“I’m sorry!” Evens moaned, with his chafed palms and grated knees knelt on the field of grass and weeds. “How many times do I have to say it?” he begged, though no one from beyond the fences of this small lawn, in the even smaller shack, of this smallest district, would halt their everyday ark-seeking to heed his plea.
The winter’s wrath was on its last breath, and with each passing day, the sun and its grace grew in eminence to reclaim its dominion. Puddles of melted snow and ice pillars now flooded the garden of Evens’s tiny hut, drenching their scarce yields along the abundant weeds that he had to remove.
“Until you wouldn’t need to say it again,” the lady in silver coating scolded Evens. Though her arms rested on her hips and her head barely reached Evens’s neck, his ma's presence remained fearsome no matter how big Evens grew.
“It wasn’t my fault though! The ecliant bastard hounded me into the alley,” Evens whined. It has been well over a week since the unfortunate incident, yet Mom still refused to forgive and forget.
“And why were you in that alleyway?” his mom probed, her ruby eyes felt as if they could pierce through Evens’s lies.
Shit, Evens sealed his rebellious lips, as he yanked out a cluster of weeds. He has never been one to be able to outwit her, nor could anyone else he knew.
Evens had been crouching before the sun woke, and his back felt as if a boulder sat atop it. When will this end… He whimpered like a pup, even the silver cur, Scrapper, wouldn’t bark as such. Stop staring at me like that, you mutt, Evens glared at him, though it only seemed to enthral it even more, as it then spun around the murky puddles while shaking its tail back and forth. You’re lucky you’re so adorable, Evens could resist no longer and patted its steel dome, his grudges over the pup had never been able to last for long.
“How about you leave the dog alone, and get on with weeding?” the not-so-friendly silvered hag growled.
“Yes, ma’am.” Evens moaned, releasing his grips from Scrapper’s cheeks and back onto the lawn.
No matter how many times Evens bent down and dug the soil, these pests of nature never seemed to end. With no blouse to shield his back, the sun shone over and grilled his hide into a pinkish tint.
Ouch! It felt as if a flower thorn pricked his fingers, yet no blood seeped out. Why do we even need to do this stupid thing… Evens mumbled, squeezing onto his pricked fingers. It was hard to find the fresh wound amidst the countless other old gashes and scars surrounding it.
“I heard that,” Mom grumbled, her daunting glare sharpened.
“I’m sorry, ma’am!” Evens dove up from his squat, spraining his joints from the leap, and fell back down to the wet yet grassy cushion.
“You never learn do you, Evens?” his mother sighed, yet it did not feel as though she was livid.
Mom swiftly tied her silver strands into a bun and crouched down next to Evens. “Pull them quick and firmly. If you don’t expel the roots, they will always come back.” She effortlessly dug out handfuls of weeds. Though her palms were half the size of Evens’s, and her vigour had dwindled with age, it irked Evens that his mom could still embarrass him as much, yet perchance he would not mind if it persisted.
“They come back regardless…” Evens whispered, the sweat drenching his black curls dribbling down onto his lids and stinging his auburn orbs.
“I heard that too,” Mom grumbled once more, even worse this time.
This is gonna be a long day… Evens moaned silently, praying that his mother wouldn’t be able to pry into his dome.
*
Finally… His bones burned and crackled like roasting lumbers from each small movement, even battling meterases weren’t as taxing to his body. There was not a single weed left rooted in soil, all had been dug and fed to the ravenous steel mutt. Yet he felt little joy in his triumph, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before they sprout once more.
However, his lack of delight was not shared by his mother. Her prideful yet elated smirk may be worth the hard work after all. Hope you're goddamn happy, Evens grumbled in silence.
“Grunt work again?” From beyond the fences, cocky and squeaky in all its making, a grating voice called into Evens’s garden. “Didn’t take ya’ long to spend all ya’ hard-earned arks aye?” the bald-headed man goaded.
“Not many arks to spend are there?” Evens rebutted.
“If you’re so short on it, how ‘bout I pay you one bronze ark to weed mine?” the uninvited guest laughed.
A taller figure sluggishly limped behind the man coated in obsidian, with only one leg woven into his body, it beckoned how he could walk as fast as he could. “Knock it off, Owl,” the larger lad struck Owlem’s marbling noggin with a wooden cane that Evens once fashioned for the half-legged man.
“Quit it, Peg,” Owl addressed the one-legged lad.
“Do you need any help, Evens?” Rupert, or Peg as Owl dubbed, ignored him and stretched his hand across the fence, towards Evens.
“I would have… If you had shown up five minutes earlier,” Evens panted, desperately trying to pace his breath and save what little dignity that a man who weeds garden possessed.
“Is that any way to speak to your friends, young man?” the she-devil growled, revealing herself to the intruding boys.
The once smug Owlem leaped up and squirmed at the mere sight of Mom. “Good morning, ma’am,” Owlem greeted her politely yet shakily.
“Good morning, Miss Num,” Rupert greeted her politely and steadily.
“Good morning to you both,” Mom greeted them back, to the ease of Owl. “It’s always a delightful sight to see Evens be greeted by friends, but do you happen to not have chores of your own to be done?”
“Nothing of the sort, ma’am. Our recent hunt rewarded us quite handsomely. At least until we finish licking our wounds, the arks we’ve earned would have to suffice.” Rupert worded rather eloquently, at least for a peasant born and nursed in the Bottom Barrel.
“What he said,” Owl followed meekly.
“Must’ve been nice,” Evens mumbled, as he stood up and dusted dirt and soil off his marred body.
“Sorry?” Rupert asked.
“To earn so much from our hunt, that must’ve been great for you both,” Evens scoffed, donning a torn shirt to lastly grant respite for his sunburnt back. “You killed the mets, I killed even more, yet Chin… That old craven shorted out on me and blamed it on flowery reasons.”
Evens still has not forgiven the wicked foreman for ruining their agreement. Rupert and Owlem were no more human than him, yet the bastard chose to pour all his disdain on Evens instead. Chin, when I get you… Callous ideas to enact revenge clouded Evens’s mind, though only fleetingly, for he knew it would be hard to find other steelfolks that would hire humans.
“Well perhaps if you’ve done your job right, ya’ wouldn’t have been screwed over. Ever thought ‘bout that, genius?” Owl yapped from behind the safety of the fence. The temerity to bark away straight-faced when shrinking at the sight of Mom even had Evens staggered.
“So much snobbish drivels from the guy whose cowering deeds are only beaten by a cripple,” Evens countered. Even with their prior quest, Owl’s foul mouth dished out more swings and bruises to the mets than his dagger ever did.
“Says more ‘bout you than it does ‘bout me. Enjoy being a brute who charges headfirst into the jaw of a met and the tip of a blade. I’ll make do loafing under the shade and still collect my arks in full,” Owl sniggered, to which Evens could scantly refute.
“Enough, guys.” Rupert stepped in between Evens and Owl, albeit a bit clumsily with his wooden leg and cane. “If you really want to I could share with you some of mine. After all, if it weren’t for you both, I’m afraid I’d have perished in the skirmish.” Rupert offered kindly.
“No, that’s alright. I haven’t fallen so low to rob a cripple,” Evens snickered, as he approached the lads, resting his numbed arms on the fence.
“As if ya’ one to talk,” Owlem whispered, eyeing Evens’s unhidden scars despite his garment.
“Listen here you little–”
“You do not need to mind it. It’d be hard for a legless man to spend seven arks anyway,” Rupert laughed, hard to believe he would crack such a morbid jest, that’s commonly reserved for Owl.
Seven? Evens muttered.
“It’s fine… I do not need it,” Evens stuttered slightly and bewilderedly, counting each of his fingers.
“Ya’ sure? Wouldn’t want the poor boy to go hungry?” Owl puffed his lips and taunted.
The urge to swing his fist across his irksome face was irresistible to Evens. “Shut up. Are you seriously so bored out of your mind that you’d come all the way here just to pester me in my garden–”
A feeble cough yet frightening all the same shook Evens from behind.
“My mom’s garden,” Evens fixed his tongue.
“Well,” Rupert scratched his dome strangely, while Owl whistled away. “We’re actually here for,” He sputtered as he glanced toward Mom.
From their awkward gestures to flickering tones as if they were once again boys being scolded by their makers, Evens understood their intention quite easily.
Mom merely sighed loudly at their incessant gawk. “Come on in. I just finished cooking,”
The two invaders cheered, tossing their hands into the sky as if they had just finished another quest. The ever-nimble Owl skipped highly into the air, while the bounded Rupert could only celebrate from the comfort of the land.
They’re the true pests… Evens spat to the soil, where the weeds once plagued.
“On the one condition that you two would help me and Evens with our chores. Considering how free both of you are, there should be no problem right?” Mom added.
The two ceased cheering, deadening their hands from the sky. Owl descended from his high, while Rupert’s leg gave up to the pressure of the land and knelt. Yet they still nodded dejectedly at Mom, their growling stomachs masked away their moans.
Finally… Some justice in the world, Evens smirked, his wounds and burdened joints relieved fleetingly as he gazed at the lads’ moping faces, ever so resembling his.
*
The funky scent of braised rats flowed out of the pot of stew and permeated the little shed. It could hardly contain four adults and a hound, even the wicked foreman’s lone office was wider than their dimmed hut of one room. It merely housed a fireplace where roasted the iron pot, torn blankets scattered over the floor where they slept, and a crumbling table with a set of chairs where they lone find solace in few warm meals.
“It’s so unfair that you get to feast on these every day,” Owl lamented raucously, yet that did not halt him from chugging down the bowl of rat pottage, gnawing the tender meat off the tiny bones, and nibbling on the seasoned winter leaves and flowers.
“As if. Even if we have the arks for it, the old bat would never–” Evens shouted across the small chamber.
A familiar cold sweat trickled down his mane once more, he did not need to tilt his head back to realize the ruin awaiting him.
“Yes, I am quite lucky indeed,” Evens whimpered and sipped the rodent broth, the flavour was indeed pleasant yet he could not relish it wholly until the preying glare vanished.
With her scowl dropped and butcher knife lowered, Mom scooped a spoonful of the clumpy stew into a metal bowl. Scrapper would not stop circling Mom’s legs until she knelt and handed him his feast. The famished mutt feasted on the bowl wildly, yet he still flaunted far more grace than a certain squatter Evens knew.
Mom had been simmering the stew before sunset, and only once the whole chamber was with a meal did she take a seat next to Evens. Though her body was no bigger than half of Evens’s and her alloyed limbs have grown wearier since Evens was littler than her, the old bat still never knew when to rest. Even when Evens would return late from his long quests, she would still be awake to pester his tired ears. If only Evens could afford his own keep and rid himself of the meddlesome hag.
“I’m afraid I won’t have enough for seconds. Even fetching a few rats costs a handful of arks these days,” Mom said, sipping on a glass of water, with no bowl of pottage of her own.
“Please, Miss Num. We should be apologizing for not only intruding upon you but also receiving a free meal,” Rupert replied audaciously while munching on the meat.
“Maybe now that winter is ending, more arks would pour along as well,” Owl added, chomping all the same.
“One wealthy quest, and you already let it get to your head,” Evens snorted, nearly choking on his soup.
“How so?” Owl leered at him, finally resting his sopping bowl back onto the table.
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“Unless the work required us to sacrifice eyes and limbs for specks of dust of arks, no steelmen would choose us over theirs,” Evens explained.
No one challenged the claim. Not the tactless Owl nor the eggheaded Rupert could muster a rebuttal for surely they knew Evens spoke truth. Even Mom was but an archaic invention from Newspecs, a servicebot as it was dubbed, tasked with aiding ecliants with homely chores yet she has been discarded by her kins and creators for merely raising a human babe.
For as long as he could remember, men dowsed in flesh and blood like Evens are at the lowest of the ladder. Then came the steelborns like the snobbish foreman, blessed with pulses coursed with metal, yet still chastised nevertheless for bearing blood loathed by all. Above all, gazing down from their thrones, the vain ecliants think their steels grant them might, but none could dispute their hubris, Evens learned that much. The Truemen, the Red Rebels, and the Firstkinds, all daring human insurgents who dared to upset the ecliants’ Centum Order had all been vanquished and forgotten to the annals of history. If not for Ma’s nighty tales, their pathetic names and worthless efforts would never find refuge in Evens’s dome, plaguing his dreams of what life could have been. Useless lots… It would’ve been different if I were to…
“It won’t always be like that,” A whisper broke Evens out of his hatred stupor and back to the desolated diner.
“What now?” Evens asked. He turned to the burble, only to find the kind yet cowardly man, glaring at him like he never had before.
“One day it could change. Decent steelfolks are not as uncommon as they were before. Still not common, but they’re there,” Rupert muttered.
Foolish, Evens cursed. “For every honest ecliants you sight, you’d find hundreds of tyrants who would not bat an eye slaving and tearing our limbs apart,” he rebutted, pointing at the maims that Rupert and himself bore. “You know that better than any of us.”
“If so then he should have the most say over any of us,” Owl spoke, with his cheeks yet filled.
“Never reckon you were much of a hoper, Owl? What gives? One honest payday and you let them bind their collar ‘round your neck?” Evens mocked the craven.
Gracelessly as always, Owl stained his sleeve with his grubby lips. “I’d rather be chained and fed than be flogged and bled.”
“You’re pathetic.” Evens said.
“You’re pathetic.” Rupert said.
“You’re pathetic.” Mom said.
“Miss Num? You as well?” Owl wept out unseen tears.
“You are free to believe what you wish, but please do stop bringing up those dangerous ideas to my son.” Mother glared at Owl, rather frighteningly for a woman of her stature and age. Though they shared no blood, and she may be harsh at times, she has never forsaken Evens. “Do it again and you’d no longer be welcome in this household.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Won’t happen again,” Owl apologized profusely, hugging tightly onto his bowl of pottage as if Mom would snatch it away at any moment. “But I’m not saying it because I wish to submit to the Centum Order, it is just not so easy to defy them,” he whimpered.
“Not with that attitude it won’t,” Mother tossed a Daily Centum newspaper onto the dinner table. It’s been ages since Evens laid eyes on the black and white inked sheets, the arks to purchase such knowledge never seemed worth it to him. “I’m no human so it may be crude for me to say, but there are men and women who haven’t abandoned their freedom yet.” She pointed at the black-and-white headline.
The Return of the Firstkind? The Most Notorious Rebels Have Risen After a Decade in Hiding! Citizens Are Urged to Report to Their Nearest Watchdroid Station or Heart Sentinel Office if They Are Aware of Suspicious Activities.
The Firstkind? But I thought… Evens mumbled as he read the headline.
A daring fool snatched the paper from Evens’s grasp, yet he felt not the ire nor vigour to retaliate. “Where have I heard this name before?” Owl asked, while half-heartedly scouring through the newspaper.
“They were a bit before your time. You ought to be no more than mere babes when they were at their peak,” Mom educated the wide-eyed brat. “A band of insurgents who shed blood and torn flesh for the sake of humanity. And for a time, there was hope that their sacrifices and trials would pave way to victory,” she further added, now engrossing the three lads all the same. “But it seemed that Ark had crueller plans. Their rally was vanquished at the Battle of Ironblood, and henceforth their purpose vanished with them.” For an instant, her face sulked drearily. Evens didn’t think a manufactured heap of scrap such as a servicebot could conjure such a mournful expression. “Or so we deemed. Tales spread by the Order are rather hard to trust after all.” She pointed at the newspaper again, for the Seven Seas Publishing House, which published the Daily Centum, was freed from the Centum Order’s chains.
“You seem to think quite highly of them?” Owl teased Mom.
Though it was hardly a jest, even Evens must admit that he had rarely seen Mom as passionate about a matter as she was about the Firstkind. She was a strong-willed yet kind woman, and preaches for rebellions were never thoughts that Evens held would linger in such a small body and mind.
The three gazed at her, yet Mom merely scoffed aloud. “No. I hated them.”
That was certainly not what Evens had expected, though what he expected of her was hardly expected as well. Owl coughed awkwardly as he hid his blushed face with his palm, perhaps embarrassed for deducing so wrongly.
Firstkind… Perhaps that watcher mistaken me as one of them? Evens murmured.
Rupert yanked the Daily Centum paper from Owl’s grip. “Rebels and protestors in our backyard,” he recited through the paper briskly, reminding Evens of the snotty elders who do nothing all day but read and gamble their arks away. “Invaders, deadmen, and greenmen from the Wasteland? Not a day goes by could this world take a rest it seems,” Rupert sighed as he settled the paper down the dining table, resting his eyes on the daunting matters of the world.
“You’re putting far too much faith in the words penned by gagged scribes of the Seven House.” Owl mocked the peglegged lad, the first and sole sensible thought he had made all day. No matter what they proclaim, not many believe that the Seven Seas Publishing House is freed from the Centum Order’s rule. “Heck I wouldn’t put it past them for dealing with dark mystics and shadowed creatures to be able to conjure so many manuscripts daily,” he further cajoled, to which Evens held no retort regrettably.
How many scribes do they have for these? Evens thought. The fresh parchments inked with faultless letters and sketches, Evens could not comprehend how the Seven House could pen and publish so many manuscripts in such little time.
“You need to stop blaming it on ghosts and fairy tales for everything that you do not know,” Rupert sighed.
“Enlighten me then, genius?”
“Well… They obviously just have hundreds upon thousands of scribes to… pen the papers?” Rupert stuttered and scratched his dome.
“You don’t even know yourself! Stop acting high and mighty,” Owl mocked him, deservingly for once.
“At least I know mine makes sense. Yours is merely rooted in tell-tales,” Rupert rebutted. “Right, Evens?”
“I guess we truly don’t know anything…”
Not of the papers inked and sent throughout the realm. Not of the beasts meld from metal who ravaged the land. Not of the envoys of Ark who descended from heaven to tyrannize mankind. Not of the distant past when perhaps the planet was not coated in steel.
Though Evens murmured silently beneath his breath, no thoughts could possibly escape the ears of anyone confined in this small cage. The rowdy lad, the meek boy, and the nosey hag, all descended into silence alongside Evens, leaving only the flickers of burning candles to liven the darkening chamber.
“Man, I want to leave this place!” Owl was the first to shout.
Thought you were pleased with being held in shackles? Evens thought, staring at the befuddled lad.
“Likewise…” Rupert mumbled.
Thought you were pleased with befriending your masters? Evens thought, staring at the timid lad.
Stillness permeated the putrid hut once more, though it hardly surprised Evens. The candles were nearing their last ember, the bowls of stew had emptied, and Scrapper had resigned to his slumber, yet their silence was still livelier than the seated husks. They wore silence as armour and gags stuffed in their mouth – a badge of honour, one that Evens lamentably adorned many.
I will–
“You all remember the sailor game we used to play as kids?” Rupert mumbled, gently yet firmly.
What? Evens raised his brow, muddled as to why the docile lad would abandon his usual farce for such a childish matter.
“With the crappy boat that we stole?” Owl asked, coolly.
“With the what that you stole?” Mother asked, heatedly.
“He meant the boat that we built. Right, Owl?” Evens pinched the fool.
Owl nodded fretfully, stuffing his face into his empty bowl.
“The cruise was awful. It could barely sail a river, let alone the sea,” Rupert laughed.
“You tell me. We once almost drowned minutes after leaving the dock,” Evens grinned along, though Mother did not share the joy.
“We wouldn’t have if your plump highness hadn’t served as an onboard anchor,” Owl glanced at Rupert. He was once quite a lanky kid, at least when he was whole.
“If it wasn’t for your terrible steering, we wouldn’t have crashed into every fisherman’s boat we met.” Rupert spat.
“There are fewer things I despise more than backing Owl, but you can’t pitch all the blame on him for that. What kind of captain would let his crewman steer his ship for him?” Evens jeered. If memory served Evens right, the captain was legless, the helmsman was more of a parrot than anything, and the shipwright was patched and sunburned long before he set sail.
“I didn’t even want to be captain. You two pitted the helm on me just because of my half-foot,” Rupert raised his hands as if he was being held at swordpoint by watchdroids.
“Isn’t that most needed to captain a ship?” Owl tilted his head slightly, naively even.
“I hate you both.” Rupert sighed, but it shortly spun to a laugh.
Evens and Owl joined in laughter, no doubt they were the only cheer that could be heard amidst an all-too-common miserable evening at Screwpile. Even the stern hag also giggled faintly, no matter how hard she tried to hold it in and palmed over it.
The cripple could only jolt his foot and throw a fit for so long before his vim simmered. His strength left his body as he grasped dearly for breath, no surprise for he was merely a cripple. Yet his vain smirk and placid eyes coloured alive always. “It was fun. Sailing with you two, bickering with each other, journeying across lands,” Rupert whistled, still desperately wheezing out his joy. “Yet, there were no treasures to be dug up. No mermaids to lullabied our heads. No unspoiled islands were to be claimed. Even ‘till this day.” His jolly whistles dwindled to lax whispers. “We thought we knew all there were then, but turned out we knew nothing.” His lax whispers succumbed to ghostly whimpers.
“I expected this sort of gloomy ramble from the likes of Owl, never you,” Evens spat at the cripple, the mood was quite merry until Rupert squandered it with his wailing.
“As a matter of fact, I’m quite jovial right now,” Rupert claimed, yet his sulk stated the contrary.
“How so?”
“I want to believe that this world will eventually accept us. But if it won’t, then perhaps we should rehoist our flag one day and sail to new worlds that will.” Rupert’s wish was childish and naive, Evens couldn’t even believe his own ears.
“You and your ardent preaching. It’s even worse than my mom.”
“What was that?” Mother growled.
“Nothing!”
The childlike and candid man did not cease his blabbing, no matter how little reason or interest others gave him. “I heard about a place up North. Across the Centum Alps. By the shore lay a port named the Seapien Harbour. Apparently, steelfolks treat us differently there,” Rupert spoke, not minding if he was the sole listener.
“No doubt just more fibs spread by the Order,” Evens jeered, pointing at the papers inked by their ilk.
“Perhaps…” Rupert mumbled, and gripped tightly onto his leg of wood, nearly splintering it and breaking his nails. “But one day I wish to see it with my own eyes and prove that I was right,” his brown eyes dazzled with a light that should never be shone in Screwpile.
“If that’s the case, then one day I too wish to visit the citadel of scholars,” Owl shouted as if it was a contest. “I heard that the entire world’s knowledge from then ‘till now is contained within their tomes.” He snatched the Daily Centum papers from Rupert’s dazed grip. “Maybe I will finally be able to figure out how these crazy contraptions are made,” his blue orbs too sparkled with hope.
I can’t believe it… Evens sneered, yet it came out as a chuckle.
The prattling duo could not resist turning towards Evens, eyes filled with wonder, awaiting for his answer.
Such a question should be easy for him to answer, yet the right words would not roll down Evens’s tongue, as if a stone was choking and grating his throat. “I don’t really have a particular place I want to go. As long as it is out of this hellhole,” Evens shook their bothersome gawk away and swallowed the stone.
Evens did not need to glance at their faces, the hums of howling wind drumming at the windows and spiders crawling throughout the hut were enough to tell Evens how the two felt. Not as though Evens particularly cared for how they felt.
“Not even the Land out East?”
The Land out East, the Wasteland, where humans roamed the realm under no watch from the ecliants. Evens has not given a slight thought about the land ever since he was but a child, still blinded and shielded by Mother from all the plight plaguing Xearth.
“You were always fascinated about it ever since you were a child. Wouldn’t go to sleep unless I tell you tales about that desolate land. Has that curiosity left your soul?” Mother further told.
Evens’s cheeks reddened, and for sure this time, he wouldn’t need to glance over to know what obnoxious faces the two clowns would make. “It’s not so much I want to go there, it’s more so…” Evens mumbled to himself and Mom. The scars on his body ached wildly, with sweat trickling down and seeping into the gashes. The marks rarely pained him nowadays, yet at times throbbing surges would arise when he least expected it, and Evens couldn’t resist to then dig his nails into the cuts. His fingers of one palm sunk deep into the wrist of the other, the stitch over his wrist was barely observable yet if touched upon, Evens could still feel the lump of marred flesh from a time he did not know. He hid his hands under the table, away from prying eyes, and none would be able to tell, for his face bore no pain nor would his wrist flood any blood.
“Don’t worry. I have no desire to send you there. If anything, as your mother, I couldn’t be happier for you to abandon such perilous ambition,” Mother sighed and patted Evens on his back, softly yet aching all the while. “But you are your own man now. Live fully so that this life that was weaved for you would not be wasted.”
Rupert and Owlem nodded like ogling pigeons, and as mindless as the fowls as well. The meddlesome duo could not help but stick their nose into Evens’s matters.
Evens had no words for Mother’s remark. Every year of his miserable life has been celebrated and scorned in this town. Who wouldn’t want to leave this shithole? Yet he never could, as if there were anchors tying his feet down to the darkest depth.
What… Evens’s feet felt slightly ticklish, with the table blanketing over his legs, a ghost could be gobbling his toes for all he knew. He bent over to find he wasn’t exactly wrong. It was munching on his soles, but it was less ghostly and rather beastly. What are you doing, you stupid mutt? he flailed his foot around so the metallic beast would bolt, yet it wouldn’t budge even a paw. It tightly wrapped itself around Evens’s leg and slumbered once more, as if it was a wooden post for it to mark its land. Do what you want then… Evens sighed, leaving the beast to rest by his side, such so he could never leave himself.
“That is enough heavy talk for one day under my roof.” Mother clapped her hands and awoke Evens from his solemn trance, and others from their elated haze. “Are you boys finished with your meals?”
“All done here, Miss Num,” Rupert said, as he gathered up the empty bowls and neatly stacked them upon each other.
“I wish I could have had a bit more, but too bad…” Owl moaned and his stomach also, as he licked the last morsel of meat off his bowl before it was seized by Rupert. The hungered fiend even gazed at Scrapper’s bowl, still brimming with traces of pottage left. He salivated over himself, yet still managed to uphold the little semblance of dignity he had left to not crouch on all four like a starving hound.
“I’ve finished as well,” Evens said, as he passed his bowl to the volunteered maid.
“Great to hear. I hope you boys have enjoyed it,” the edge of her mouth curled to a smile. No matter what she claimed, she had always enjoyed feeding others. She wouldn’t even let Evens feed himself until he turned ten of age.
“Thank you so much for the meal, Miss Num.” Rupert thanked, with the bowls tidily ordered, he stood up and swiftly marched for the door, or at least as swiftly as a man with one foot could.
“The stew was beyond delicious. Please have me over again next time,” Owl thanked as well and tailed the peglegged man.
Damn fools never learn… Evens smirked, knowing what was to come.
Before Rupert could even lay his palm over the doorknob, a knife was flung and skimmed past his cheek, and lodged deeply into the door. As if they were sheep faced under the shadow of a wolf, the two dashers froze in place and stared at the wedged blade instead of facing the hurler, now knowing what was to come as well.
“Where do you think you two are going?” Her smile curled further, yet eerier all the while. “Have you forgotten what you’ve promised me?”
It didn’t take long for the two to grasp their mishap. Their gasps and nervous stutters were enough for Evens to know that they’d realized.
“Well, of course, we’d love to help you with your chores, but unfortunately, the sun is coming down and my sister may be worried about me. Besides, we wouldn’t want to run into trouble with the watchdroids, let alone the Sentinels,” Rupert stuttered and fumbled his words.
“What he said,” Owl repeated meekly.
The titled genius truly believed that piling some dirty dishes would be enough to repay for an entire meal. Evens expected more from him, though he had sort of wished for this quandary to occur.
“You do not need to worry about that. Once you two have finished, you may rest at our dwelling for the night. There shouldn’t be any issue then, right?” Mom proposed, her eyes twitching faintly as if her smile would drop from her face at any moment, and another knife would return to her grasp at that moment.
The two fools had no rebuttals. With their heads and shoulders hung low, they pitiably marched back to the hearth of the hut, surrendering to their fates.
Damn fools... These are the men who wish to traverse toward new worlds? Evens sneered at the lads – then smiled for a moment ever so briefly, yet earnestly.