"House Of Pain"
Part 1
by Beryll
Orlando wasn't sure what had wakened him. It couldn't have been the bell as everybody else in the slave's dormitory was still asleep. Probably it had just been the cold again.
Outside it was still dark but years of training told Orlando that it couldn't be more than a few minutes till the wake up call would come. The small windows of the dormitory were encrusted with ice flowers and on the sills outside fresh snow had gathered.
It must have snowed over night. Again. Orlando shivered under his thin blanket and tried to somehow cover his naked feet while drawing up the too short piece of cloth to his chin. That would mean clearing the courtyard of snow yet again. Just like he and some of the other slaves had done nearly every morning for the last few weeks.
As if there wasn't enough to do today anyway. Christmas Eve was a day and mostly a night of hard labor for the slaves of the household, certainly not a time of celebration. There were a million things to do with all the guests celebrating, each and every single one coming up with extra tasks for the overworked servants.
Who were all bitchy and tired by now as they had spend the last two weeks cleaning and decorating the whole castle, then preparing everything for the grand party that would last well into tomorrow morning.
And as if that wasn't enough, most of the guests and permanent residents alike used the holidays to make use of as many of the prettier slaves as possible in ways that were at best degrading, at worst fatal.
Orlando hugged himself, shuddering as he thought of his nearly fatal encounter with a particularly nasty baron who had concluded that Orlando was lacking the proper Christmas spirit of giving freely. He still wore the scars of those two nights. He had been lucky that the noble had to depart to deal with business in his own holdings before he could finish his 'education'.
But that didn't mean he was off the hook. Yesterday he had been clearing the window sills of ice when he had watched the man arrive down in the yard. All he could hope now was that their paths wouldn't cross. Or that the baron wouldn't remember him if they did stumble across each other.
Orlando sat up on his narrow cot, surveying the low dormitory and the other slaves, still fitfully asleep. With a sigh he got up, grabbing his worn boots from where he had put them when he had gone to sleep only about four hours earlier. The stone floor was icy cold so he quickly put on the boots.
Running his hands through his thick curls he quietly made his way to the door and then outside. Wouldn't hurt to get to the kitchen early. Maybe he could snatch some leftovers from last night’s pre-Christmas party before all the other slaves got there. And maybe he would even have a few minutes to warm his feet at the stove before it was time to go outside and clear the courtyard.
The caste was still mostly quiet. The last nobles had finally gone to sleep or were too drunk, too stoned or generally too fucked up to make much noise. The slaves were mostly still asleep.
Orlando loved this half hour of the night, when the evening turned into night for his masters and it was not quite morning yet for the slaves. When there was nobody to order him around.
The courtyard was covered by a thin sheet of snow, unbroken by footprints yet. It looked pretty and Orlando stopped in the doorway from the dormitory to look at the pristine white contrasting with the dark grey of the castle's walls and the green of the countless garlands the slaves had decorated the yard with. It did look pretty. Even though he doubted any of the inhabitants of the castle truly appreciated the view.
The snow looked powdery and soft and Orlando sighed with gratitude, his breath making a small white cloud before in the cold air. It would be easy to clear the yard this morning.
Then he made his way over to the kitchen leaving one single set of footprints in the white.
The two stove slaves were already awake, feeding the fires to get them hot and steady for the other kitchen slaves who would soon arrive to hand out breakfast for the rest of the staff of the castle and then get to the nearly impossible task of preparing the ungodly amounts of food that would be consumed by the amassed noble guests today.
Orlando greeted them with a silent nod and was mostly ignored. Which suited him just fine, as he sorted through the heaped remains on the large plates, that had been served as a last fancy snack to the guests partying the hardest. There were some juicy bits to be found and he secured a meaty chickens leg in some spicy marinade, a chunk of bread and a pitcher of ale that was still half filled and only a bit stale for himself. Then he sat down in a corner near to one of the great open fireplaces.
Just when he took the first bite, he could hear the bell toll in the slave's dormitories and he smiled happily. Plenty of time for a nice breakfast.
When he was done with eating, the kitchen had filled with slaves fighting over the leftovers. Fighting very quietly of course. After all nobody wanted to wake up the masters.
With a sigh, Orlando said goodbye to the fireplace and got up to meet the others of the cleaning crew, who were slowly gathering at the kitchen door. This would probably remain the only time today, he would really feel warm.
---
Several hours later Orlando was desperately trying to keep his grip on the handle of the bucket filled with dirty water he was carrying out of the grand hall. His fingers were bloody from almost two hours of carrying buckets like that and scrubbing the floor in between and they were so icy cold he could hardly feel them by now.
Why the floor had to be so spotlessly clean it would reflect the ceiling perfectly was beyond him when he considered that the great party that would take place there in only a few hours would soil the floor again. When first wine, than food and later probably the blood of the pleasure slaves that had been bought explicitly for this occasion would spill.
But it was not his place to question his masters. At least not when they could hear it.
He had nearly made it to the great portal leading out into the courtyard, when his fingers finally slipped and the heavy bucket fell free of his grip, spilling a flood of dirty water down the corridor and - much to Orlando's horror - over the shiny boots that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere right in his path.
He glanced up and felt ready to faint when he realized that the tall man in front of him was not only wearing the fine and expensive clothes of a noble but also the rank insignia of an earl.
'I'm so dead' Orlando thought and then he noticed the man standing right at the shoulder of the one whose boots he had ruined. The baron he had so dreaded meeting. And as their eyes met for a moment the man clearly recognized him.
Orlando did the only sensible thing and dropped to his knees, touching the floor with his brow, trembling in fear. He had seen slaves dismembered for lesser offences.
"You!" the oily voice of the baron cut the silence that had followed the loud clanking of the bucket. "You imbecile! I know you, slime!"
Orlando heard the baron step forward and tried to make himself smaller, shrinking away from the beating he knew must be coming.
The expected blow didn't fall but he heard an unfamiliar voice that had to belong to the Earl: "Dear Baron, as far as I can see my boots are soiled so it is my pleasure to administer punishment." The voice was velvety soft but underlined with a steel that made Orlando flinch.
When he glanced up he saw that the Earl had caught the riding crop of the baron in midswing, his black-gloved hand balled to a menacing fist around it and his eyes the gleaming blue grey of a drawn sword.
The baron quickly stepped back, bowing his head. "Of course, your highness. I apologize!" he whispered, his voice dripping oily obedience and barely contained hatred.
Orlando pressed his brow to the wet floor, praying to every deity he had ever heard of as the steps of the baron receded down the corridor.
"Get up!" the earl ordered coldly.
Orlando hurried to obey but kept his gaze firmly on his feet, noticing absentmindedly that there was a hole in his left boot and that his big toe was sticking out.
"Look at me!"
The voice of the earl seemed a fraction softer but Orlando was reasonably sure that was just wishful thinking on his part. He glanced up at the noble through his lashes, evading eye contact and avoiding lifting his face.
The hand of the man shot forward and his gloved hand grabbed Orlando's chin to raise his face to his gaze. Orlando couldn't help but notice that a hint of amusement was sparkling in the earl's eyes.
The noble slowly turned Orlando's face left and right, then a slow smile spread on his lips, easing the severe lines from his face.
"You're a pretty one." he commented. He let go of Orlando's chin, who quickly lowered his head again. "You have ruined my boots." the earl continued. "You should be skinned alive and then hanged."
Orlando shuddered at that image. He had seen it done to runaway slaves twice and it sometimes still haunted his nightmares. He felt tears of fear gather in his eyes and wanted nothing more than to wipe at them but he stayed motionless, only trembling slightly.
He winced away when the earl reached out for his face again, but this time the man didn't grab him but instead traced a single tear that was running down Orlando's cheek with one gloved finger.
His voice was strangely soft and warm, when he spoke again. "Hey... Don't cry, little one. I won't have you punished. It's just a pair of boots. I have plenty."
Orlando couldn't help but glance up and saw with surprise that there was genuine warmth in the noble's eyes and more than a little pity.
"Come, little one," the earl continued, smiling reassuringly, "don't be afraid, I won't hurt you." He turned on his heel and walked away towards the grand stairway leading up to the left wing of the castle and the lavish guest quarters there. There was nothing Orlando could do but follow.
He wasn't sure what to make of the strange behavior of the noble but he certainly did not trust him. If his service in the castle had taught him one thing it was to never, never trust a master. They were quick to anger, loved toying with the fears of the slaves and - most importantly - they were always cruel, cold and careless.
Still an ember of hope that he might get out of this one alive was glowing somewhere in his silly heart and just wouldn't die, even though his brain told him clearly that hope just was ridiculous. After all it was Christmas. Nothing good ever happened on Christmas.
Quickly they had reached the richly carpeted hallway that led to the suites of the most important guests. Of course an earl would be quartered here. Orlando felt faint. He was so dead.
The earl hadn't turned once to make sure the little slave was actually following but now he opened one of the doors and looked down at Orlando. Orlando kept his head carefully ducked as he passed through the door, feeling like a chicken grabbed by the neck. Just one twist and he would serve as dinner.
The noble followed him inside, closing the door behind them with a firm 'thud'.
Orlando stopped just a few steps into the room, keeping his eyes trained on the thick red carpet. He had been in these suites often enough. Mostly after the guests had left to clean up after them. Sometimes when one had grabbed him to serve in various ways. But never on an offence.
The earl walked passed him to the richly embroidered couch that stood close to the huge fireplace. "Come," he said as he sat down on the couch, "sit."
Orlando quickly hurried over and dropped to his knees again at the feet of the earl, wincing at the sight of the expensive boots right in his view that really did look ruined.
"No," the earl said to his surprise, gently grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him upward, "up here." Embarrassed Orlando sat on the edge of the couch, feeling improper and out of place, staring down at his hands.
Why couldn't the man just punish him? At least then he could stop being so horribly afraid.
"Let me have a look at that." the earl said instead and took Orlando's hands, opening his loosely balled fists. Orlando couldn't suppress a hiss of pain as the scraps on his fingers broke open again and fresh blood seeped from them.
"No wonder you dropped that bucket." the earl said, still sounding gentle and understanding. "A miracle you were able to hang on to it at all." He got up from the couch and Orlando was about to drop to his knees yet again, but the earl's hand pressed down on his shoulder just in time to prevent him.
"Wait here." the earl commanded and of course Orlando obeyed. He watched under his lashes as the earl went to the adjoining room and there rummaged around a bit. Moment later he was back, carrying a small satchel. He sat down next to Orlando again, opening the satchel and taking out a small pot that intensely smelled of healing herbs when he opened it.
To Orlando's amazement he took off his gloves and then spread a cooling salve on Orlando's fingers that quickly stopped the bleeding and slightly numbed the pain.
Orlando looked up at the earl utterly confused. His gaze was met by a gentle smile and a slight sparkle of amusement in the earl's eyes. "There, that's better." he said and wiped the last of Orlando's drying tears from his cheek. "Now if you will gift me with a little smile I will consider those boots recompensed for."
It was hard. Really, really hard. But Orlando did try to smile for the noble. It didn't work very well though.
An expression of deep, heartfelt pity passed over the earl's face. "Ah, is it really that bad, pretty?" he asked softly. Before Orlando could even think of an answer, the earl gave it himself. "Thinking of that brutish baron I guess it is, hmm?"
A slight frown appeared on his brow. "You think he will come looking for you?" Orlando shrugged, trying to look unconcerned but of course the earl was right. If Orlando somehow, miraculously managed to get out of these rooms alive - and it did look like that was about to happen - the baron would surely be on the lookout to grab him.
The earl sighed softly. "Of course he will... silly me. You'll be in a hell of trouble if he finds you undamaged, yes? Will probably think you ran away from me... Stupid, stupid me."
Orlando looked at the man in confusion, not really sure why he had a problem with a simple slave getting killed but strangely grateful nonetheless.
"What am I to do with you now, pretty?" the earl asked more himself than Orlando. "Can't have you killed over a useless pair of boots, can I? What a mess..."
His genuine worry warmed Orlando's heart more than he would have thought possible only a few minutes ago. He didn't even notice the small smile this brought to his face, but the noble looked at him in sudden awe.
"You are a pretty one, you know that, boy?" he asked, a little breathless. "What's your name?"
Orlando quickly lowered his gaze again even though there had been nothing even remotely threatening in the way the earl looked at him. He just couldn't help the reflex. "Orlando, master." he answered shyly.
"Well, Orlando, how about this: why don't you stay here in my quarters today? You'll be safe here and you could use a bit of rest I think. And I doubt anybody will dare ask any questions. And tomorrow the baron will probably have already forgotten about you."
Again Orlando glanced up at the earl in confusion. The man wasn't really asking his opinion, was he? That just didn't happen!
"Well?" he noble asked again, quite obviously expecting an answer.
For a moment fear surged in Orlando's heart and all he wanted was to bolt from the room as quickly as possible. But the face of the earl was open and friendly. Maybe it was a trap, some strange and cruel game Orlando couldn't comprehend. But there also was the slim chance that the earl really meant his offer and that was too sweet to risk. So Orlando slowly nodded, his heart beating in his throat.
He was rewarded with a warm smile. "Good." The earl brushed one of Orlando's curls from his face and Orlando actually managed not to flinch away. "Then do get some rest. You can sleep here on the couch where you'll be close to the fire. You look frozen."
Before Orlando had time to really understand what miracle had just happened to him, the earl got up and walked over to the other room again. "I'll be at the party most of the evening, I guess. So you'll be undisturbed."
Again Orlando heard him rummage in the other room. This time he returned with a thick comforter. Handing it to Orlando, he smiled down at him again. "Sleep, pretty one. You're safe."
And then he just turned and left Orlando alone.
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Beryll
go to PART 2