Chapter 32: A Musical Interlude

It was a bright and beautiful morning on the sunny side of hell.

"What can I say about the Taskmaster? Well, sir, I can assure you there won't be any problems with your inspection,” the skeletal officer said. “Kraven Lash runs a tight shipwreck and a jolly hellscape."

The compliance officer sniffed. A habit that he had retained long after his nose had rotten away. Walden was a very serious man who took his job seriously. Regardless of the century.

Yet here was some Evergreen overseer turning his occupation into a "jolly" experience?

"Yes, I've heard the man's methodology is quite … innovative. Though I have to question the effectiveness. Regardless, I'll be the one to decide. Lead the way."

"Certainly, sir." The camp guard replied. He bowed and motioned. "Right this way,” he said with a singsong voice.

The guard led the inspector past several security points and gates. All up to code. All in compliance. All waved through with cordial greetings and salutes. At each checkpoint the Walden sniffed disapprovingly.

The seemingly young bone guard caught on. "Something wrong, sir?"

"No. Everything is up to code."

"... But?"

"I've never seen so many guards smiling at their posts. They seem… happy."

Walden's escort replied with a smile of his own. A strange look considering the undead couldn’t make facial expressions without skin and muscles. "As I said, the master runs a tight ship. Ah, here we are. Our last security point. They'll need your identification once more, even with me here. Protocol and all. Then we'll descend into the pit of the damned."

"The final checkpoint is a cliff?"

"No. It's the elevator that goes down the cliff. The only way in and out. That is, aside from the sea."

"Ah, that's right. I remember now. My report said the slave pit is on the coast, but I didn't think that was literal." Walden sniffed again.

What kind of slave pit would leave half the pit open to the sea? Where slaves could swim to freedom at any time? Undead in particular could walk across the ocean floor until they got to an island.

It was foolish.

He noted that potential oversight in his inspection report.

They stepped into the wooden lift. It was a sturdy and massive contraption, designed to haul up entire loads worth of raw materials and scraps. Or a copious amount of people.

They were shortly accompanied by a small platoon of undead. A good twenty soldiers composed of multiple squads, judging by the insignias on their armor.

One in particular stood out to Walden.

“You. What’s your name?” He asked.

The soldier bearing a large war-hammer across his back saluted. “Mardy, sir!”

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“Mardy, elucidate me. What are you doing here?”

“I have a report to deliver to the Taskmaster.”

“Concerning?”

“That’s confidential,” Mardy replied. “Sir.”

Walden nodded. Good. Everything shipshape, even on the army side. Men with tight lips were important to keep around.

Another squad joined them in the large lift. Guards, this time.

Along with a batch of fresh blood.

Destitute slaves shuffled in with them, bound by chains and sunken eyes. Humans. The living kind. In all shapes and sizes–even children on the cusp of adulthood–there was no common feature that linked them together aside from the physical bondage and the flesh that clung to their bones. Out of the entire gaggle not a single one rose their looks beyond their feet. Fate had been met and accepted with sullen grace.

For the first time Walden felt reassured. Despite how packed the lift had become, this was familiar territory to him. Almost comforting. It meant a smooth inspection and possibly an early day off.

The young guard, on the other hand, appeared slightly troubled. He tutted, then leaned over casually. "Such a shame. Don't worry though,” he said. “Most of them start off looking like this, but Hard Pill breaks them soon enough."

The inspector would have raised an eyebrow if any had remained. They weren't already broken?

"Hard Pill?" Walden asked.

"Kraven Lash. The taskmaster."

In unison their squad of escorts all shouted in a singsong voice, "Ain't that the truth!"

The compliance officer had seen his fair share of hellholes, prisons, labor camps, and pits of despair. Walden had witnessed countless tortures, lashings, hangings, and maimings. Countless more times he had rectified gentle policies and ensured cruel compliance. It was nothing personal. He was simply numb to most of it.

All part of the job.

Yet he suddenly felt very, very uneasy.

The lift began to descend down the cliff-side, into mist as thick as a cloud.

Walden’s unease grew in magnitude shortly after they entered into the mist. They were met with a chorus of noise that rose to meet them.

"Is that… is that music?" Walden asked. "Why, that sounds like half the population."

The soldier, Mardy replied to him. "No, sir. I’m afraid that’s the entire camp.”

"A work song? It doesn't sound like any shanty I've heard before."

Another soldier answered, "It's a folk song. To build morale." He then answered the unspoken questioning look Walden gave him. "During the beatings.” He shrugged. “It’s always like this."

As they descended through the mist and halfway to the coast the lyrics became clearer and the tune bounced off the cliff walls with a jolly fervor.

“Death to the youth!

“That’s the way!”

"Ain't that the truth!"

“None of us will survive the day!”

"Swallow that truth! Swallow that truth!"

The lift cleared through the mist. There was the Western sea, stretching off into the horizon.

And then, there was the ship… right in the middle of a mining quarry on the beach.

The young guard wasn't kidding.

The taskmaster really did run a tight shipwreck.

It was beached on the sands–a large vessel from another era–given a new life. It was a theater stage. Surrounding it was a tangle of repurposed ship parts, dock piers, and various driftwood recycled into some sort of prison camp shanty town.

A legion of undead slaves marched to their own beatings–going along with the rhythm of the song–all with smiles upon their faces. Individuals all over the quarry quickly hewed away at the earth with pickaxes and shovels. A slow parade set the pace to the elevator pulley systems. And upon the ship deck a crowd stood around singing and watching as an undead man was being beaten to the beat.

The Evergreen Taskmaster, "Hard Pill" Kraven Lash, set the pace with a cracking whip in hand and a song in his heart.

They all sang that same song.

All in step.

All in jolly desperation.

"Like a goddamn musical…" Walden muttered.

The camp guard pushed open the lift door. “Welcome to the show.”

The squad of prison guards joined into the lighthearted song. They practically danced out of the lift.

"Have a smile."

"Die in style."

Mardy, Walden, the undead soldiers, and those who still clung to unhappy flesh all walked forward in silent fear.