Nine

The earth underneath the thick layer of sand in the courtyard was hard and filled with stones. The consistency of it made for a great foundation for any building but made it exceedingly difficult for any hole to be dug. That’s exactly what Marcus had been doing for the past two days. From dawn until dusk, he would dig a hole, only stopping to drink enough water to make sure he wouldn’t die of dehydration. Then, once the sun had set, he would immediately start filling in the hole he had just painstakingly excavated.

He was ordered to do this without rest until the first of the other slaves returned from their own adventures. When Marcus returned himself, there were still four days until the end of the deadline, and after having run through the forest for over a day and then immediately assigned to this new task, he was starting to become dangerously exhausted.

Just as the sun reached its highest point in the sky on the third day, a familiar face stepped out of the nearby copse of trees. He had a thick layer of stubble blanketing his rugged-looking face, fuzzy eyebrows sat on top of his eyes like fat caterpillars, and his shoulder-length, jet-black hair was greasy and filled with filth and bits of vegetation.

Unfortunately, Marcus didn’t know his name. They were never told each other’s names, in fact, they had been ordered not to even ask. They were allowed to talk to each other while not in the midst of their training, but even then, Marcus still did not know the man very well. Still, he had never been happier to see the dirty-looking man because, with his arrival, the seal finally allowed him to cease his never-ending task.

With a satisfying shlink , Marcus speared the sand with his spade before falling into the stone-riddled pile of dirt next to him. The outermost layer of soil was warm from the sun, but as his heavy body sunk into it further, he felt the relief flooding into him from the coolness beneath.

The crunching sound of sand underfoot approached Marcus’ resting place, prompting him to pick his head up to look at the man standing before him. “You’re a real lifesaver. You know that, right?”

A befuddled look came across the wildman looking down at him, then a gruff voice matching his exterior entered Marcus’ ears. “I don’t know what you speak of. Is Master Franklin inside?”

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t be,” Marcus said, his head plopping back down into the soft dirt. “Did you bring anything back fun or interesting?”

“I believe so, but that’s for Master Franklin to decide.”

“You know…” Marcus said with a sigh. “He’s not out here; you don’t need to call him ‘master.’”

His fellow slave shrugged his shoulders as he kicked at the loose dirt around him. “You can never be certain who is listening, and I would rather avoid whatever it is he has you doing.”

“A wise decision,” Franklin called out from the open door of the barracks, surprising both Marcus and the other slave. Neither one of them could understand how the man could have heard them from so far away. “Come inside, show me what you have brought me. And you, start filling in that hole. We don’t need a hazard in the middle of our training ground.”

“…it never ends.” Marcus groaned as he got back to his feet.

It took him the rest of the day to fill in the hole he had already dug, but at least he had something to look forward to once he was done. During that time, one more man returned from the forest, leaving only one more out there somewhere unknown. One more day remained on their time limit, so he had plenty of time.

Caked in sweaty mud, Marcus dragged his exhausted body back into the barracks. He left a long trail of filth behind him as he walked through the large, open room like an oversized slug. He was sure that he would hear all about it later, but for now, he was too tired to care.

He fell onto his assigned cot, falling asleep before he even hit the taught canvas fabric.

When Marcus awoke, he felt fully refreshed. It took a moment for the haze to clear from his sleep-addled mind, but when it did, he shot straight off his cot. He had only expected to get a few hours of sleep at the most. Franklin would never allow them to sleep past the early hours of the dawn, but now, the barracks were suspiciously quiet.

It was unsettling.

He turned his head this way and that, his eyes wide as he took in his surroundings. The place was completely empty. The two always-present attendants were missing, his two fellow slaves who had returned only the previous day had gone, and even the heavily armored Franklin had left him behind by himself. It didn’t take a genius to figure out something wasn’t right.

“Hello,” Marcus called out, walking closer to the dead hearth. “Where’d everybody go?”

The ashes were cold and wet, having been snuffed out by someone. Light streamed through the shuttered windows; motes of dust lay suspended in the stagnate air, and birdsong was carried inside the barracks by the warm breeze squeezing through the gaps amongst the timber walls. Groans from the shifting building accompanied Marcus’ footsteps as he walked across the uneven floor, the smell of discarded meals following him.

He poked his head out of the door leading to the courtyard, immediately seeing that it was just as empty as the barracks. Closing the door behind him, he made his way back through the empty building and out of the door he had entered when first arriving here.

He really was at a loss. He knew that he wasn’t dreaming, the intense hunger he felt was proof enough of that, and from the lack of pain radiating from his slave seal knew that he wasn’t given any orders he may have forgotten about. Even with his short conversations with Jorel about slave seals , he still had no idea how they worked.

His eyes stung as the light from the sun shined directly on his face. Even as he quickly shielded his eyes with his hand, it still took him a moment to adjust, but when he did, he only grew more confused.

A carriage, with a team of two horses, sat just outside of the tree line. It was rather plain when compared to a few others he had seen during his short stint inside the city but still appeared to be of high quality. Four large, spoked wheels kept it off the ground, the wood having been banded in iron in order to reinforce it. A slightly darker shade of timber made up the body of the carriage. Marcus was no expert on different species of tree, but if he had to guess, he would have said it was built of some kind of mahogany.

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He could only see one small door on the side of the carriage facing him, and soon enough, it opened. A reedy-looking man stepped out, his fine clothing fluttering in the breeze. He wore a dark blue vest over a white undershirt that boasted puffy fabric that ran down to his thin wrists. Black trousers and matching boots concealed his long legs, and an odd-looking top hat perched atop his head completed his eccentric ensemble.

Marcus stood there, looking dumbly at the man. The finely dressed man stood next to the carriage, staring right back at him, his bushy mustache twitching underneath his hooked nose in what Marcus could only decipher as impatience.

“Uh… hi,” Marcus said, raising his hand in greeting.

“Greetings.” The man said as he held the door open next to him. “I’ve been sent to retrieve you. I was told it was to be at your earliest convenience, but If I may be so rude as to suggest we hurry as it has already been a day since I have arrived.”

Marcus looked at the carriage, then down at his nearly naked and filth-coated body. He couldn’t imagine why Franklin would arrange something like this, but he could only shake his head. He was way beyond the point of trying to make sense of anything. There was no reason to start now.

“Alright…” Marcus said as he approached the carriage, “Where is it that we’re going?”

“The manor.” Came the response, but the man might as well of told him they were going to the moon for as good as that answer was.

“Right… thanks.” Marcus quipped as he climbed into the carriage, causing it to rock back and forth aggressively.

As soon as Marcus was safely inside, the man closed the door behind him before alighting onto the driver’s bench and promptly whipping the horses into motion. It was a very rough ride, especially over the uneven ground of the forest. Apparently, they hadn’t discovered suspension yet. But once they made it into the city proper, it smoothed out considerably.

The guards let them in without issue, and the many people walking about made way for them as they passed, but there were still several times that they had to slow down for those who felt they had more claim to the road than they did. As they made their way deeper into the city, the number of peasants Marcus spied through the tiny window of the carriage decreased, giving way to more people dressed very similarly to the driver of the carriage.

Looking at the city from this point of view was like a strange mixture of medieval pageantry and Victorian fashion sense. The buildings were built of wood, simple stone, or a mixture of the two. The road was hard, packed dirt with deep ruts from the constant wagon traffic, and there was no rhyme or reason to the way they meandered through the city. The men he saw walking about now were dressed in colorful suits with tall hats topping their heads, and the women on their arms adorned their forms with long, billowy dresses, just as colorful as the men’s clothing but covering nearly every inch of their bodies.

There was a very clear distinction between the haves and the have-nots.

The carriage rumbled on, passing the well-dressed denizens and the increasingly large buildings all the same. They took a sharp turn, avoiding a particularly busy section of the city where Marcus could hear loud shouts and raucous laughter. Marcus tried to see what was happening, but the little window didn’t allow him to see past the crowd of people that had gathered, filling up the street they turned away from.

“What’s going on?” Marcus asked the mustached driver, finally giving up on trying to see for himself.

“Most likely a street performer.” The driver said, carefully guiding the horses through the flowing crowd of people. “They are quite popular, depending on the presentation.”

Marcus leaned back, wistfully looking out over the crowd of people before they disappeared behind the tall, stone buildings. He wondered if the performer was one who breathed fire or swallowed swords. He had always been fond of jugglers, especially ones that used knives or, better yet, those little chainsaws. He hoped he’d be able to find out one of these days.

More than two hours had passed since they had entered the city. The continuous throng of people had thinned out substantially, and the buildings had grown further apart. Now, there was enough room for beautiful gardens between the extravagant houses and perfectly manicured hedges delineating the property lines. Even the roads had become paved at some point, marking the point of the city where the truly wealthy lived.

Still, they continued on.

The gardens and hedges soon gave way to sprawling estates and multistoried mansions. The towers that looked so large near the edge of the city dwarfed everything else nearby, even though they were still several miles away. From Marcus’ vantage point inside the carriage, they looked to be over five hundred feet tall.

He would have never thought that any level of engineering would allow a stone structure to ever be that tall.

The carriage pulled off the cobbled road and into a long, winding drive that led to a massive, four-story mansion. Leafy hedges lined the driveway, just as tall as the carriage. They were clipped into very symmetrical, blocky shapes. From the glimpses that he could see between the hedges, Marcus could tell the rest of the grounds were quite beautiful.

Flowering trees dotted the rolling landscape, their pink and orange petals adding splashes of color where it was needed the most. Soft grass filled the spaces between the trees, meticulously cut to a uniform length by what must have been a small army of groundsmen. Before he could see any more of the wonderful estate, the carriage he was riding in ground to a halt behind the white-marbled manor.

He could hear the stomping of the horses' hooves, and the carriage rocked slightly as the driver dropped to the ground below. As expected, the door swung outwards, and the mustached driver with fuzzy eyebrows ushered him outside.

Two maids, their hair tied up underneath a white smock that went well with their black and white uniforms, were waiting for him. They both looked up at him, shock clear in their wide eyes. Marcus was sure he was just as shocked as they were, but probably for completely different reasons.

He stood at an intimidating six-foot-eight; his muscles had become even more defined since coming to this world as well. He had already been no stranger to the gym due to his line of work, and now it looked as if he lived there. His arms were as big around as their heads, and his legs were like small tree trunks. He had even developed a six-pack that would have put Arnold to shame. All of that, together with the fact that he only wore tattered pants and was covered in a thick layer of filth, made for a very odd scene. It only went to show how professional the driver had been. He didn’t even flinch when he laid eyes on Marcus.

Marcus, on the other hand, was still trying to wrap his head around everything that had happened since he woke up. His new life, since being turned into a slave, had consisted of long weeks of brutal training, and then he had been ordered to traipse through the woods. That trip had nearly killed him on a few occasions and had also ended in him having to care for a man he hardly knew but refused to abandon until forced to. Everything had been so stressful, to say the least, and now, all of a sudden, he had been brought to a mansion of all places and was standing before two very scared-looking maids.

“Hi there,” Marcus waved, breaking them out of their shocked stupor.