Martin didn’t know what to do.

His fathers instructions were clear: take charge of the minstrel and have him make some music that will shock, awe and most importantly shame the Bordello so as to upraise his own status and the status of the Institute within the New Continent upon his arrival.

This was actually the first time his father had ever seriously given him a responsibility to carry out, not to mention that this whole entire incident was also the very first time that his father had ever genuinely praised him for anything in his whole life.

And now, after months at sea being at the sharp end of his fathers displeasement, Martin had to annoyingly admit to himself that he was feeling a lot happier about it than he would like to acknowledge.

But now, with what he was to do about his new responsibility…well…he has absolutely no idea where to even begin.

He couldn’t turn to anyone for advice, not even his mother. The moment he did so his father will hear of it and it may very well immediately lose him the first ever positive light that his father had ever had for him, and he couldn’t lose that now that he felt it.

Martin's life had so far been up to this point straightforward though repressive. Follow his father’s demands, live to uphold the glory of the Coalition through the virtues of the Institute, practice hard to become a suitable Warrior (as suitable as can be expected from him), and don’t embarrass the family.

With his talents, upholding these principles were all that was expected of him, and he had done fairly well in keeping to them throughout his life. But because of his actions so far in carrying them out… he didn’t really know how to do anything.

A Warrior’s youth was meant to be spent building his mana until he was ready enough to step onto the battlefield, and when he had proved himself, decide which Association he wished to dedicate himself to to further the prosperity of the Coalition.

Martin wasn’t meant to do anything until he had enough strength for the battlefield. However, by some extreme twist of fate, his father was pleased with him and now had an unexpected expectation towards Martin.

…an expectation he couldn’t disappoint.

When he had finally sorted through his feelings after everyone had left the audience chamber besides himself and the minstrel, he once again took the opportunity to have a good look at the man.

He was still kneeling down, frozen in fear he guessed, he knew what that felt like in front of his father, but now…now he had to take charge.

This man, this marvelous and courageous man, was still in the end… a peasant.

And Martin had ordered around peasants most of his life.

“Sir… Minstrel” Martin began, hating the wobble in his own voice. “Please follow me.”

Sir?!?!?!

Please?!?!

His father wouldn’t like that.

But Martin couldn’t help himself. This man, peasant though he may be, was still the greatest man that he had ever met, and despite the reality of their situation Martin still had utmost love and respect for him.

The minstrel took a moment, but then came smoothly to his feet like nothing had happened and with his head still lowered followed after Martin without a word.

*****

Slavery.

All my worst nightmares have come true, I have been taken by a Warrior, and my life is now in their hands.

It’s only a matter of years until they notice I’m not aging.

Then…then I’m fucked.

NO! Keep it together. You’ve survived worse before, you’ve escaped worse before. You. Can. Get. Out. Of. This!

All I need to do is do what I’ve done so far. Play it cool, hang around for a while, fake my death, and then move on.

But how!? When!?

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

These are the thoughts shooting around my head when I hear the young boy Warrior call out to me. His voice was unsteady, and it was clear he had no idea what he was on about… but that was good for me.

When unsure, anxious, naive people find things surprisingly going their way…they can tend to not question it and instead accept the relief that they no longer have to worry about it, all the while they are being manipulated and deceived.

That’s the aim, that’s step one. Earn this boy’s trust.

Step two…well… I’ll get to that later.

I follow the boy with absolute obedience. No doubt his Father and many other of the Warriors around here somewhere are observing this encounter with their finely mana tuned senses, so I not only have to deceive the boy, I have to deceive them all as well.

The boy Warrior takes me through some corridors and down some stairs until finally we both arrive at what I can only assume to be his quarters.

Standing before it is what I can only describe as a maid and a manservant, who when they see their young master open the door for him straight away to let him and I walk past them as we enter, before following after us and closing the doors right behind them.

The young Warrior walks over to a table and sits down, after which he indicates for me to sit and join him at the table just across from him. Something which I notice from the corner of my eye elicits quite a visible surprise on the faces of both his servants, but I sit down anyway, my head still kept lowered the entire time.

“Sir Minstrel, or perhaps… Mr Bowman… yes, that would be better” the young Warrior awkwardly starts “My Father has given you his instructions and I…am to ensure they are to be carried out to best of your ability”

“Of course, Sir Warrior.” I replied.

A pause follows.

A very long pause.

The boy is clearly struggling with what he must say and what he must do, and all the time he is looking at me with what seem to be some very complex emotions. So even though it's risky, I decide I have to take charge of the conversation.

“If I may be so bold Sir Warrior” I start, much to the visible relief of the boy “What kind of song were you hoping for. A brave and bold song, a comical mocking one, a composition with fire and passion, which mood should I set for the performance that I will play when we arrive.”

…another awkward pause.

Before the boy finally says…

“We…we…well what is your opinion, Mr Bowman?”

A bit annoyed at the awkwardness and nervousness of this boy...

“I would not dare form an opinion without knowing what it is that you think would best serve the Lord Warrior’s purposes, what type of music do you think he would like me to play Sir, in your esteemed opinion?”

It seems that question seemed to have done something, as the nervous fidgeting and uncomfortable bearing running all through him and over his face seemed to transition… into an utterly blank confusion.

I wait for him to recover.

…Then I wait some more.

Until finally when not just me, but the maid and manservant to the side as well are getting very uncomfortable with the silence and confusion that is hanging in the air…

“My father is an Institute Loyalist Mr Bowman. Until four days ago I had never even heard a musical performance until I came across you, and while my Father has most definitely seen some, his position on the Bordello would have prevented him from finding any joy whatsoever from any of those experiences.” he said matter of factly.

…Right? Okay, well…let’s see…

“Though I am his son, I have no idea what my father would find enjoyable from any form of music let alone any other artistic field. The only thing I can say with confidence and certainty I know of that brings him any sort of happiness at all is the prosperity of the Institute or the hardship of the Bordello. Beyond that, there are only the things that work towards furthering those two goals.”

Okay. He hates the Bordello and loves the Institute, but I need some ideas as to…

“To be honest Mr Bowman, not one person from my father’s followers has any ideas or opinions about music at all… except now for you. It is your role to make the song as… musically excellent as possible, and my job is to ensure that the message you are getting across is in line with my fathers two goals.” The young Warrior finally finishes in a rush.

“...I understand Sir Warrior. You wish for me to write the music and for you to review the accompanying lyrics to make sure that the right…message is coming across.”

“...That seems to be the case, Mr Bowman.” The young Warrior finishes.

Okay. I get it now. He wants a propaganda piece. Maybe something like a national anthem or a sports team song. Something to inspire pride and loyalty in a set of ideals or peoples while at the same time shit on someone else’s.

“So, if you may permit my question Sir Warrior, how are we to go about your reviewing of the song I will write to ensure your approval of it. If you would permit my suggestion, I can write out a set of lyrics for the song while matching them with melodies and at regular intervals, and at your discretion, you can evaluate its suitability and progress.”

“You can read and write?” the young Warrior quizzically asks.

Shit.

Shouldn’t have said that.

“Yes Sir Warrior, I have studied to pick up some stories and tales to draw inspiration for my music from various Institute Side Branches over the years, and have picked up a working skill with the written word in doing so.” I smoothly lie.

“...yes, your suggestion will do. Karla!”

““Yes, young master.”” said both the maid and the manservant at the same time.

“Find Mr.Bowman a room near my quarters so that he may have easy access to my… criticisms…and so that the conditions for him to compose this musical piece for my father are the best they can be.”

““Yes young master.””

“Mr Bowman, we shall have reviews daily unless otherwise disrupted, and I shall expect a masterpiece by the time we arrive at our destination in five months, lest we both suffer my father’s displeasure.” The young Warrior stated, with some confidence and Warrior superiority seeming to come back up his spine.

“As you will, Sir Warrior.”

“You will no longer address me as that! You will address me as Young Master, as do all who serve me, Martin, son of Arvell, Master Warrior of the Prida line!” he commands, his superiority now at last out and on full display.

“By your will, young master” I answer.

With that ending remark, I am thankfully excused.

*****

After that things happened fast.

The lady Karla immediately split off from the gentleman Karla and I as soon as we exited the room and headed off down a corridor, while me and gentleman Karla continued out the same way I came in.

Going through some twists and turns we arrived back outside into the sun and open sea air once more, though I had unfortunately no time to enjoy it. The male Karla was right up my arse at once and had me practically running over to my cabin to collect my small amount of possessions before once more directing me right away back to the miniature palace and again down through the corridors and staircases until at last, we arrived at a room with the lady Karla standing out the front of it.

As soon as she saw us she opened up the door to let me in before straight away, turning around and shutting the door behind her as she left.

Through this entire thing… not one Karla said one word.

Looking around my room at this point, I was somewhat happy to see that it was bigger and more comfortable looking than my last one, this one having a proper comfortable looking sized bed plus some other luxuries I spotted around the place.

However as I sat down on the bed and came to grips with my new circumstances, I began to sink into my thoughts seriously to start examining the facts before me.

Five months.

Five months until we arrive and I will be displayed to some of the most powerful people on the New Continent in such a way that they are unlikely to ever forget me.

Five months to sort out a plan, find a way to fake my death once again (that doesn’t raise any questions), and disappear, never to be seen or heard from again…all under the watchful eye of the most powerful and dangerous men and women this world has to offer.

What could go wrong?