[Memory] Who Let the Dogs Out?

[Sednai]

Time Stamp....

C

reak.

The dull, familiar croak of the weary wooden floorboards drew Lotta slowly from her light sleep. She knew that any servant would know to avoid that pesky floorboard during sleeping hours. Lotta squinted against the dull moonlight drifting from the hallway window through the open door and into the quarters for female servants, waiting for the silhouette of the intruder to focus in her sleep-blurred vision. She quickly recognized the twin braids of the small figure as her own handiwork, and she rolled away from the bothersome silhouette and pulled the thin blanket over her head with a heavy sigh.

“Go to bed, Eloise, or you’ll get us both in trouble,” Lotta commanded, her voice muffled through the blanket.

With another creak, she knew the galdor girl had stepped forward. Lotta waited silently, hoping that by not acknowledging Eloise, the irksome girl would go away.

“My mother told me I could come here to watch,” Eloise whispered loudly, giddy excitement embroidering her every word. Lotta did not answer. After a moment, Eloise sighed impatiently.

“Watch what, Eloise?” Eloise mocked Lotta’s higher, more childish voice.

“Well, Lotta,” Eloise answered herself, “I’m here to watch Father punish you. This is where you’d say, ‘For what?’ if you were a good, obedient servant that cares about me. Then I’d say, ‘For everything, Lotta!”

Eloise cackled as Lotta pulled the thin sheet tighter around herself, hoping to suffocate herself before she was punished, before she punched Eloise in her big, stupid-

“Ellie, go to bed,” came a man’s stern voice, and Lotta cursed the sheets for being too thin for her to smother herself as she inhaled the cool, stale air of the sleeping quarters.

“But-!”

“Eloise!” He cut her off, a definitive annoyance on each syllable as he exclaimed her full name. Lotta smiled underneath her sheets as she heard Eloise’s bare feet stomping back over the creaking board. Now, however, Lotta was alone with the seething master of the house and a dozen servants pretending to be asleep. She waited for the floorboard to creak again if only to tell her how close to her demise she was. She pulled the sheet tighter, this time out of fear.

Roughly, her small shoulder was seized by large hands that yanked her up, up out of the bed, up into the air, and finally dropped her down onto the floor. The child yelped in pain.

“Does that hurt, Charlotte? Like when you tied Eloise’s dress too tight or hit her with the doll?” the man snarled angrily, and Lotta stayed still, eyes to the floor. She couldn’t recall ever doing such things. Perhaps she had thought it, but she would never actually do it.

“What about pulling her hair?” He growled suddenly, grabbing onto the long, dark braid running down Lotta’s back and yanking her towards the the doorway.

“I didn’t do it, sir!” she shrieked, clawing at the sharp pain in the back of her head as he gave another thorough pull, leading the girl to tumble into the hallway.

“Didn’t do it?” He inquires sardonically, each syllable another heave on her braid. Hot tears tumbled down her small face as she followed him
down the hall hunched over like a whining dog on a leash. She watched her heavy tears leave dark spots on the carpet below her.

“Please!” she sobbed, feeling as though her young head might rip in two.

“If it means this much to you, maybe you won’t do it again!”

“I won’t! I promise I won’t, sir. Please, let go!”

With one final heave, the man let go of Lotta’s tormented braid, her inertia pushing her forwards onto her hands and knees and into the cold. She turned back toward the back door of the home, able to tell even through her curtain of tears that the ground on which she stood was cold snow. She scrambled towards the void of the open door, just to feel her outstretched hands touch the hard surface of a closed door. She pounded on it once, twice for good measure, then sunk tearfully onto the bitterly cold cement of the step, watching the shaking clouds of her ragged, hiccuping breaths.

“Let this be a lesson, not a nightly occurrence, Charlotte,” came a muffled voice through the locked door. She listened for the retreating sound of footsteps, then, laying back on the cold cement, curled up into a ball and began to grumble weakly through her shivers and hiccups, “I wish I could punch Eloise’s good-for-nothing, lying, stupid, evil, ugly face.”

[Wikus]

Achtus 29, 2698

Wikus had to feed the dogs.


This was an upsetting fact. It shifted the whole premise of the day. Quiburn was the one responsible for the dogs, but he was bedridden due to a nasty cough. No wonder; the crooked, grumpy old man had been drowning in tobacco the last few days. Anyway, he was bedridden, so he couldn’t do it. Now, it was often Thamita the one who replaced him, the middle-aged woman with that comprehensibility thick accent that came from the deepest gutters of the Vienda countryside, but the little lady of the house had an upset stomach and she’s been tending to her all night long. After Thamita came Grigorigo, the blond young adult. He had a nice, charming smile. But today was cold, so his ulcer was acting up, and so he was sent to kitchen duty; a large feast had to be prepared in the Timer household.

Now, this shouldn’t have affected Wikus’ daily tasks, but three weeks ago he accidentally broke one of the ornate plates of the Timers, mostly because Rhana, the bulky cook, had been sharing one of her filthy stories from her youth (she had a surprisingly spicy backstory; she had ridden through a thousand small settlements, had a hundred lovers and even had a fight with Ronoldio, the protagonist of many stories for children) so he got distracted and bumped it against the edge of the countertop. It cracked and it broke into sharp porcelain pieces. Stallos, the head servant, who organized the whole staff, had given Wikus the stink eye ever since. He was thickheaded, that man. His eyes were those of jackals, eyes that never forgave and never forgot. So because of this, Wikus has lost a couple of loyalty points and had been bumped down in the queue for the best tasks. It didn’t help that someone had farted in the last ceremony to the Circle Gods, and Grigorigo, that damned blond boy with the charming smile, had insinuated it was Wikus. It wasn’t Wikus, but Stallos was already looking for an excuse to punish the cheerful young boy.

So Wikus had to feed the dogs. He hated the dogs. They were wild beasts, big as wolves, pretty as statues and easily upset by the cold - much like Grigorigo’s ulcer. After dressing up with the winter staff uniform (the basic one, not the pretty one designed for house work), composed of sturdy boots, corduroy pants and a vest fitted over a shirt with a squared pattern. He combed his hair with water, and cleaned his boots whilst it dried. The servants like himself weren’t allowed to eat breakfast before the Timers were finished, so instead Wikus treated himself with some leftover tea, which was, thankfully, still hot. From the servant living quarters in the basement he rose up to the kitchen, where the staff was hard at work (Wikus paid special attention to the mouths of those around him, suspecting they did nibble something without wanting to tell him about it) in constructing all sorts of meals for the Timers.
“Your boots are filthy,” Stallos said from behind, striking him between the ears.
“I’m going out anyway. I’ll clean them later.” Wikus protested, but he was already reaching for a wet rag.
“You’re going out when your boots are clean.” he didn’t move. Instead, he watched until Wikus had polished his damned work boots, and then let out a soft noise of disapproval. Like a cock he began pacing around the kitchen, micromanaging every single task.

Wikus armed himself with the bucket of steaks (yes, the Timers fed their dogs steaks). They looked and smelled delicious, and Wikus, sometimes, took a little lick of them until he found out they were spiced with either bonemeal, bloodmeal, and hundreds of other weird produce, most of them designed to keep the dogs in top shape. As soon as he opened the door, and the sudden draft of frozen air struck him like a fist, Wikus bowed to, one day, build up the biggest fart ever known to mankind and unleash it in Stallos’ presence; revenge for this inhuman torture.

Two steps into the snow and the door was shut tight behind him. Wikus, a boy with less strength than girls of his same age, struggled to hold the bucket in his hands. It weighted at least three of those tons the Timers used to describe their problems! The boy struggled, feeling how his body both boiled from effort and froze from cold. No way to drag the bucket through the snow. The Timers, fortunate with wealth, happened to have the second largest backyard in the block, which meant Wikus needed to be an athlete to traverse the snow. About halfway through the pointless tugging and struggling, Wikus’ ears perked up. Through the chill, commotion could be heard. Oh-oh. Someone had made a mistake!

Young and naive, Wikus left the bucket to its own devices and approached the metallic fence splitting the two estates. A girl sat in the cold, not even in her uniform. Poor creature. He felt bad about her, but at the same time, he felt somewhat grateful someone else was having bad luck today. There is a finite amount of bad luck in the world, and if someone else was cursed by it, it meant less bad luck for him.
“Hey, you!” Wikus whisper/yelled. “Walk around or you’ll get a cold!”

Commission by Palis. Thank you very much!

[Sednai]

Time Stamp....

L
otta sniffled loudly and felt the inside walls of her small nose stick together for a second as the cold soaked through them. Her bottom felt painfully cold and numb as the icy surface of the stony and unforgiving step began to crawl up through her small body, moving through her narrow spine and nipping at the very tips of her bony brown fingers. She had let her long curly hair down from her pained braid to provide a sort of blanket against the frigid air, but also subliminally to make her harder to grab by the thick rope of hair. The thin, ghost-like nightgown she wore provided nearly no warmth or comfort; she guessed that she wouldn’t be any colder or more embarrassed if she was sitting before the door naked.

It certainly wasn’t the first instance in which the eight-year-old was punished unreasonably and outrageously for the supposed trespasses that didn’t belong to her. Just last week, Eloise had paddled her several times with a thick story book because Lotta’s failure to tie shoes well had supposedly led Eloise to trip on her way to breakfast despite the fact that Eloise’s footwear that day had only been button shoes. Yes, she had accepted Eloise’s scheming lies, but never had she been punished so cruelly, nor had she ever been punished directly by Eloise’s father. It was certainly unproportionally unreasonable to be locked outside on such a cold night for pulling someone’s hair, and the family’s patriarch had, until these last moments, seemed so reasonable. Perhaps Lotta had missed something. Had her mother made a terrible mistake, leading the man to punish Lotta so as to get Maria’s motherly attention? Lotta smirked in bitter amusement. Maria wouldn’t notice the absence of her daughter tonight, and would merely shrug when she heard of what had been done.

You should be thankful you have a parent.

Many times an orphaned servant had shot Lotta a glare and muttered something similar to her. She wasn’t sure if she should be thankful. She’d much rather have no parents and therefore be without scores of evidence showing that her own mother did not care.

Lotta sighed and watched her breath drift in the wind. She imagined herself on that breath, sailing over the fence long after the cloud of breath had dissolved, sliding into the freedom of the neighboring yard. She recoiled in disturbance as a rather large dog snatched her imaginary escape vessel out of the air. She blinked away the shock and sunk into reality. She was just like a dog, wasn’t she? Let outside as punishment for something naughty so as to think about one's mistakes and howl on the back step when the thinking was done.

Lotta touched her cold little hands to her bare feet, aching to bring some whisper of feeling back into the sleeping nerves of her frozen appendages. She watched the large dogs stumble from the house into the latch of light illuminating the snow from the doorway, and, oh, how she wished the same thick coats of the dogs covered her skin, rather than the prickly goosebumps perforating her dark skin. She watched tediously, still shivering and hiccuping as a little boy who looked to be the same age as her stepped out of the house in his shiny work boots, struggling to move under the weight of the heavy bucket the dogs danced around. How she wished she had the pants, boots, and vest like that little boy. Her body had become so numb that she almost felt warm. She settled into the feeling as her aches began to fade into burns of searing cold and hot. She watched the dogs and the boy, and began thinking about all the pretty little dogs she’d own one day.

“Hey, you!”

Lotta jumped out of her thoughts and back into reality. She had not noticed the small, dark-haired boy neglect his bucket and approach the fence.

“Walk around or you’ll get a cold!”

She found it peculiar that another servant of another home would care so much about what she did or didn’t do during her punishment. Lotta stood obediently, pain shooting up through the nerves of her sleeping legs as she stumbled down the step and onto the cold, wet ground. She turned back towards the back door before remembering that no one cared for her or her punishment. The cold ground burned her feet. As she walked, she attempted to brush away tears, but found them frozen. What would this silly boy care?

She approached the boy at the fence, tucking her hands into her armpits to keep them warm. She switched her feet as she stood before him to offer each a few seconds of relief from the ground.

“You shouldn’t talk to me less you really want a good whipping for the both of his,” she whispered, cautiously eyeing the door of the boy’s home.

“Besides, a cold will keep me away from the bratty girl that lives her for a few days,” she added, her annoyance felt for Eloise seeping through her words.

Lotta had never before had a friend. If this boy could be one, even for a few minutes, she would appreciate the moment more than she could verbalize with her basic vocabulary.

“My name is Charlotte Bradwick,” she whispered weakly through her shivers. “Everyone here calls me Lotta, though. I’ve never seen you feeding the dogs before. It’s usually always that old man. I like to watch the dogs sometimes.”

She was talking too much, she was sure, but with no one ever wanting to talk to her, she wasn’t just going to leave this opportunity out to dry, or rather, to freeze.

[Wikus]

Achtus 29, 2698

TAB“I’m not afraid of whippings!” exclaimed the boy, shining a proud wide smile of disproportionately big, crooked teeth and those missing ones. Stallos would never beat him, or whip him, or do anything. Instead, he’d make Wikus climb the chimney again and clean it up, which was far worse a punishment, considering the Timers had seven chimney. This mere realization befell hard on the young boy, who seemed discouraged enough that it seemed he was about to begin crying. For now, the cold winds could take credit for any peeking tears.

TABWikus felt bad for the girl. Like any young soul, his heart shrunk whenever disgrace happened around him, even if he found some relief when he was excluded from such misfortune. Besides, the girl seemed to be about his age, if not older. She scared him a bit, too, no matter how vulnerable she was. Why that was, he didn’t know. Maybe is how confident she seemed, even with tears crystallized on her cheeks. And, like any young boy, he found that he, inevitably, fell in love with her and wanted to impress her.
TAB“But Stallos always says that being sick is only allowed for good servants. Won’t they make you scrub pans or catch rats all day?” he said, almost immediately after she voiced her statement, impatient to get his tiny knowledge of the world out like air exploding out of an uncorked bottle of wine.
TAB“I’m Wikus, Wikus Malachini,” he said, whispering back to his confidant in their little clandestine meeting. “I don’t usually feed the dogs because they scare me and they hate me and Quiburn usually does it but he’s bedridden and Thamita, who takes after them when Quiburn isn’t around, is tending to the Timer girl and Grigorigo’s ulcer hurts when its cold outside so I have to do it.”

TABWikus looked back towards the Timers backyard. The fenced dog’s house (yes, they were such fancy dogs they had a sort of mini house for themselves) was now empty, as the two gigantic hunting hounds, chained still, sniffed the air and trotted here and there waiting for their meal. They were awful dogs, and resembled Galdor children as in being good when their owner was around but turning into complete brats once the authority was out of the picture. One time, Goro, the black hound with the white dot on forehead, had gone and caught Wikus’ boot. The boy had felt the fangs trying to tear through the leather and how the dog tried to drag him closer whilst Boro, the other dog, barked fervously. Thankfully Wikus had cried and yelled loud enough for Thamita to come out and shoo the dogs away with a broom. Wikus looked back towards the Timers backyard, and found only the dogs and nobody else, and heard nothing but the wind and the clanking of the dogs’ chains but nothing else. Nobody was out of the house yet.

TABHe looked back towards the girl, his blue eyes shining with emotion.
TAB“One day my Ma and my Pa will come get me back and I’ll never feed these dogs again,” he stated, determined not only to believe what he said but also to impress the girl with the curly hair and the frozen feet.
TAB“Listen, maybe I can sneak out a blanket or something for you, or else you will get the coughs and cough yourself dead, you will! Kamen got the coughs while he raked leaves last fall and not a week later we had to load his body into a cart!” This was said with strange enthusiasm.

TABKamen died a violent death. He coughed so much they had to gag him through the night, as nobody could sleep otherwise and Stallos wouldn’t allow him to be taken to the pantry or, Gods forbid, one of the guest bedrooms. The Timers finally decided to send him somewhere else, maybe to another house or something, but he died before the end of the day. Seeing him all still and immobile was.. unnerving. To think the same thing could happen to this girl -- no, to Lotta, was terrifying.
TAB“I’m going for a blanket. You just keep moving and hug your chest and I’ll come back, I promise!”

Commission by Palis. Thank you very much!

[Sednai]

Achtus 29, 2698....

D
espite her situation, Lotta couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s lopsided and energetic smile as he spoke. She was certainly afraid of the whipping that had left many scars on her narrow back, but she wasn’t sure if she’d be nearly as scared after being dragged by her hair in the middle of the night. She laughed when he mentioned the alternative work for sick servants like scrubbing pots or catching rats. His spirit, willingness to talk to her, and naive questions told her one thing: his home life was not nearly as cruel as hers, though the two of them were rarely ever more than 50 meters away from each other. She’d much rather be scrubbing pots or catching rats than dealing with Eloise, but, not wanting to drag the conversation into a muddy pit of despair, she spared him the details.

”I don’t mind scrubbing pans, the kitchen staff is a funny group! We’ve a evil old cat that takes care of the rats, anyways,” she replied casually. The fact that she had someone to talk to about more than her shortcomings and tasks brought a warm and pleasant feeling into her stomach and face, enough to beat back the cold that whipped around her just for a second.

Wikus Malachini she repeated in her head. The name sounded like that of someone much more than a servant boy, and she hoped he’d live up to it. Maybe one day she’d meet a Wikus Malachini who was the first human Congressman, or a professor at Brunnhold. She liked the idea.

She laughed a little at his predicament serving the two large dogs. She didn’t mean it cruelly. They were frightening beasts, after all. She just- it’s just been so long since she’d had anything to laugh at. He was certainly loquacious, slipping excitedly from one subject to the other with vivid emotion and excitement for every thing he said alight in his eyes. She thought his genuine expression and passion were simply cute, and let him continue to babble fervently, interjecting her own thoughts where it seemed she should. She didn’t mind simply being spoken too, however. It was much more than she was used to, and being worth someone’s time and breath was a validating feeling that allowed the 8-year-old a second to believe she mattered. Lotta was a bit surprised when he mentioned his parents. She leaned against the fence in interest, raising her arms to grasp the thin wire.

“I hope they do. Say, when they do, you should ask if I can come, too! I’ve never had a father, but my mother...” she stopped herself, a loneliness that she had never quite felt caught in her throat as a cold, hard hand seemed to wrap around her fragile heart. There it was: that feeling of lonely while not alone, like having a mother made of stone, or that didn’t know who her own child was. Lotta’s grip on the fence tightened, and she glanced back at the house. She wished her mother cared enough to look out the window, if even for a second, to acknowledge her. Lotta turned back to Wikus. She hoped with all her dull little heart that Wikus’ parents loved him like he was the only child in Vita and he had been specifically picked out for them, because, even if she couldn’t have it, this boy with eyes not yet dulled by the terrible stains of the world deserved to have happiness.

Lotta realized how close they were, separated by a few centimeters of frigid air and a thin fence, and she stepped back. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to laugh like she had before now that she was unfortunately aware of the loneliness crushing her starry-eyed soul.

Lost in thought, Lotta panicked slightly when she noticed Wikus walking away to fetch a blanket or something of the sort for her. She rushed back to the fence, clutching the palisade with numb little fingers as she pressed her face to the fence as if to get her words to him faster.

“W-wait!” she exclaimed louder than she thought was wise. She glanced back at her master’s home, waiting for a light to come on. You don’t matter enough she reminded herself, turning back to the boy.

“Wikus, you... you’re coming back, right?” she asked weakly through the fence, vulnerability soaking every word and movement of her face.

“You promise?”

[Wikus]

Achtus 29, 2698

TAB“Yes, I promise!” Wikus exclaimed as he ran back into the Timers’ yard. He felt motivated, heroic and strangely happy. This was perhaps because he hadn’t properly thought about his current predicament. Who had time for thinking when it was time to be a hero? Lotta needed his help, and the boy felt like he had something to prove both to her, to himself, and to the whole world. Perhaps it was this foolish pride what let him to walk past the abandoned bucket of meat, full as it was, peaking over the snow like a holy chalice waiting to be put to rest on the altar it belonged. It’d wait, and so would the dogs that hungrily, impatiently even, tugged at the end of their chains.

TABThe boy, sniffling snot already, ran over by the backdoor and peeked through the little window. The short white curtains were in the way, although the light from within allowed him to see the silhouettes inside. He recognized Rhana almost immediately; her frame was composed of three round blocks supported by two thick sausage-like feet; like a snowman built from fat and cholesterol. She was busy at work at work, as were her two assistants; surely Timbers and the other new lady that slept in the other quarters, which gave Wikus a very strange and creepy vibe. But, regardless, there was no sign of Stallos. Wikus made his way inside, closed the door after him, and cleaned the boots.
TAB“Did ye feed th' curs ?” Rhana asked.
TAB“Yes and they’re eating good and fast but they seem upset so I fed them only half and I got cold and decided to come back until they finished so that I could go ba--”
TAB“Jus’ shut yer trap,” she replied, basically waving him off. Wikus couldn’t help but wonder if she was as brusque with the Timers as she was with pretty much everyone else.

TABRegardless, she did no inquire about it, and so Wikus moved along with haste down to the servant quarters. Maybe he could’ve gone to the closet in the hallway before the dining room; there were some spare blankets there, but Stallos could be there, and the servant quarters would be empty until the morn. Or they should be, anyway. Wikus dashed down the steps, taking great care not to fall down but, at the same time, daring to pounce two or three of the slanted steps down. The lower he got, the more humid the air became, and thus, the colder it felt. He hated these stairs. Once he saw something moving in it, maybe a rat (it seemed much bigger than a rat, and it had glowing eyes and fangs as sharp as knives) and it scared him so he liked the stairs no more.

TABDown the stairs was the cellar, a large stone room filled with kegs, a large collection of wines, spices, and a small storeroom filled with cheeses, lard, hams, and any other non-perishables. The lightning was bad and there was only a single window, barred from the outside and with a layer of frost. Past them were the two servant quarters as well as the single bathroom and the only shower they were allowed to use, although up in the kitchen they had a small service room with a toilet and a sink so that they could do their basic necessities. Heat emanated from behind the door, the log stove still keeping the room hot. Wikus listened for any sort of movement on the other side, and heard none. There was nobody inside when he peeked through the keyhole, and so he came in.

TABThe servant’s room was a large chamber with stone walls and stone floors, humid in the summer but dry in winter due to the stove, which was right after the entrance. The room, no matter how big, was first and foremost occupied by six triple-bunk beds, three against each wall. When Wikus first came to live here there were curtains between each bunk bed to allow some sort of privacy, but they were removed for some reason. Each bunk had a chest at the feet of it, which the servants could use to store their effects, which was often their underwear or uniforms. Strings of wire were attatched everywhere to create a congested amount of rope wires from which clothing was laid out to dry out or simply as a primitive storage method, as the servants were forbidden from hanging their clothes anywhere where the Timers could see them. Any personal effects anyone could have was often hidden somewhere around the house or carried on them at all times, as privacy was minimal and trust was hard to spare. It was a dull, charmless room, and Wikus sometimes felt they were cows living in a stone barn.

TABOnce inside, Wikus realized something; it was winter. Everyone was using their two blankets at once, because otherwise they’d be no way of making it through the night without waking dead and cold. Lotta needed a blanket or two, but there weren’t enough blankets for everyone. Wikus cringed. He hadn’t thought about this. His first instinct would’ve been to take someone else’s blankets, because he wasn’t about to start sleeping in the cold. And he would’ve done so without feeling guilt or remorse. However, theft was taken very seriously in this household. If they caught him... If they caught him they might send him to the mines because thieves weren’t fit to serve anyone but themselves. Maybe if they send him to the mines his mother and father would have second thoughts about him and decide to not buy him back. Tears welled up in his eyes just at the thought of it.

TABMaybe... Maybe he shouldn’t take the blankets, because if he did, and took someone else’s blankets, they’d rat him out and Stallos would tell the master and they’d send him to the mines, and because if he took his blankets then he’d freeze to death in the night and then he’d never see his ma and pa again. Maybe Lotta had to learn to be a better servant because then she wouldn’t be sent out on the cold. Now he felt guilty. When he lived with his parents he did what he wanted and when he wanted, and the consequences of his actions were his parents’ problems. To force a mere child, and a spoiled one at that, into the concept of personal responsibility was too overwhelming. So like any child, Wikus decided not to think, and went to the first bunk and took a blanket. As long as he wasn’t caught, they wouldn’t send him to the mines.

TABBack outside, Wikus had a great idea. Since he couldn’t just walk out of the basement carrying a blanket, the idea of using the cellar window to sneak out of the blanket and then retrieve it from the outside seemed genius. Carefully he climbed the cupboard by the window, grabbed the metallic handle (which was so cold it almost burned) and tried to open it. He tried again, and again, but it wouldn’t budge. Maybe it had frozen. Leaving the blanket between his feet to use both hands, Wikus used his pathetic strength to try again. The good news was that the window was open. The bad news was that it had shattered, and the handle came lose. He almost fell back, and panic attacked him, but like any naughty child, he ignored this. He pushed the blanket through the bars and into the snow, the breeze that sneaked into the cellar as cold as Stallos’ heart, and accidentally tore a bit of his shirt’s sleeve with the edge.

TABThere. Mission complete. As quick as he could he leaved the crime scene, running up the stairs to reach the kitchen without much breath left. Nothing had changed there; nobody new had come, and Rhana and her assistants were still at work, quietly. Only there was something new; the dogs outside were barking.
TAB“Gang tae feed th' damn hounds,” Rhana grunted, just as the cleaver in her hand chopped through the thick porcine bone.

TABWikus nodded and bolted outside, back into the cold. He hoped Lotta was okay. The dogs were furious. They barked and tugged at the chains and they were bound to get Wikus in trouble, but he had to finish this. He ran around the house, in the opposite direction of Lotta, to retrieve the wool, smelly blanket belonging to someone else. The snow had left it a bit cold and wet, but it wasn’t so bad. Holding it in his chest, Wikus ran back in the other direction, as fast as he could, full-on ghosts escaping his mouth with every exhale. His throat hurt from breathing from his mouth.
TAB“Here it is!” Wikus whispered with bated breath once at the fence, almost unable to make himself heard with the growling and barking of Boro and Goro. The boy pressed the blanket through the metallic bars, but he didn’t smile. His face was red from his crimes and his exhaustion, and his sight quickly returned towards the dogs. He had to feed them.
TAB“I’m going to feed the dogs or I’ll get in troubl--”

TABSnap.

TABA clear, vivid snap.

TABThe chains didn’t break, but the pole at the other end had, for the cold had left them brittle and the contest-winning dogs and their starved musculature waited for no boys.

TABBeware of the dogs.

Commission by Palis. Thank you very much!

[Sednai]

Achtus 29, 2698....

C hen Wikus returned, Lotta was sitting again in the cruelly cold step, her small feet swaddled in the wonderfully dry cloth of her nightgown as she hugged her knobby knees to her flat chest. She skilled back across the yard as he came, beaming at her hero and catching the heavy blanket as he pushed it through the fence. She unfolded it and draped it around her shoulders. She hoped the warmth that it had stolen from inside the house wouldn’t fade away any time soon as she nestled into.

It was not hard for even Lotta, a girl infamous for terrible social awareness, to notice the drained void where Wikus’ face had just minutes ago been eternally cheerful and rosy like the first blooms of spring. Had he been reprimanded in the house? Had he had second thoughts about helping her? Had the thought of his parents made him sad? As he turned to feed the dogs, she hooked her long fingers into the top of his vest to catch his attention. She savored, for just a moment the heat tucked away between his little feet and button up, feeling returning both painfully and mercifully to the icicles she once called fingers. As she tried to roll what’s wrong, what happened, why aren’t you smiling, thank you, and you’re my hero into one sentence, her awkwardness was spared by a distinctly horrifying snap that pierced the air with such velocity that there was no way the sound could be anything except terrible, Lottie was sure.It reverberated through the still are of the bitterly cold night as Lotta looked for the source. She imagined a giant had taken a large tree and broken it effortlessly across the great girth of his muscular thigh.

Reality wasn’t especially far from imagination, which was unfortunate for the two small children. Across the large expanse of snow-brightened lawn, the two gargantuan dogs, pure muscle wrapped in a thin and tight layer of fur, had easily snapped the metal pole to which their thick chains had been attached as if the like was merely made of hard candy. Their wet, black noses had already picked up the scent of the neglected and tantalizing bucket of food taunting them on the outside of their low fence. Their chains rustled sickeningly as they each leaped easily onto the roof of the dog house. As they bounded gracefully over the fence with chains and pole in tow without even a moment of brief hesitation, it appeared to Lotta that the ugly brutes had been planning their escape the moment Wikus had disappeared inside the house. She watched them, taut coats gleaming over the rippling groups of muscles in the dull light, and was increasingly thankful to be in this side of the higher fence, a fence she hoped was much too high for the terrible canines to scale. Her new friend, however, was on the other side of the fence with the dogs, and, as Lotta watched the dogs knock over the bucket and tear apart the steaks savagely, she imagined little humans looked like tasty meals to rambunctious dogs.

“Wikus!” she hissed, snaking the hand that gripped him back to the safety of her side of the fence. She was scared for this frail boy, scared to watch his small body whipped around like a kite in a high wind, scared for his parents to come back and find their son a pile of rotting limbs, scared to feel the responsibility and guilt of having watched her only friend die such a terrible death that wouldn’t matter. Her stomach weighed heavily with fear.

Lotta’s first instinct was to run back to the house, beat on the door until someone, anyone came. She took a few painful bounds with her purple feet, her wild hair and thick blanket cape making her look rather like some snow nomad, but she stopped abruptly, shaking her head. No, no one from the house would come to rescue her, thinking it just a ploy to get back into the house or even just feel the warmth of the house through the open door. She looked back over her shoulder, her mind grasping hopelessly for any solid anchor to a plan as the steaks began to wane. The yard around her was full of only of snow and the imprints of her barefeet. She had nothing to work with on her side. Across the fence, the searchlights of her brown eyes found Wikus, the dogs attached to their limp pole, and the silhouettes of people in the window of the back door Wikus and returned through. Her mind began to try desperately to formulate a haphazard plan as if it was given 100 puzzle pieces each from a different puzzle and asked to make a masterpiece. The obvious idea was to get the attention of the people in the window, but, biting hard on her lip, she chose to ignore the obvious. Her head was busy. She needed to avoid the possibility of aggravating the dogs further by yelling, avoid the possibility that they didn’t come out in time. The what if’s were cacophonous and deafening in her dizzy and overwhelmed head. She needed Wikus out of the yard. She needed him safe, then she’d think, then she’d pause, then she’d breathe, then she’d get help. She glanced at the fence above her.

This’ll have to do.

“Wikus, you need to trust me. I’m going to get you safe, just trust me,” she whispered, perhaps more to convince herself than him. She thrusted her small hands through the fence as the dogs began to snarl, and she refused to look up at their snapping jaws as the blanket slid off of her shoulders and into the snow. She cupped her hands and locked her arms at about stomach level before nodding at the bar about 15 centimeters off the ground that welded the tall stake of the metal fence together. The middle of the fence was barren, but she hoped the top of the decorative fence would supply enough hand holds for the boy to grab onto with the aid of the step she created with her frosty fingers. She stole a glance at the dogs as they approached, licking the meat off their lips and hunching their wide shoulders as they prepared for dessert.

“Come on, Wikus. I’ll catch you.”

[Wikus]

Achtus 29, 2698

TABThe moment the pole broke and the chains no longer held the hellish hounds, Wikus’ heart burst like a pipe, and fear flooded his insides. Colder than snow and ice, than being split from family and tossed into an unknown world, the boy’s eyes teared up immediately. The sight of the dogs was too powerful for him to bear, and so he looked away, laying those blue eyes, obscured by the darkness, gleaming by the tears, lay on Lotta instead. They spoke of archetypal tales she may be familiar with; the responsibility neglected, the chaos coming forth to destroy order, the mistake realized, and the consequences to be paid in suffering. And the consequences would be severe.

TABThe frenzied sheep obeyed. Wikus’ foot rose up to step on Lotta’s frail, cold fingers, icicles waiting to get snapped under the weight. The first attempt the boy made to step up failed because of the adrenaline rush. The second attempt failed because of unproper positioning. The third one failed because of sheer fear. Having failed twice already, the chances of success were becoming dimmer.
TAB“I can’t do it,” Wikus wailed, his voice no longer a whisper, but loud and piercing. “I can’t get up!”

TABHe took a hold of the metallic bars and felt the cold numbing his flesh. It was so cold it burned. It hurt. His breath became agitated, gaining speed but losing depth, and soon enough he was nothing short of a steam engine. Crying heavily now, Wikus was not even brave enough to look back at the growling, excited hounds. But Lotta was there, on the other side, like the promise of a better life across a wall. Grass was always greener where you were not allowed. Skies were blue beyond the stormy horizons. If only he could get there, run away from the kitchen duty and the chimney duty and Stallos’ pompous entitlement and the small farts Grigorino always credited to him, then everything would be better.

TABAnd so in his third try, aiming for a better life, Wikus managed to lift himself up onto Lotta’s fingers, and hold on to the burning cold metallic bars of the border, and see past his tears and past his shame and guilt, but not before Goro had reached him and pounced to grab the corduroy pants. With a shriek, Wikus was dragged back down into his realm, and he began sobbing, crying, yelling and wailing as the dogs took turns biting his boots. Those damned boots, over which he had once accidentally spilled some melted butter, which he never managed to properly clean because he believed they were unimportant parts of his life, had been his weakness all along, and the hounds, always confined to a strict diet of steaks and herbs, saw an opportunity to jump across their own fence and taste the other side.

TABThey weren’t gentle in their approach, which Wikus clearly replied to with his loudness, but even so they did not hurt him as much as they humiliated him, dragging him back a few feet every time he tried to fight them. Suffice to say, the boy was heard. The Timers’ household lit up, not by the candlesticks the servants carried around the house to complete their nightly duties, but with the lamps and the chandeliers as if it was waking hour. Rhana ran out first, her fat bounding inside the uniform with every awkward step the took, waving her broom around in a threatening manner. Knowing her, that broom was surely for Wikus instead of the dogs. Rhana was followed by her two kitchen assistants, both with wide eyes. Grigorino watched from a window with some others, among which was Stallos, his features stiff, his countenance fallen.
TAB“Whit in th' bloody hells urr ye twa mongrelsdaein'?” Rhana exclaimed with as loud a tone as the one used at the busiest market. With her mighty broom she shooed the dogs once she managed to get low enough to grab their chains, her assistants grabbing each end to begin dragging the dogs away. The dogs were not as fiece as they seem, as once they had chewed and licked the boots, they had become as docile as their master wanted them to be.
TAB“Ye'r in a lot o' trauchle, ye wee shit. 'n' ye, lassie, ye best wish ye hud frozen fur we're telling th' Apshu aboot this.”
TAB“I... I didn’t...” Wikus, caught in the act, couldn’t help it. “It wasn’t me! It was her, it was all her! She tricked me!”
TAB“Wis it she wha broke th' windae 'n' stole blankets?”
TAB“She made me do it! I didn’t want to but she made me!”
TAB“Ye'll ken whit tis lik' tae wirk th' mines. Aff tae th' hoose wi' ye!” As Rhana said this, her strong arm, used to lifting ladles full of stew or kneading bread, caught Wikus by the collar and loft him to his feet.
TAB“No, please! She made me, it was all her! It's all her fault! Don’t send me to the mines, please, I beg you, I’ll never do it again...” And every other pathetic lie and false promise was sworn by the Gods, but nobody was listening.

TABOn the way to the house, Rhana shut up the kid with a harsh slap, and so Wikus was quiet. He was heartbroken. He had failed not only his parents, but also Lotta herself, and he felt the guilt inside him, eating at him from within, worms on a dead carcass, and he felt sick from himself. The moment the pole broke and the chains no longer held the hellish hounds, Wikus’ heart burst like a pipe, fear flooded his insides, and it had made him a coward and a betrayer.

Commission by Palis. Thank you very much!

[/quote]

[Sednai]

Achtus 29, 2698....

Y


es, you can do it!” Lotta screeched at Wikus, her hysteria elevating as his did. He had failed once, twice, the panic and blinding tears bubbling out of him making a simple task for a little boy harder than ever. It wasn’t so much that Wikus could climb than the fact that he had to.

Just one more try, she pleaded silently, willing the boy to look at her, not back at the large dog she could see approaching behind him. She knew they were out of time, but she looked Wikus in the eye and nodded, a mixed drink of fear, hope, responsibility, and confidence sloshing in the basin of her face.

Wikus’ small boot, wet and dirty with snow and mud, made contact with Lotta’s hand for a third time, and she lifted her twiggy arms upwards. For just a moment, as she watched his hands grab the fence frantically, felt his boots lift-off from her hardened hands, Lotta had hope. Then she watched the black mass of dog sail up after his ascending feet. Lotta shrieked and fell back into the snow onto the blanket she had discarded. She covered her eyes with her hands, damp and dirty from Wikus’ boots. Lotta began to cry as she listened to what were surely the sounds of death, her insides churning so sickeningly that she almost couldn’t bear it. She was freedalling into the out of her stomach as she listened to Wikus hands slip against the metal, followed by a wet slap as he fell into the snow. It was a moment before Lotta realized she, too, was screaming, if only to drown out his screams. She closed her eyes and moved her hands to her ears, emotion shaking her small body violently.

He was going to die, oh, gods! She felt dizzy, shaky, faint, and cold, like a newborn ghost. She wasn’t sure if she needed to scream or vomit more. She had only felt such feelings one other time. She had found a melancholic kitten in the Apshu yard, had warmed it and fed it until it was meowing again. Yet, despite her efforts, in her hand she watched it gasp for air, watched it lurch and seize, watched it breathe its final breath! She had cried as she felt the warmth of the kitten fade away, cradling it and hoping it would wake up as she cried and cried, knowing it was dead. Now, she had failed again to save someone she knew so little about but wanted to help, needed to help. She couldn’t look up, couldn’t remove her hands from her ears for fear of what she’d see and hear, or, perhaps worse, what she wouldn’t see. She feared that she’d look up and would not see him move, remove her hands and not hear him scream.

A booming voice broke through the barrier of her hands, however, and she looked up tentatively, keeping one eye closed. No red blankets of blood lay in Lotta’s frightened gaze, and she opened both eyes so as to take in the full scene.

Lotta stood shakily and walked with crunching steps to the fence as a large woman, a kitchen maid, perhaps, began to scold her and Wikus. Such relief flooded through her body as she saw him alive in the snow, tears and snot mingling on his face. Lotta kept her head down as she was scolded, taking in the scene from under the curtain of her snow-sprinkled hair. The woman had a broom in hand, and, with arms that large, the girl imagined the woman could sweep Lotta as if she was merely a dust bunny. A few other servants had grabbed onto the dogs’ chains and were heaving them away with effort equivalent to a pirate’s crew raising heavy sails on a windy day.

Lotta nearly shriveled as the woman promised to tell her master, Apshu, of the night’s events. It was going to be her head on a spike, but she supposed she deserved it. She looked back at her master’s home, hiring her lip painfully as as she watched lights begin to flicker on, curtains opening curiously as if the sleeping house was opening its many, tired eyes. Lotta turned back to the neighboring yard, her knuckles white as she gripped the fence.

Her breath caught in her throat as she heard Wikus’ fragile voice blame her, causing a break in the patterned release of steamed clouds from her mouth and into the night air. Her fault? After she had told him he shouldn’t talk to her, after he went for the blanket on his own decision, after she had nearly saved him from the dogs, it was suddenly her fault? Lotta’s jaw clenched mechanically, and she glared at Wikus with the intensity of the 1,000 fires igniting angrily within her. The woman had began to scold him again, but Lotta did not for a second take her attention away from his desperate face as his voice shifted all the blame of the night onto her. To think she had thought she had made a friend! Lotta wanted him to feel guilty, feel punishment, and feel the cold, damp air of the mines. She also wanted him to be sure that she wouldn’t have betrayed him, and wouldn’t even if her master threatened her with the mines, because to her, friendship was more important than telling the truth, than punishment. Against her instinct of self-preservation, Lotta pressed her face between the bars of the fence and began to shout back at the huge woman, her voice covered in a cruel layer of bold ice.

“He’s telling the truth! I made him do it. I told him I’d climb the fence and let the dogs loose and get him sent to the mines if he didn’t help me, and you can bet I meant it. He’s not lying. It’s my fault!” she yelled, shaking her arms on the fence posts she clutched, but no one seemed to care. Even in the other side of the fence, Lotta could feel the dull blows of the woman’s large hands as she beat Wikus. Had Wikus looked as he was drug off to the house, Lotta’s fuming glare would have still been awaiting him.

Lotta’s anger dissolved the very moment the sound of boots in snow crept up behind her. She turned around slowly, sure Death himself would be there. Before her, Master Apshu, Thaddeus the large gardener, and her own mother, Maria, stood, anger brewing in each face as if each of their eyes was a flaming fireplace. She put her head down, knowing there was no way out of the mess she had made. She turned her head back towards the neighboring house one last time, watching the door slip closed. Thaddeus grabbed her roughly with his calluses hands, and the quartet walked back into the house briskly. Lotta watched the snow on her feet melt and puddle onto the warm wooden floors, pain shooting through her legs as her feet slowly shook away the frost of numbness. It was easy to feel brave, angry, passionate, and betrayed when executioners weren’t standing with crossed arms and tapping feet before her. Now, Lotta only felt cold.

[Wikus]

Achtus 29, 2698

TABAfter they drug him home, Wikus was locked in the servant’s quarters for the remainder of the night. He could not sleep. Instead, he wept. He wept and wept because there was nothing else for him to do but regret. Nobody would listen to his excuses. Nobody would be there to forgive him. Nobody was there to send a message to Lotta, whom he had betrayed. Guilt ate him from the inside. He felt it, deep inside his chest, stretching down to his stomach. He felt sick. He wept and he wept but nobody was there to say it would all be okay, because it wouldn’t be. No longer he’d be able to sleep in a servant’s quarter, on a bed, and spend his day cooking or cleaning. There would be no chance to ever see his parents again, not when he’d work the mines or the factories until he fell dead. Wikus wept and wept until his eyes were dry and his head hurt, and even then, he wept more.

TABStallos had been clear; in the morning, Wikus would be picked up and sent off to the auction hall, and he’d be branded a thief and a troublemaker. He had said so with his stiff features, but Wikus had seen the glimpse of malice in those shiny pupils. It had scared him. How? How could Stallos find amusement in his downfall? When the boy had fallen to his kness and begged, nobody had shown him anything resembling sympathy. His parents, the both of them, would’ve hurried to hug him and console him and tell him everything would be alright. They knew how to make things better. But they were gone somewhere, and so would be Wikus. Lord Timer, Old Timer as the staff referred to him, had glanced towards Wikus only once, but each of his words was directed to Stallos. ‘You’re responsible for this,’ he had told him. ‘Deal with this or else’, he had meant. After a glass of milk, the Old Timer had gone up to his bedroom and fallen into his ocean of pillows and soft fabrics and Wikus was sent off to the dark, arid room of the servants.

TABWikus wanted to run away. He wanted to fix it. How, he didn’t know, but he wanted to fix it. But the small window was barred and the door was locked and he was left to wander at first, then left to curl in his bed for the remainder of his time. He couldn’t sleep. He wouldn’t. Instead, he planned his escape. They were fantastic plans fabricated in seconds, each more outlandish than the previous one. He’d kick Stallos in the gonads then make a run for it. He’d wait for Stallos to begin climbing the stairwell up the basement and then Wikus would turn around and hide inside an empty wine barrel until it was shipped off somewhere, somewhere far away, where Wikus would begin a new life. He’d hunt seagulls with a sling and sell the meat and afford a house. He’d then come back and rescue Lotta, too, and tell her he was sorry and she’d forgive him and they’d be friends and then they’d kiss and everything would be good. He’d stumble upon Lord Timer on the way up and he’d beg him to reconsider, to which he would, and he’d make him a main servant and Wikus would take care of the lady of the house and she’d be as kind as she usually was and she’d make Wikus the staff’s supervisor and Wikus would send Stallos away to clean the chimneys.

TABBut time passed and none of these plans were remembered by the time dawn began peeking over the horizon. It dawned on Wikus that living in his fantasies is what had brought this upon himself. The door was unlocked and Stallos peeked inside.
TAB“Go on,” he beckoned, and Wikus obeyed.

TABThe hundreds of words Wikus had fantasized about speaking to convince Stallos were gone. He couldn’t mutter anything. Wikus walked with his head low and at a slow pace whist Stallos, the jailer, walked behind him. Wikus began crying. Stallos did not care. Up the stair, the staff were soon to return to their beds whilst the other section was getting ready to take over the daily tasks. They all seemed so indifferent about him. Were they not aware of what was going to happen to him? Were they not aware he was crying and that he was in pain? Looking at them, Wikus saw the same he saw in himself sometimes; that distance, that aloof being that had been chased away to fantasize in their head instead of looking into a bleak existence.

TABOutside, the light hurt his eyes, and his head was aching. A small carriage was waiting by the front door, too early in the morning to be witnessed by any of the neighbors. Wikus climbed in, obeying, slavishly. He wept still, even if it hurt. He looked towards the Timer’s manor, and found nothing inside of him. No appreciation for his masters or any incoming nostalgia about the wide corridors and tall ceilings. But when he looked towards the Apshus’ home, he found regret in him. He had condemned Lotta. He had dragged her down with him, and he regretted it. He still remembered how stoic and serious she looked, how certain and sure of herself she was even if freezing in the cold. How strong. How pretty. And as he had betrayed her, she had been strong enough to take the blame upon herself despite his cowardice. It wrung his heart. He wanted to be as strong as she was. He wanted to look at her again and apologize and tell her he was sorry and that he’d never do it again, and he wanted to impress her and for her to like him and to forgive him and for him to hold her hand and smile to her and to see her smile back and then hug without any fences between them or any dogs chasing after his boots.

TABWikus wanted many things, and he fantasized about many things as the horses whined and began dragging the cart to the mines, and he looked longingly at the foreign home and cried and wept and hoped his fantasies would drag the regret deep into the mines too.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfQLaKS8yJY

Commission by Palis. Thank you very much!