The prisoner had no memory of falling asleep. It usually took him a long time. He usually had to quiet his mind by force of will before sleep was even possible. He had a lot to think about after the maid left and thought he might not sleep at all. Soon after, he was sucked down into it, taken there by something that was not himself. It was as though the thick blackness of the room had climbed inside his mind, consuming him with its nothingness. When he woke, one of those creatures was standing beside his bed. He had never seen a man so huge and this was one of two.
He could tell them apart only by a single mole on the neck. They were otherwise identical. He shuddered at the memory of being held by this one. It had taken his head in its hand and he'd thought it meant to crush his skull. They were the largest hands he'd ever come across in his life. The size of those hands could be of use to him. Big hands meant the the muscles in his fingers were big, too. Big muscles telegraphed more clearly. These creatures might be easier to read than most people, if he could just keep his wits about him and focus.
It stood over him, staring at the wall above him. Did it not see that he was awake?
"Hello?" He hadn't meant for it to come out as a question. He wanted it to sound friendly. The beast looked at him, bent over silently and unlocked him from the bed. The thing grabbed him around his rib cage, lifted him into the air and placed him on his feet. He felt like a child. Or a doll. It pushed his back to move him forward and he stumbled before walking. It didn't guide him. It only prodded him roughly if he walked too slowly or it wanted him to change direction. He was thrown to the ground by a couple of those shoves at which point it lifted him in the air again, placed him on his feet and gave him a startup shove.
He was getting the hang of maintaining the right pace, walking with his head angled back enough to see its arm move. If the arm moved, he would need to turn. He could anticipate it, act before it hit him in his back. He briefly wondered if he could outrun it but decided not to take that risk. He was in no shape to run. He was still weak from the prison and his scrotum was sore. At least he could walk. Last night, the pain buckled his knees and this thing ended up dragging him outside to the chariot, knocking his head on the corner at every turn.
He saw the arm come up in his periphery but there was nowhere to turn. He quickened his pace, thinking that was its intention but, instead of an impulse on his back, he felt those huge fingers wrap around his neck, pull him back and slam his face into the wall.
It held him against the wall as it opened a door, pulled him through it backwards and abruptly turned him to face the room. That woman was eating alone at a long, gilded table. The other beast stood behind her. She didn't look up. He was jerked down to her feet, until he was on his hands and knees, facing the floor, the beast on the floor next to him, holding him there by his neck. He concentrated on the hand on his neck, trying to sense any muscle twitches in the thumb. He heard silverware clink against china. He could see the countess' shoes, thick, tight leather laced up the side, and smell her perfume. It was flowery and fresh.
Her hand appeared just below his face, holding a cubic inch of some sort of meat. She left it long enough for him to see it and dropped it on the floor. He felt something in the monster's thumb and, a second later, it shoved his face down so his mouth was just over the piece of dead flesh. The thumb muscle twitched. A nanosecond later, his forehead smacked the marble floor, sending dizzying pain through his brain. His eyes had only refocused when he felt the thumb muscle again. He quickly took the meat in his mouth. The hand tensed a bit but did nothing else. He felt okay, like he had this monster down. He could read it. He felt the thumb muscle again but, before he could realize that he wasn't chewing, his head knocked into the floor again. He chewed, exaggerating the jaw movements for the thing to see, with his eyes closed against the pain in his head.
The whole thing was repeated over and over in silence. He tested his handle on the creature's tell. Waiting for that little muscle to move before responding to his morsels of food on the floor. He pushed it too far once, waited too long after the twitch before moving. He paid for that bravado. Or, to be more precise, his forehead payed for it.
He was beginning to feel sated when she spoke. "I had intended to introduce you to our cook. She's quite lovely. But I have decided against it. It would only bring back painful memories for you."
He thought about this as he chewed. "Memories of what?" he asked. Those talons of hers raked his back. He hissed through his teeth.
"Never address me without calling me mistress."
He thought about that. He was loathe to do it but there was no point in refusing. There was no point in doing anything. He needed some sort of plan. He needed some idea of how to get out of this. Then he could act towards that goal.
"Memories of what, Mistress," he asked.
"Memories of your mother."
"I never met the woman. I'm an orphan." He waited a few moments for her response before remembering. "Mistress."
"I don't believe I've read any novels about orphans."
He suppressed a smile. "I know of a good one, Mistress. It is very old, from long before The Ending War." The clink of her silverware had stopped. "You would like it. It has a cruel and beautiful woman in it. And a prisoner."
"Novels from before The Ending War are illegal." She said after a long silence.
"I hope you won't have me arrested, Mistress." He thought she would hurt him for this but another morsel of food appeared before him, dropped on the floor. Perhaps she had smiled. He longed to see her face, her reactions to his words. His only hope was to make her curious. He knew that even before that maiden had told him there would be a second slave, competition for his life.
He had seen things. He knew secrets. As long as she wanted to know where he'd been, what he'd learned, she would keep him alive.
His head was brought to the food. He took it in his mouth, straining his eyes sideways at the beast.
"I think I will introduce you to the cook, then." Her tone was different. It had been terse. Suddenly, it was light and airy. The clink of silverware began again. "I am quite literate and have no need of a scribe. We need to think of some other way for you to earn your scraps. You'll help the cook until we figure that out." She dropped another on the floor in front of him when she said 'scraps', as if to demonstrate what the word meant. "Do you have any other skills?"
The word 'magic' popped into his head and he almost laughed at how ridiculously dangerous such a revelation would be. He wanted to be outside. What skill did he have that required being outside? He tore through his mind for ideas but only found irrelevant, long ago memories about the outdoors. The way grass feels on bare feet. The sting of a fire ant. Being blinded by the midday sun.
"I'll think of something, then." She said and he knew he had missed his opportunity.
The sting of a fire ant? He suddenly remembered what he had thought about just before falling asleep. He could have enjoyed it, what she did to him in that room. Had he not been so terrified, it could have almost been nice. While she had his penis tied in that leather strap, stretched, and she pinched his scrotum between those pliers, the pain was unimaginable. But, after that, he'd felt so raw, so open, so needy. He had wanted to be in that maid's mouth again. He'd wanted more.
He shook the thought from his mind and ate in silence.
He hated this woman. He needed to focus on that.
