I slept surprisingly well, considering the snorts and farts and muttering of the other people who spent the night under the wagon. Maybe I slept well because of them: we apes were social animals, after all. Well, plus my belly was full of warm food for the first time since Oksar’s murder.

A few of the servants eyed me in confusion the next morning. Erdinand kept chatting with me like we were old friends, though. And Big Sid kept snapping at me like we were--well, also old friends, I guess. So they soon lost interest.

Plus, I’d clearly spent the night under the wagon with them. So obviously I belonged. Especially after I handled chamberpot duty.

Nobody suspects that Chamberpot Guy is choosing to be there.

I wasn’t allowed to actually enter the fancy wagon, though. One of Lord Usim’s personal guards left the dirty pots on a little running board outside for cleaning. Most of the soldiers didn’t look like much--except for a pair of identical twins who were the lord’s personal guards. They were both infenti, both about my size, and both wearing what looked like scale armor. They white skinned--not pink, bone white. One had scimitar hanging at his hip and the other had a spear that reminded me a little of Oksar’s and they both had long daggers strapped to their thighs. In short, they looked pretty badass.

INTUIT: Infenti, Level 11

Which made sense, considering they were pretty badass. Second tier, because they were level 10 or above, if I understood correctly. Well, that explained why the servants called them ‘elites.’ They didn’t say anything to me, though. They didn’t even acknowledge my existence. That was fine with me. I just toddled off to the stream and did my filthy job.

When I returned with the clean pots, I found myself following Big Sid to the fancy wagon, her skirt swaying as she walked.

She slowed, then shot me a sidelong smile. “Getting your shit together?”

“You look good this morning,” I said, ignoring her little shit-based joke.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“You do!”

“Of course I do, but who cares?”

“Those badass guard twins, following you with their eyes?”

She snorted. “Jikon and Jikap. They’re not even gemmed.”

“What’s so good about gems? I mean ... what would you do if you ever get a gem?”

She showed me her sharp teeth. “Whatever the fuck I wanted.”

I laughed, maybe a little too loud, then put the clean chamberpots on the running board. And as I turned to leave, the rear door of the wagon opened and an infenti woman appeared.

Big Sid curtsied elegantly, but I just stared. Because the woman looked part infenti and part ... something else. She was light purple, and had small horns, sitting low on her forehead beneath her well-coiffed hair. But instead of being smooth she was sort of ... faceted. She looked almost like she was composed of polygons, like a low-res game, except there was nothing awkward or artificial about her. Also, she was wearing a fancy, silk-looking, floofy confection of a dress that would’ve been more at home in a drawing room in London in 1790 than in a field in ... wherever this was.

INTUIT: Infenti, Level 15

Holy shit. So her dress had lace and ruffles but she was halfway to third tier? Good to know.

“I hope this fellow isn’t bothering you, Bellsyd,” the woman said to Big Sid, her purple lips pursed. “We couldn’t help but hear him inside.”

“Oh, no, Miss Kathina,” Big Sid said, her expression suddenly prim. “I’m so sorry for his loudness. This is the first time he’s worked for a real house.”

“Quite an opportunity for you, then?” the woman asked me.

“Yes, uh, Miss Kathina,” I said.

“We don’t stand too much on ceremony,” she said, with a condescending smile. “But if you ever meet his lordship, you might practice your bowing.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

I gave a little bow. “Right. Sure. I mean, yes.”

“You clearly need more practice than that,” she said, though not unkindly. “So you never worked as a servant?”

“No, ma’am, uh, miss.”

“That’s odd for a human, no? Unless you’re a craftsman? A musician?”

“Alex never quite found his place, miss,” Big Sid said, with a hint of sympathy.

“Well, you’re still young, there’s plenty of time,” Mis Kathina told me. “Now, Bellsyd, let’s have a stroll together. Perhaps later, you can do something with the smudges under my eyes. I look positively haggard.”

I bowed again as she turned away, because bowing didn’t cost me anything. When I straightened, though, I caught sight of motion inside the cracked-open wagon door. There was an infenti kid in there. He seemed about eleven or twelve, at least in human terms. His skin looked blue in the shadows, and he only had one horn, which reminded me a little of Oksar. Apparently most infenti had one or two, but many had none and a rare few had three or more.

To my surprise, the number of horns didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t like the two-horns looked down on the one-horns, or anything. I guess they weren’t humans. Or, well, there was so much variation among infenti, and so much infenti blood in the other races, that nobody cared about individual differences.

The kid didn’t look like anything special to me. Just your average blue-skinned demon kid, wearing breeches and a shirt. Standing there, peeking outside. So--of course--I made a stupid face at him. He was probably too old for that, but stupid faces always amused my niece.

He looked surprised for a second, then made a face back. So I made another face and he made another face and those white-skinned elite twin guards started approaching so I made an ‘Oh, shit!’ face and he smiled and I slunk away, my head lowered, acting like very much the servant.

Of course, I didn’t take more than three steps before I realized that that had probably been young Lord Usim. I just ... hadn’t spent a lot of time around young lords. It hadn’t occurred to me that some kid would be a VIP, and maybe I shouldn’t make silly faces at him. Still, no harm done, I didn’t think.

As I helped Erdinand gather the horse stuff, to prepare to break camp, I asked why Miss Kathina looked like that.

“Because she’s rich!” he said, snapping his pincer for emphasis. “She’s connected to some powerful people. The most powerful ones in Waldhill, I guess. So she can afford fancy dresses.”

“I’m not talking about her dresses,” I said, folding a horse blanket. “I’m talking about her, uh, angularity.”

“Angularity?” He giggled. “You mean that her skin is all flat and pointy?”

“Yeah.”

“She must have traguld ancestry,” he told me.

“They’re flat and pointy?”

“Some of them, yeah. They spawn from rocks.”

I eyed him, uncertain if he was kidding. “From rocks?”

“That’s why they don’t sleep. They’re smart, too. Great memories. And you know the saying, ‘hard as sneaking up on a traguld.’”

“Why would you want to?” I asked, wondering if they specialized in Awareness.

Erdinand giggled, then finished with the horses while I went over to help the other humans pack the servants’ wagon. It had been a long time since I’d chatted with humans.

One of them eyed me. “You’re the new guy?”

Another asked, “Where have you been?”

“Here’n there,” I told them. “I’m Alex.”

They introduced themselves more politely than warmly, so I didn’t grab them in bear hugs and spin them around like some kind of weird human-firster. We chatted for a while and I learned that two of them cooked and served, one served and dressed the young Lord, and they all worked together to keep things ‘presentable.’

“Nonhumans,” I said, trying for a long-suffering tone. “No sense of design.”

“No artistry,” one agreed.

“They don’t see as many colors as we do,” another explained.

“Really?” I said, scratching the back of my head. “Like in terms of the visual spectrum?”

“In terms of, they don’t see as many colors.”

“At least they can appreciate style when we fix their ugliness,” the first one said, then asked me, “Do you have any talents?”

“I’m damn good with chamber pots,” I told her.

The second one sniffed. “She meant music, weaving, dance, painting?”

I almost told them that I played the guitar a little, but they probably only had lutes and harps and shit, so I just said, “I’m pretty good at storytelling.”

“Ah. Perhaps you’ll perform this evening.”

“I’m not that good,” I said.

Standing up in front of a bunch of soldiers and telling tales didn’t seem like a great way to stay in the background. But also, I wasn’t that good. I mean, I had an entire world of stories in my head, yet knowing what happened in Star Wars or Stranger Things or Gone Girl was completely different from actually telling the story. Though in my defense, I’d told my niece bedtime stories for two years. Plenty of practice, at least with appealing to a little kid.

The humans stayed inside the wagon when we left that campsite, but I climbed onto the roof to sit with the other servants. Well, and to enjoy the fresh air and watch the countryside roll past. The island was green and lush. The road wound through meadows of high grass and spreading shrubs, and willow-like trees grew on both banks of the river.

Erdinand introduced me to the only other crachen in the group, a middle-aged woman with thin lines around her head-shell. Apparently that was how you could tell a crachen’s age. Wrinkles. Not such a tough concept. She immediately loved me because she’d been on chamberpot and water-fetching duty before I showed up. Now she could spend more time on gear and weapon upkeep--polishing, sharpening, repair--which were her real skills.

And I learned that accompanying a caravan was a notoriously easy job.

“We don’t do much,” one of the infenti servants told me. “We ride the wagon, make meals, ride the wagon, pitch tents, strike tents, make meals, drive the wagons, clean the clothes--“

“We also comb and feed and tend the horses,” Erdinand interrupted. “And the hounds, if there are any.”

“There aren’t,” Big Sid said.

He nodded happily. “But if there are.”

“Except there’s no ‘if,’ you shell-head, because there fucking aren’t any hounds.”

“My goodness,” I said, in pretend horror, “what if Miss Kathina heard you talking like that?”

A few of the other servants jeered at her, apparently enjoying that someone had the bravery to tease her.

“Sit on a halberd and spin, softskin,” Big Sid snapped back at me.

I laughed, then gazed at the gorgeous rolling landscape, bright under the warm sun, and listened to the clip-clop of horse hooves as the wagon rocked gently beneath me.