wow, that smells delicious, Bronk. I can't wait to taste it."
Bronk was about to make a comment about how Yuma had better not touch the soup until everybody arrived, but both boys had suddenly noticed the Barian boy had fallen to his knees and was pressing his forehead to the floor. "You have to do something, Yuma. He's been doing that all morning. It's been driving me nuts."
"What do you want me to do?" Yuma asked, exasperated. "I hate just ordering him around." Nevertheless, he had to admit that that method did seem to work the best, and the idea of the boy constantly falling to his knees was even more appalling. "Hey," Yuma called to him, feeling incredibly awkward without a name to address him by, "Why are you doing that?"
"Doing what, Mas- your Highness?" the boy asked, a note of panic in his voice.
"Kneeling on the floor."
"Because you entered the room, your Highness. You are my master; I must show you proper respect." The slave could not imagine why else his owner would have asked this question unless it was a test of some kind. Chironex had done that sort of thing often, and if the answer was wrong, a whip would be used to engrain the correct response on the slave's mind.
However, to the slave's shock, his new master's only response was, "Well, I want you to stop doing it."
"St-stop?" The slave was so stunned he voiced his surprise before he could stop himself. "F-f-for-forgive me, Master, I did not mean to question you; I- I was out of place, pl-please-" Yuma hurried forward, intent on assuaging the terrified boy's fear, but all he accomplished was causing the boy to cringe and flinch away violently, expecting the Prince to strike him.
Slowing down, Yuma knelt down next to him and grasped his shoulders firmly. "Listen to me. I don't want you to call me master, and I don't want you to kneel down every time I enter the room. If you forget, I won't hurt you. I promise. Alright?" When the boy didn't answer, he tried, "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yes, M-your Highness, but-" he hesitated.
"Go ahead. I want you to ask me questions if you have them."
The slave swallowed and pulled himself together. "Your Highness, I am just a slave, a piece of your property, and yet you do not require any of the behavior that is normal for someone of my station. Why?" He immediately flinched, used to such impudence being severely chastised, but his master only sighed.
"I know that you might find this hard to believe, but I don't want you to act like my slave. I don't see you that way."
The slave's mind reeled at this statement. Not act like a slave? Not be seen as a slave? But that was all was. That was all he deserved to be. How could his master say such a thing? He doesn't know what you are, a tiny voice deep inside him whispered. He doesn't know what you did… The slave slammed the door on the flood of memories that tried to barrage him. He was a slave; he had to act as such or suffer the consequences. And slaves were never, under any circumstances, to contradict their masters.
"Yes, Master." Yuma felt like he'd been hit in the stomach when the boy uttered those words. He looked up at Bronk helplessly. It appeared that they were back at square one. "You can finish setting the table," Yuma said finally, getting to his feet. The boy hastened to obey, and Bronk went back to his soup, feeling just as helpless as his friend.
A few seconds later, Tori, Cathy, Flip, and Caswell were coming through the door, exclaiming over how good the stew smelled, how hard their morning chores had been that day, and how hungry they were. Bronk began serving them, relieved to have a normal task to focus on, but Yuma watched the Barian closely as his other friends arrived. Finished with the table, the purplette slipped quietly over to a corner and knelt down, keeping his eyes trained on the ground.
Remembering something that his grandmother and Master Roku were fond of telling him- actions speak louder than words- the Tsukamonian Prince walked over and gripped the boy by the arm. "I meant what I said," he whispered. "Come over here with us." He pulled the boy to his feet and guided him over to the table. "Sit down," he said firmly. Not wanting to anger his master, the slave quickly did as he was told. "Give him some soup, Bronk. I'll be right back."
Normally, the table in Bronk's small galley seated six people, just enough room for Yuma and his friends to have their midday meals together. Usually, Bronk, Yuma, and Tori sat on one side, and Cathy, Caswell, and Flip sat on the other. Now that the Barian had taken Yuma's spot between Bronk and Tori, the Prince would have to find some other seating arrangement.
He came back rather quickly, carrying a large box with him. He set it upside down at the head of the table and took his seat, his mouth already watering from the delicious smell that had spread around the room. "Man, I'm starved!" he exclaimed, and the others had to agree with him.
They soon realized, however, that they didn't really know what it meant to be starved. When he had been assured that he could eat, the slave dug in, hunching protectively over his bowl, as though he feared it would be taken away from him. He ate quickly but quietly (something Yuma had never known was possible) and soon his bowl was empty. Bronk refilled it for him, assuring him that, since he had helped make it, he deserved the first second helping. Besides, no one else had much of an appetite, considering what the boy must have lived through, to be as timid and scared as he was now. It seemed as though Caswell's "untraining" theory wasn't as cut-and-dry as it seemed.
Next time on A Tale of Two Slaves: The Tsukamonian travelers finally come up with a name for their new acquaintance.
