12th of Winter 514AV
Timothy hardly heard Kavala’s counter, though he could tell by Aweston’s dismissive gesture that the groom wasn’t too impressed by her remark. He only stopped ladling hot soup into his mouth when she opened her so called Ice Box. “Seems useful,” he said before he returned to the more pressing matter of emptying the steaming bowl as quick as possible. Sizzling meat mixed with the scent of melting cheese and charcoal, though he was soon distracted by the plate of apple slices, cookies and bits of cheese Kavala offered him. He cooled his belly with a sip from the mug before attacking the cookies, cheese and bits of apple. After Kavala had explained that he could take his fill anytime, he nodded gratefully.
“You’re a big eater aren’t you?” Aweston laughed, looking on in mild amusement.
“Nwat awways,” he said with his mouth full.
Timothy had poured the last of the soup down his throat before the pies were finished. Swiping the last drops from his lips with the back of his hand, he turned to face Kavala with lazy eyes.
A chuckle escaped him as Cadra stroked his hair. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me." Her touch had been light and gentle, almost caressing. “Jed wasn’t such bad man really. The food wasn’t as good though,” he smiled faintly. She was pretty.
Kavala’s question evoked a stronger reaction. “Harley?” He grimaced. “He may be alive now but I’ll gut him before next Summer.” The air seemed to thicken as he swept a thundering gaze over his small audience, daring them to doubt his words. “Same goes for Sylvester Mercator and his Quartermaster.” Though he’d already consumed most of his pie, he wasn’t as interested in the delicacy anymore. An old fire had been re-awakened.
“I am sorry to hear you were also enslaved, Cadra. If I could, I would hunt down every slaver and string them up with their own intestines.” A predatory fierceness entered his eyes. “I am not sure about the masters though. Jed locked me up once without food, or water, or daylight. But that was only once and I know I deserved it. As long as I did as he asked, he wasn’t so bad.”
Jed hadn't been as cruel as his Radacke name made the slaves expect. It had taken him more than a week to even learn of the Radacke's supposed cruelty. "He had this old lady, Matilla, looking after him. A Kelvic, or that was what she said. Jed couldn't cook of course, so she did it for him." He frowned, then brushed the hair covering his forehead aside. "I only really -hate- him because he gave me this." The white lines of the Radacke's brand-mark were clearly visible. And because he betrayed you, and took you away from Kaitanu...
"I was scared though, when I first arrived in Kenash. All the slaves on my ship had shared some tale or another of cruel masters or mistresses. Most had been whipped at least once, though Jed never did that to me, or Sander, or Matilla. One woman even said her previous master insisted she always crawled, on all fours! Can you imagine that?"
Sucking in a deep breath, he rested his chin in the cup of his hands and continued, a thoughtful frown curving his brows.
“No, it's not the Masters I hate. I hate the slavers more than anyone, and the people who just looked on as we were driven aboard. At first it wasn’t so bad, but there were many people cramped below decks. Every day was the same and just went on endlessly. It was always dark, so you could only tell day from night by when we were given food, or if we could hear any seagulls. Then one day, the man next to me managed to unlock his chains. I don’t know how he did it, but they thought I had helped him because I had little fingers, they said. So they brought the two us to the main deck and the captain."
Bony fingers tiptoed across the nape of his neck. Often he imagined these tales were about some other boy, some unfortunate sewer rat caught up in a whirlwind of bad luck. Yet it was at times like these that the truth dawned fully upon him. It had been him. He had been on that creaking ship. Kavala had been right, he was lucky to be alive.
"I had only seen Sylvester once before, when he first bought me, and I only knew that was his name because Harley had called him that. He was old, hunched over and had this limp when he walked. They asked the slave how he’d freed himself, but he declined to answer, then they accused me, but then he said I hadn’t anything to do with it.”
The warmth that had grown in his belly retreated. It had been such a calm, sunny day, and the water had been still like a pond. He furrowed his brows as the rest of the memory resurfaced.
“So then the Quartermaster came and they tied the poor man to the mast.” He swallowed down a gulp. “They didn’t just make me watch, they made me hit him with the whip. I said I didn't want to, but they made me do it. He screamed and bled and they laughed at him... After a few times I refused to continue and they tied a weight around his ankle and…and tossed him overboard. The Quartermaster brought me back to the lower deck, and you know what he said before he closed the trapdoor?”
He doubted Cadra, or Kavala, or Aweston could guess, but his gaze lingered on them anyway.
“You could’ve saved him, he said. "If you had done as you were asked, you could have saved him.”
A deep sigh escaped him. The meat pie had grown cold again and he wasn’t hungry anymore. Shaking his head, he trained his gaze on Kavala again.
“If magic will help me find them so I can kill them, I’d be happy to learn.”
