The next day Freak was awoken by a rooster crowing. For a long indrawn breath Freak's confused brain tried to figure out how a rooster got into Privet Drive. Then, unfortunately, he turned over on to his back, and the stabbing agony woke him up fully.

So, Freak thought, not a dream then.

In the new days light, and no longer with the fuzzy head, Freak looked around his room. It wasn't much, a small single bed, with a surprisingly thick mattress and bright red blanket and navy pillow, and a plain wooden chest with two draws and a shelf in-between them. A broken tarnished silver mirror sat on the grey stone wall over the small basin on the chest, and the old style window completed the room. There was no overhead light, and Freak vaguely recalled candles lighting the dim interior when he stumbled upstairs. So probably no electricity. Freak checked each of the draws. There was a collection of clean long sleeve loose shirts, approximate sizes ranging from for a child Freak's age to grown man, and matching sized trousers with string drawn waists. There was also a range of sleeveless long leather vests. Nothing had button, everything was laced. Freak found a range of leather boots and matching black belts on the shelf, all well worn. Clearly, he is not the first to wear these clothes. But unlike at the Dursleys, the second hand clothes were not as wide as they are long. The rest of the bottom draw is what Freak thought might be pants, which, lacking stretch, were like small shorts. Freak spent time slowly, careful of the still painful welts on his back, changing the bandages, rising down with the last of the water, re-bandageing with clean white fabric and picking clothes to put on a outfit. He felt a little like he was playing make-believe, but at the same time the clothes were soft and fit better then anything he could remember wearing before. As there was no where else to look, and Freak wasn't quiet ready yet to face outside the room, Freak looked under the bed. There was a small wooden box, which he removed and opened.

Inside was a black journal, a needle and a length of cotton thread, a small hand mirror, two half broken quills and a bottle of deep green ink. Freak sat back and opened the book. Only the first quarter of the pages or so had writing in them. Although he felt a little bit like he shouldn't, like it might be private, Freak opened the cover. The first few pages were ripped out, only a few bits of cream paper sticking from the bidding. The first full page was covered in small careful lettering. The middle of the pages was a slightly off brown colour.

Day 12
I found this book in Manannan's trash this morning. From the smell I can guess he spilt roast dripping on it. He is careless and wasteful. I hate him so much. Perhaps even more then my drunk of a father. When he sent me to Manannan to pay his debts had dreamed a first of freedom form out of his fists. But I have traded one prison for another. Once I was Rowan Marshal, second son of William Marshal, Earl of Land's End. Now I am Gwydion, slave to the dark wizard Manannan. I am fearful that it is all I only ever amount to. I've also tried to learn to mark my location by the stars, in the hope I may be able to make my way home, but the learning of my youth are sadly dim now.
Manannan will return soon, and I must hide this. If he catches anything on me the price will be my life. However, this book shall be my record of my discoveries, for as I spend more time here I feel an ever growing dread. This wizard has ill plans for me.

Day 15
Today I stepped off Manannan's mountain for the first time since my arrival. Though he would kill me without hesitation if he knew, my only regret is that I waited so long. What I have learned this day alone! The townspeople are not the wretched creatures I've been led to believe; only the outcast ruffians are to be avoided. They all fear my master and have spent their lives in the coldness of his shadow. I went to visit Francis at the Tavern, but cowardice and uncertainty stopped me from announcing my presences. I fear he will report my sins to Manannan, if only to maintain his contract with the wizard. As he is the only one who has seen me, I'm not worried about the rest of the townsfolk. One could be mistaken for an angel, for the lovely Rose can be not other being, with hair of spun…

As Freak was about to turn the page, a loud slam sounded close by, and and voice screamed, "Boy! Get my breakfast ready!" Freak pushed the book and box quickly back under the bed and scrambled out the room. He didn't know where the kitchen was, but the grumbling was coming from downstairs so he raced there. He moved into he doorway of a large dinning hall. It was a large barely furnished room, with a single large long table and matching bench seats, and a sideboard over which a large stags head was mounted. A square iron with 4 brightly glowing lamps hung from the ceiling. The wizard, Freak's new Master, sat impenitently drumming his long boney fingers on the table. Spotting Freak he shouted again, "Why are you not WORKING, boy?" the wizard sneered. Freak mumbled a faint reply.

"Get me my breakfast! NOW! And the kitchen floor is FLITHY!" Manannan grumbled. Manannan's hand sweep in the direction of the doorway behind him. Freak hurried past and into what was clearly a kitchen, but not like any he had ever seen before. Quickly, he grabbed the bread and cheese from the long bench and took them out to Manannan.
"Here, Master, forgive me for being slow."

Manannan snatched the offerings and sneered at Freak while greedily shoving them in his mouth. Freak had a moment of surreal humour, he was in a strange world and his master was a wizard, and nothing had really changed at all! In only moments the food was gone, and Manannan stood back up.

"I'll be in my tower Gwydion. I expect the kitchen cleaned, the study dusted and my chamber pot empty and dinner made. Do not disturb me."

"Yes Master." Freak watched the wizard storm out of the room and trembled, remembering the punishment from last night. But was that really the full extent of the chores? Petunia would expect that amount done before breakfast! And here he had all day! And he could do anything else with his time.

Maybe, maybe this place wasn't as bad as he feared.

Freak completed his chores before lunch. It had taken him some time to realises there was a almost hidden door at the back of the kitchen which lead to a small wash room, and from there out into the back court yard. It was here that Freak found a small spout, which constantly ran. There was no tap to turn it off, but its metallic taste hinted that it might be natural spring of some kind. The water was very cold, but it, with a small amount of soap he found in the wash room, was enough to wash the kitchen floor with. Although he hadn't been told to, Freak also did the dinner halls floor, and wiped down the table. He had then found the study, and dusted with a small damp rag. The study was full of old leather bound books, and Freak wondered if he was allowed to read them. He didn't linger, until he was sure either way he wouldn't take the chance. On the second floor, the room that wasn't his was clearly Master's. It was a large room, dominated by a large four posted bed. The bed was draped in purple velvet curtains and spread. On the floor a large purple red and navy woolen rug softened the wooden floor. There was also a small table with a polished silver mirror, a large closet fashioned of ornately carved mahogany, and a side board made in a similar carved style with bright golden knobs and a basin and water jug. A tabard of navy, red and purple vertical strips hung on the wall. The chamber pot turned out to be a grey ceramic pot, from which a foul smell emanated. Once Freak realised what it was, emptying it was as humiliating as anything the Dursley's had ever asked of him. He missed fiercely the convenience of the bathroom at number 4 (it was the only thing he missed) and emptying the chamber pot made him almost vomit. And he was used to cleaning Dudley's room! Freak had no doubts that outside of the wizard himself, his chamber pots are the worse thing he had to deal with.

Freak had stood awkwardly in the wash room after washing his hands three times, and realised he had finished all the chores, and it wasn't even lunch. Master hadn't asked for any lunch, but also hadn't said Freak couldn't have any. Just in case, Freak explored the kitchen.

So far, Freak liked the kitchen the best. It was homely, and Freak was already on the way to considered it his as few things were. The far wall was dominated by a giant stone fireplace, big enough for Freak to walk into if he needed. The fire place had been empty on the day he arrived, but Freak could image that it would warm the room pleasantly. When it got too hot, Freak could open the large windows down most of northern side, but at night the fire would mean he wasn't shivering in his thin shirt and leggings. Pots and pans were stacked high on shelves next to the fire, and on the window side, a long preparation bench sat bathed in sunlight. It may be one of the reasons he liked this room so much, unlike much of the rest of the Keep, and his cupboard from Before, the kitchen was full of bright light. For water he had to use the spring in the small courtyard outside, but he found a bucket he could fill and sit it under the bench for quick cleaning as needed. The opposite wall was covered in large shelves full of staples like bags of flour and rice, bricks of butter, cabbage, beets, onions, garlic and carrots, bags of chickpeas, fava beans and peas. A small box of apples, pears, plums, and strawberries were hidden behind a large bag of barley. Freak also found small jars of preserved figs and dates, and an even smaller pot of cloudy honey. There were tiny pots and glass vials with cork stoppers full of spices like pepper and turmic and even sugar (which Freak had thought wasn't a spice, but then there was so little and it was very dirty and rough). On the shelves were also sparkly white plates and bowls of fine porcelain and a few in rough brown clay. Large barrels of wine, vinegar and oil were stacked by the door. From the high ceiling hung bunches of herbs, giving the room an earthy mix of fragrance.

Freak had sliced 4 pieces of bread and cheese, and put together two simple sandwiches. By then the sun had moved far enough that it had to be far past lunch, and as Master hadn't asked for it yet, Freak figured he was safe to eat both. The cheese was bitingly sharp, and bread slightly hard. To Freak, it was delicious.

After that he read the journal he had found that that morning in the safety of his room. Freak had never liked to read much before. He much rather being outside and doing, then sitting and reading. But here there was very little to do outside, except watch the chicken peck at the ground. His dislike of reading could have partially been due to the fact he hated being confined, just like when he was locked in his cupboard, and partially due to the fact he had had to teach himself to read from the overheard lessons while Petunia tried again and again to teach Dudley. He could read enough to make it passable, but the journal was handwritten in a loopy script and Rowan liked to use big words. So at the start it was hard work, every tenth word or so he had to sound out (and he was extremely thankful when he found a dictionary on the shelves in the study). The writer, Rowan, had refused to call himself a slave, instead called himself a 'Gwydion'. Rowan had come to Master Manannan somewhat willingly, having been sent out by his family, after his father, the Earl of Lands End had fallen into debt. But he wasn't use to being a slave, and so from the start was rebellious. He had made numerous trips into town, and there had fallen deeply in love with the shop keepers daughter (although, from what Freak could tell, he never actually spoke to her), and dreamed about running away with her. A few times he had been caught outside the Keep, and was immediately transported back and punished, but such insistences became less and less once he realised that the old wizard was extremely predictable.

Rowan had reported of that a the man who delivered the weekly food ratio was called Francis, and from him learned that Rowan learned he was the third Gwydion. The others had been killed by the wizard for rule breaking, such as stealing. Not daunted at all, Rowan had managed to steal and then sell some of the silverware to bandits in town.

On that note, Freak had closed the journal and headed downstairs to make dinner. He still hadn't figured out the fire, so he handed over a simple sandwich of bread, cheese, and salted ham. Master grunted, but hadn't complained, so Freak took that as an acceptable.

It had gotten dark quickly, but Freak had watched in amazement when the candles around the Keep had light themselves when he walked up to his room again. His room didn't have any candles, and the starlight that filtered in the window was too dim to read by, so he had gone to bed early. He would wake with the sun the next day.