And then Sara realized that with that hacker troll hanging around, everyone's going to be wary of a story with only one chapter. So she rolled dice and put up the Southsward chapter.
Here's hoping Steelfang gets her account back soon.
Maggot woke to the sound of the ratguards, opening the pen.
"Up, you lazy beasts!"
The tall rat captain's harsh voice cut the air. All around creatures sat up.
Next to Maggot, an otter, slightly elderly by her gray fur, set a pup on the ground as the captain passed, as they were supposed to. He paused, using his whip handle to rock the young one slightly.
"Mudeyes," he said slowly, savoring the cruel name for the blinded infant as it slid off his tongue.
The mother nodded once. "Yes sir," she whispered, picking it back up. It began to cry slightly.
"Nurse it."
She obeyed.
"Maggot!"
She stood with a score of others.
"You all will receive your portions. Otters will report to the rivers for fishing and dockwork! Mice to the fields, squirrels to the orchards! Moles are to serve our High King Neithgen, and our Queen, Salzara! You, badger, will go to nursery! You're to dance for the Prince and Lords children and entertain them. Hedgehogs will split between the fields and the High King."
They nodded as one with a "Yes sir!"
No one was quite sure what went into the breakfast, or "portion" as it was called. It was scraps and everything the castle cooks wanted to get rid of. Usually, it was a mix of cooked bird, vegetable peels, uneaten food from the barracks, bread crumbs, molded bread, and anything else the cooks found.
But to one who had only eaten this, there was no such thing as "Bad taste" because it was they had ever eaten.
The water came from the moat, stale and murky and cold, with a constant strange aftertaste as it went down.
Maggot ate, set her dishes in the pile and joined four other otters walking to the river. More creatures joined them as they received their jobs.
By the time they'd got to the docks, there was over three score of them. They were silent, as always. One didn't speak unless an authority commanded it.
"You, waterdogs." A weasel dragged her from the line with another. "You two will search the river bottom for items. Shiny things, old items. The Princess and Queen grow bored."
They dove in the river, ragged clothes no protection against its cold. It shocked the air in her lungs, but she dove down. She had to find something.
In the mud at the bottom, she used her paws, searching through the thick silt for something.
A tailring. It was carved and painted, thought the paint was long faded. She raced for the surface. Her lungs were aching.
"Maggot got one." The weasel took it, staring at it as it glistened in the sunlight.
It was carved with a strange design, like a complicated braid.
"Keep looking. We need more, lazy."
He put it down on a large square of cloth.
She dove again.
The murky water swirled, and fished slashed and darted through. At the bottom, the biggest ones reined, ready to eat anything that moved. A catfish swirled by, almost as long as her. It left disturbed silt in it's wake, which she headed into.
Skeletons tied to a rocks. Creatures that had been drowned. She began to removed objects quickly. Tailbracelets, paw bracelets. Rings. She found metal weapon heads, which she picked up as well before she shot to the surface.
"Hoi! Maggot's found a treasure trove!"
She unloaded it on the ground.
"Look at some of this!"
"The queen will be pleased!"
"There better be more, Maggot," the weasel said, rubbing a gold band, what might have once been a wedding ring.
"Yes sir."
She took a breath, diving again.
She came up with many different items, all beautiful and artfully made, and taken off the dead.
Hours later, there was nothing left to see, and returned to searching sections of the riverbed, looking.
As she came up with an old bronze spear, the sun was setting.
"All you slaves out!"
They trudged from the water, heading to the stockade. They were given their portions by a stoat with a leer, and they ate.
There was something that might have been a cake at one point in this batch, with a rancid sweetness coming from something.
Later, those who had been serving the King and Queen came in, having finished dinner serving duty. They were given their own portions, and they all ate, turning in their bowls to the container next to the stoat.
"Hey Urgda. How'd they do?"
The stoat lugged the container with him, talking to the rat captain. "Same as usual sir. Quiet, docile. Like slaves."
"The king's calling for you. Hurry up."
"Yes sir, Brin sir."
Captain Brin snapped the whip he always carried. "Right, you good for nothing slaves! Get to bed!" He closed the gate, saying, "Really, we're too kind to you sniffling beasts. Little better than rocks that move."
There was a whispered chorus of "Yes sir"s. The guards were always right.
Lying down on one of the piles of straw, she fell asleep next to a mouse and a badger.
Slaves didn't dream. There was nothing to dream about. No hopes, no ideas, no history. The concept was unknown to them, except as fever dreams.
Maggot was staring at a building. It was built of red stone, reminding her of the castle, surrounded by a wall. Lights shone through huge windows, and she could see creatures.
She was standing on the wall.
"Hello," someone said. She waited. "It's polite to say it back."
Now she turned.
A gray otter, covered in scars, with no tail.
"My name's Mask, pup. What's yours?"
She continued staring. No otter talked. Who named him Mask? No guard would give him a name like that. It was too...She didn't know.
He sighed. "Martin was right. You're not going to talk."
"No sir."
He smiled. "At least you're not a mute."
"No sir."
This otter...It was like he was an authority. He carried with him the feel of one, and came out in his actions.
What master had let him have such loose reign?
Mask took her paw. Surprised-No one touched her, unless they brushed by- she jerked away.
"I'm not going to hurt you. Come on. Let's see something." He took it again, and they were inside the castle that she had seen, hovering above those at the tables.
She was shocked. The creatures at the tables. Not a vermin among them!
The tables were heaped with decorated cakes, and tarts, soups with the most savory scents. It competed with pies and pasties and delights she didn't know the names of.
Looking around the tables, she realized. No birds. In fact, in the rafters, a group of sparrows perched, tearing apart a cake.
"Tell me pup. What do you think of all this?"
She remained silent.
"That's an order."
"Their masters will be very angry." Her throat felt rough and she mangled the sounds he said so smoothly.
"Ah, they will, will they?"
"Yes sir."
"Why would they have masters?"
"They have to. Otherwise there's no one to rule the castle, assign them tasks. No one to name their young or give them their mates. No one to cook. Who keeps them in order?"
He chuckled quietly. "They kept themselves in order, pup. There's rules, and they learned em. If they broke em, they took it up with the abbot or abbess, like old Mother Abbess Mhera down there. They chose their own mates, named their own young. Tasks were what you saw had to be done."
"Sir."
"Hm?"
"That's not possible. We're..." she struggled to find the words. She'd never had to talk. "W-We're not meant...To have control. We're not smart enough. We...We're supposed to be slaves. That's how it's always been. That's why..."
"They chose things using their mind pup, and learned from their mistakes. They knew their mates from the love they felt for them." He seized her shoulder. "Isn't anything getting through?"
She tried to back up. "Your master will be angry."
He sighed, turning away.
Below, sounds started up above the chatter. What was it...?
A mousemaid stood, beginning something. Her voice. It was...She couldn't describe what it was doing. It wasn't like the chanting that happened at the castle. This was deeper. She talked in a way that wasn't talking, drawing out words and adding this strange depth.
"That's singing, pup. Listen."
Let me tell you that I love you,
That I think about you all the time
Caledonia, you're calling me
And now I'm going home
And if I was to become a stranger,
Know that it would make me more than sad
Caledonia's been everything I've ever had
It was amazing, this singing. It seemed to light up the room...
"You can make this place happen again pup," Mask spun her to look at him. "And it all starts with you waking up." He thumped a hand against his chest.
Maggot woke then. The ratguards were rousing everybody.
She felt slightly different today. Mayhapse it was a fever dream.
"Maggot!"
They stood.
"You otters and mice to the fields today!"
She received her portion. The fruit had finally started to go. There was some scattered grapes and apple chunks.
They'd had partridge, one of these last few nights...
She put her bowl in the bin, leading the line to the fields.
It was long, backbreaking work today. They had to harvest the early summer strawberries. Bending over, picking from the low, dark green bushes all day. The sun beat down mercilessly, drying dusty soil even further, evaporating the water they'd poured on the plants just this dawn, baking the forest itself. Summer had officially arrived.
At noon, the guards shepherded the field crew into the stockade, as there was no shade out there, and they wanted out of the sun.
Maggot, like the ten score of other slaves, sought scraps of shade.
In this way, she found herself settled next to him.
He was an otter, tall and young, and strong like her, maybe fifteen seasons.
His fur was pitch black.
She'd never seen him before, which was easy, because she'd never seen most of the slaves.
But now she wonder how'd she never seen him. There was something...Something about him...She couldn't describe...
And she wanted to speak.
She sorted through the words, wanting to find the right ones. "What's your name" nearly rose to her lips, but he glanced at her and her courage failed. She really was a maggot.
The gate swung open, and a rat came in, dragging a mouse, another following. She went straight for a building built right next to the castle wall. That was where the desperately sick went.
The rat dropped the male mouse inside and the other followed.
It was something the slaves did. If one of them was that sick, someone of their species cat with them until they got better or died. They didn't know why, they just did.
"Why are you lot in here?"
Silence, as expected.
"Someone had better step forward and explain, or you'll all feel a taste of my cane."
More silence. They were waiting for someone to be selected.
"Hmm...You. Deathpelt."
The black otter stared at the rat's footpaws. "The field guards."
"Oh, they did, eh?"
"Yes ma'am," they all chanted.
"We'll see about that."
A short time later, the gate opened again, and the field guards took them back out to the fields.
"You'll taste my whip for that one, Deathpelt."
"And my spear!"
They set at him, beating furiously.
She worked, picking strawberries.
For the first time, she felt something. She thought of those in her dream, and of this, and she felt something. A spark of anger.
But still. She picked.
Reviews and criticisms welcome.