The sentinel is sleeping, and one of the guests has stolen my sword. The Lady is furious, his slacking almost costs us a relic that, despite being given to me as a gesture of her appreciation, should remain in her palace. I am not a man made to wield a swordM the fingers and curtains mock me when I try to. A quill and a notepad, here, besides the golden scaled reptile, is what I should wield. And he watches over me, intently, never blinking, preserved as the lady wants him to be. Preserved and cold, as she wills. And even in this state, he grows and changes with time. The eyes change color and even places.
There are no other books in the place, The Lady says a flood destroyed them all. Acquiring new ones, besides this diary I am authoring, would be wasteful: she is not fond of reading, and several servants are illiterate. The fingers on the sky also like to sweat over them, the only place in the palace where they don’t do so are some spots of this chamber, for not even heaven dares mock Lady Scarlet.
She will recover the sword personally if need arises, I have my chores to tend to. The ball pit needed rearranging, because it had gone to a mess due to my negligence during these last weeks. I spent a long time sifting through the gifts the visitors —and the invaders— bring the lady to find ink, a quill, a suitable notepad. Yes. Days. Nights. Time not spent tending to the pit, which I soon regretted.
The balls were mixed. Mixed! Males to the right, females to the left, that’s how it ought to be. One of the dogs was chewing on a male one.
“Let go, bad boy, let go!” I screamed, and had to wrestle the ball from his hands. Had to punch the massive animal on his small snout so he would let go. “And stay away from the balls!”
They are mischievous little pups, but not bad. I don’t feel any joy in screaming at them, they are just dogs, unaware of some of the Lady’s rules, and still loyal to the death. She told me, not them, to put order to the balls, to look for differences in their lumps and holes to identify female and male ones, and then set them apart. Female balls to the left, males to the right, that’s how the pit must be organized. And I don’t like the dogs eating up the balls, they may get sick doing so.
I found three twigs, two platters and and several dice in the pit, result of a careless addition of new balls by other servants. One of the new balls was still filled with jelly, and it had to be removed carefully, not to smudge it on the older ones. I have mastered the art of extracting the jelly with my fingers and tongue. The jelly has a mild flavor, it reminds me, maybe, of the few times I had the pleasure of eating salmon roe—long before I served The Lady, when I was miserable and lonely and content with my life of adventuring.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Once I finished with the pits, I rinsed my hands on the fountain of one of the corridors and skittered back here, to the main chamber, to the throne chamber, to my corner, where I have my table, and it’s dry, and the lady, from her throne, watches over. I love her silent stares, her sharp white and briny smile that she blesses me with now and then and once again.
The ambient humidity cannot be good for you, book, can it? Why were you brought here? If, once the Lady sends me out to pursue some errands, were you finished, maybe I could leave you in the sun? atop a stone, facing dawnwards, so you could greet the, maybe, sun, maybe, moon, maybe, stars and feel their warm, a second close to the chilling touch of Lady Scarlet. And may, may someone read and come visit, like the Gator Prince used to, in the days he loved our Lady, In the days he courted our lady, in the days before he went away to never come back. The Gator Prince would like you, little book, in his green dressings, donning his mocking eyes filled with contempt and autumn, yes, he would like you.
I have to tend to the brewery, the dogs have just brought new barrels in.
The Lady just dropped my sword by my side.
“Take better care of it, The Sentinel has already been admonished. Don’t trust him for everything,” she says before sashaying back to her throne. She giggles, lips closing, smiling at me. “And yet you keep doodling on. Awesome companion, aren’t you?”
“Yes, awesome companion I am. Thank you, Lady, thank you, Lady.”
Her approval envelopes me like the warm hug of rusted chains. Our Lady is good! Our Lady is red! Our Lady is not blue!
I will scurry downstairs, then upstairs, then through the left passage, to go into the brewery. The halls are not kind on my bare feet, but one manages, one always manages, if he can, and I can, because one manages, yes, one manages.
I will take the sword, because the thieve surely hides there, yes, among the barrels, maybe even inside one of them, drinking the sweet wine to avoid drowning. Yes, best to take the sword. Maybe I can even get a rogue rat to gift to Her Highness, if I take the sword yes, best to take the sword and care for the sword. She will like a dead rat, yes, she always likes when I kill rats. And every time, when she smiles and takes the gift, I purr like a kitten taking a prey to the feet of their master, because I lack the agility and eyes of a cat, but I may as well have been given the heart of one. By her blessing, I could very well be a cat.
The fingers will point at me, they will, they will mock, but they inhabit the sky of the halls and there’s nothing to do but face them. They, too, serve Lady Scarlet, and that’s enough for me to offer tolerance in the face of their derision.
I must tend to the brewery, I’ll see you again in short, book, don’t write in my absence.
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Considered the cat thing: cats, animals free of original sin, have a good life. It would be nice to rest on her lap and purr while she caresses me with her calloused hands. It would be so nice, heavenly even, to be fed by her hand, to be by her side night in and night out. To be at each other’s beck and call. Like the party was to mine before we went different ways. I serve the Lady, they don’t. They miss me, I don’t. I have Lady Scarlet, they don’t.