VERMIN

“Aargh!” Vermin gasped, as the whip struck true on the small of his back, sending agony searing up his spine, and jolts leaping through every inch of his skin. There was nought moment to think though, as one more brandish of his master’s whip on the balls of his knees brought down a gentle stream of blood, warming his body down to his toes. A comfort in the face of the harsh icy winds blowing across the cold icy walls of the holdfast, under the silvery white moonlight. His master’s lips were curled up with malice, loving every ounce of pain inflicted upon him.

“You fancy that, eh, a good owd whipping to keep your head in check. Next time you step out of line, I’ll cut it out your bloody mouth, and make you eat it, you ingrate,” the master snarled, with bloodshot eyes, and a crazy grin on his face. The last thing that Vermin remembered was gazing up at his shadow on the ramparts, letting out a puff of air. Cursing the big black beast and his guts he was, collapsing head-first on the hard ground below.

His eyelids opened and strained to adjust to the lack of light in the dark murky cell, whose girth was not made for a man of his size, and was no warmer than his master’s heart.

“Mate, you done have maggots and rats crawled all over you, you do. Cheeh! And you done have been out no longer than the full night, you have” a familiar voice cut through the dust and dirt of the cell, startling him. Only, the way the words were used and said, made no sense.

“Pup?” Vermin said. He was ecstatic, his stomach fluttering.

“Mmmuh, who in Magyar’s name is pup. Wee lil bastard I bet." The voice of his cellmate rose and fell as if he were singing a song, softening the otherwise rough words he was saying.

“Umm..he’s….j-ust..n-nothin’..j-just a nightmare” he muttered, barely audible. His stomach fluttered no more now, as he felt foolish.

“You get nightmares about pups, real brave of ya...You’re not no craven, ehh? I would not done guessed, not with your build, no.” Vermin saw the strange man point him out, showing the size of his shoulders.

“I watched you since last night. Ooh. Shaked all over you were, like a massive.. I know not what it’s calIed, but I done seen a sailor down with it back at the Reef, muah. Gone, he was, not seconds later, no. Cheah." The man stared at him, inspecting him like furniture.

“But with arms like that, I wouldn’t fancy wagered against you being a blacksmith, silver form atleast. And if you are, how’d your entitled arse end up here?” The man said in a deep baritone.

Vermin listened with interest. The man’s ways and words gave the like of a man who’d seen the world, and spent many a year under the sun and stars. Maybe he was a man who yelled at people like him. He spoke as if he were familiar with Vermin though, which he didn’t like, or feel comfortable about.

Vermin winced as he tried to sit upright, hit sharply by his wounds, which chilled like a frostbite, and burnt like a fire. It was only then that it dawned on him what the rotting smell was, at least partially.

The strange man stared him down, and he realised that he’d asked him a question.

“I st-tep-p outta line.” Vermin said. The man tilted his head, confused.

“How so lad?” He enquired. Vermin had his head held down, his legs shivering slightly, which didn’t escape his cellmate’s sharp eye. “What, ya broke your neck too, did ya? And this cell ain’t half so icy cold, no. Meh” The man paused for a second. “Well, if ya ain’t gonna tell, then suit yourself. But we done got plenty of time for ourself, lots of it, and I could do with some company along, I could, even if it’s dull, and maybe dim-witted.” Vermin’s bottom lip quivered at this, but the outbursts always took place in his head, just never out loud. They beat that into his system before he knew how to speak. Not to mention, he never thought of himself as company, even if it was to a rude, singsongy man. A life of singing himself to sleep never failed there. He nodded to the man. Maybe he wasn’t so bad.

“D-dog. I overst-tepp the l-ine c-oz of a d-dog. He ch-chase me r-round.” The man burst out laughing.

“Chh. Are ya tell me that a big brown, hard piece of meat such as yourself fucked goes craven in front of a dog, do ya? Ha! Now, I daresay the dog were one mean looking creature, ehh?” And he burst into another fit of laughter. “And they kept ya in here for that??? Real mean, that is!!!”

The man had a fair point, cause it felt like the walls were closing on him every second he let his gaze reach out. In the dim light of the torch down the corridor, he saw his company’s face for the first time. Two pitch black eyes stacked up on a body sickly from weeks in a cell without neither food nor drink, but an otherwise hard frame stared up at him. The wiry silver dreadlocks all around the man, and a sloppy beard gave him an intimidating aura, leaving Vermin to wonder if he himself looked in any way the same. Not likely. He was a man who ran away from runty wee dogs, and slouched, while walking. Ohh, what a scary sight he must be

.

“I….I’m g-g-gg-gold form”

“Whas that?” he asked surprisedly. Vermin gingerly rolled up his sleeve, revealing his forearm. There it was, shining in the dark, the mark of a golden hammer inside a circle. “Ahh, so ya are. I never did think they actually marked ya, the smiths, I didcha.” Vermin almost opened his mouth, but backed out, and stared into the hard stone walls. “So, I wouldn’t suppose this is the part of the conversation where you asked the questions, would it? What, the smith don’t have nothing to say? Meh.” Vermin cleared his throat.

“Whhh…ooo are ya?”

“Ohh yes, the most prudent of all questions. What a man calls himself, where he comes from, why he ends up in this damned cell, and all that. Well, I done made mistakes, that’s all I’m at liberty to tell ya. Ohh. As for the rest, I’m perfectly at liberty to tell ya. I are a man from the west, as far west as one can go, and should go, bless Magyar. Sailed round the dreadlocks, I did, a meagre fisherman, an honest one, that I are. Cheah. One day, my daughter came down with the measles. But no healer would come hither, without beckoned a fare I’d not possess, no.Cha. So I stooped low, I did. Information I sold, coz me house were within earshot of the certain man of importance. It didn’t take long for them, no, after their plans done been foiled, but I’d do that again. Muah. A hundred times over, as my daughter done been saved. After that, is your imagination.”, the man said in a melancholic tone. Tears were near the edge of his eyes, but Vermin didn’t dare look. He’d heard of the prisoners being shunted from Marlye to Irrys from Drey. His friend told him that with the sort of company the Marlyeans kept nowadays, they could do with more cells. Maybe this was the company he spoke about. Irrys had plenty of free cells anyways, and he could tell because he’d been the lone prisoner in one too many cell blocks on his way to the Guild.

“So w-what do I c-call ya?” Vermin asked.

“Clay, even though none would fault you,if you called me Lord Of The Cobwebs right now. It done have a ring to it I suppose. Cheah. So, how long do ya reckon them lot will done have ya cooped up here, you been a gold form smith and all that? ” Clay spoke sarcastically, but meant well, Vermin thought. Like friendly chat between two childhood pals..

“N-not l-long. I’m o-only in h-here in f-first place coz I isn’t no f-free man.”

“Well, that explains why the gaoler calls you Vermin then, don’t it. Rough life, if it are anything like back home. Meh. And you don’t remembered anything, do you? Where you’re from, your name, or even your life before get here?” Vermin squirmed in his spot, as he unwillingly opened his mouth again.

“Not much, just tha’ I work on a f-field f-fore I come here. G-golden corn, tall trees, butterflies, f-forests, them streams, the c-country air, the s-sweet smell of dewy mud a-and the h-honeysuckles ohh.. Them is the days.” He paused, suddenly uncomfortable to speak. Sweating all over, he was, but not in control of hisself any longer.

“Not that I is any less a s-slave b-back then, but least I isn’t beating steel all day, singeing in hot sweltering coals, sweat gone dripping everywhere, breathing in all them fumes of burning flaming steel and iron, arms be feeling like they’re gone falling off after every passing….” He gasped. He was speaking perfectly. How could he not have realised? This’d never happened before. Not since….

“Well, I were wondered cheah when you’d notice.” Clay sighed compassionately, and stared off into space. “What goes around, done come around mate, and who knows what the future has in store for us? Look at me, I never thought I’d find myself in this vault, no, rotted away as the hours blend into days. But, here I are muah now, my body broken, and my mind torn, but my spirit remains. That’s all it is ain’t it?” A silence followed, but not an uncomfortable one. There was something about Clay that calmed Vermin down, made him feel less angry and for his own suffering.

“So, how done a slave done end up here, cheah?” Clay asked. “It ain’t commonplace for that to happen. The Forger’s Guild is the pride of your pretty province. A young man such as ya ooh working here is like a stain on a fancy satin robe.” This wasn’t the first time Vermin had such questions thrown at him, but he did not expect Clay to ask him too. He couldn’t possibly know so much about their order. The proud Forger’s Guild. Uncanny, it was, cause not many souls outside the stone walls knew about it really. When he arrived in a wooden cart a few years back, his ankles and wrists bound by chains, he remembered seeing a black stone blob through a gap in the planks. It looked more like a broken down, lonesome house of a noble. Nothing to suggest it was the pride of Irrys, something that made them cocky on the short grass, slicing other swords like butter.

It didn’t matter though. Never did someone bother asking about his past, with a good mind. The problem was, he had no idea why he was there. He swallowed nervously.

“Whas that?” Clay asked.

“I-i-i-don’ know.”

“Hmm. You may not be ill-witted, no ooh, and that’s done put it kind, but ya ain’t no simpleton. And we done got something nice over here, so in confidence, huh?” Vermin’s jaw was clenched, his arms clamped together so hard he felt he might need a wrench pull them apart. Clay’s persistence was wearing down on him. It wasn’t often, someone insisted so very much.

“I-I-I’m gone t-telling a t-t-ruth. Even wh-h-en I-I was y-y-ounger, on that f-f-field, some other b-b-oys hate m-m-e. Says the m-m-aster was n-not so harsh on m-me as he is to other b-b-oys. O-one d-day, a p-pal named Sean and I-I is muddy brown from having clean them st-tables. The m-master is m-mighty considerate, he is, and he says w-we c-could w-wash ourselves inside his house f-for one d-day. W-w-e gone inside without his s-s-ummoning and w-we see the m-master w-with his d-d-daughter, but in n-naked f-f-lesh, n-not l-like anything we-e-e has e-e-ver see b-b-b-efore.. G-gone m-mad he does, and l-l-lock us i-inside. Th-then he…..run a sw-word up……” he whimpered, letting out a pained sob. His voice then started to break, a wonder it’d held up so far. “So n-next day, I-I-I i-is out, a-and s-sent here. B-but I sw-ear, I do have no i-i-dea….” Vermin leant down, and buried his head onto the floor.

“I’ll take your word for that Rheuse, I will” Clay said, before freezing dead, gasping real quiet. Vermin stared at his cellmate in a new light. Who is Rheuse? And then he slapped his forehead. There’s no fucking way!!

“No..h-h-how could you?!how…?” words failed Vermin as he struggled to keep up with his mind when he heard a loud click from the side of him. The door slammed open, breaking his ears.

“Get up you piece of shit, your best ‘mate’ wishes to see you, and I isn’t going to lose this job coz you can’t get off your dirty, black arse. Up you get!!” Vermin could tell from the gaoler’s tone that he wasn’t joking, and did not wish to give him any reason to whip him again. He found his courage finally, and looked Clay in the eye, but didn’t see past their darkness. Clay looked at him as if he didn’t know him, which Vermin didn’t understand.

"You bloody deaf man, get off yer arse!!!" The gaoler, on his last nerve, struck Vermin down hard into his bones, and forced him to crawl out the cell. From there, he was made to climb up a mountain of narrow stairs, each one taller than the last. Even if it was painful for his bloodied knees, it was necessary. The builders cared not for the heads of taller men, maybe because everyone else Vermin saw had the same build. Small, stocky, mean. But he couldn’t help but repeat the conversation he had just had in his mind while walking up the dungeon, and all the way upto the ground. Until his master’s face brought him straight back to his senses.

“Bet you enjoy our hospitality, didn’t you. Next time you so much as put your hair out of line, you might not relish it so much. And as much as I would love to have your head on a spike, on the top of our lovely establishment, your latest suitor would as easy have done same to me.” The master growled through a rough, gravelly tone. Now it made sense why he stayed in the dark cell for only one night, but he had more questions now about this suitor. He alarmed him, just like the morning’s interaction had. Never before had such things happened one after the other in the same day. Anyways, Vermin made sure he didn’t give the master what he wanted, and started walking towards his forge. “‘He’ll see you soon, and trust me, he’s not a man be trifled with, and if he do be getting the wrong impression from here…..you understand me??!” The pause in between made Vermin nod, trying not to let his imagination show him his master’s worst side. Rats, hot coals under his feet, hammers and nail on his body. His arms started shivering..

This was the nicest he’d ever been treated, so this man definitely was regal. He wondered how Drey would react to this, as he worried for his own neck.

He turned his attention, and took in the sight of the establishment surrounding him like his master would say, as he stood at the centre. It was a rectangular shaped stone-walled thing, with open space in the middle, for pushing materials in carts throughout. There were two floors, the first floor for the blacksmiths, and the second so that the older, fatter men could sleep in nice-looking beds, and not on the floor. The forging, annealing, grinding, hardening, and tempering shops were spread across the first floor. Then there were shops for those who made the pommel, the guard, and the hilt, amongst other things. It was strange that men such as himself, and other soot-stained, greasy, shabbily dressed commoners that nobles dare not foul their eyes with, kept their pride. Without their slaves and sweatmen, they were nothing. Another line which he borrowed from Drey. The man whose slim form was approaching him now, a man who he had much to owe.

“Oi Vermy, we sneak a few pints in with some water, fancy a…Magyar’s mullet!! What happen to you mate, you look like you do be run over by an ox.” The lad looked genuinely concerned.

“N—n-othing. It’s nothing. W-wardy’s p-piss t-terrified of our g-gaffer though. Ho-ow’d ya d-do it? ” Drey’s eyes lit up. He looked away, like he usually did cooking up, or telling his stories. It was hard to decide which.

“Easy as pie mate. Actually, pie isn’t that easy. But anyways, everyone knows Wardy loves his little gifts. A few coins here and there, a night out at a brothel, maybe a few extra drinks here and there, and we’re as thick as thieves, ya know.” Vermin had known Drey for years as one of his only companions here, but it still surprised him that his friend had a hammer for every metal. A slender, toned man, who was more a wayfarer than a smith, and always had a strange smell about him, like mushrooms. His eyes were his telling feature though. Brown balls of jumpiness they were, always on the ready. Whatever was needed, he had the means to acquire it through his many threads, which he never confided in anyone. Once in a while he’d let out a few, just to show off, but he was very good at keeping his words to himself.

“R-r-really. B-but I-I think h-he is r-religious?” Vermin said. Drey’s face reddened, as he fiddled with his tunic.

“You’s a bright one, isn’t you? Well, fuck that, you coming or not? Otherwise I could find someone else, and make some coin off him as well. Lucky for ya, I do be giving it free, isn’t I?”

“I-is n-not i-in a mood. A-ask that g-geyser, umm, someone th-they call F-frank.”

“I would’ve done it in a heartbeat, but couldn’t find ‘im. Turns out that man’s in some soup with his roomkeeps. Gone to mop it up, he done, so guess I’m gone scraping a bottom of some barrel, I is.”

“I-I r-really…..?”

“Piss off, just come up our spot after hours” Drey spat. Vermin nodded in response, trying not to let his pain show on his face. Anything to take my mind off, he mused as he slaved towards the crumbling door of his forge.

The day flew past as quick as the time in the cell did. It was the same routine orders that they received in bulk from their overlords. Swords and spears made of Irrys steel, with their characteristic hilt and “Affluency, integrity, and wits” inscribed on it. Those words might be from his mouth, if men like him made the rules, and not the other way round. This was a fair man’s world, one in which some would say he had no business in, though he’d heard it was not the same in some places. He wished he could go to those places.

He peered closely at a scroll, with a blue thread, and a.... He didn’t know what it was, but he recognized a blue Garredon, holding two swords in either foreleg, wearing jewels. A creature so cunning, some suspected they had more wits than a human. Its wings were on fire, wearing Magyar’s crown. People told him the Garredons were long gone. And that he needn’t worry every time he saw something blue, hoping it wasn’t a Garredon. All they were now were tiny wax things made with something people called a seal. It was a curious order, definitely regal, and... it had his name? He opened it, and read it with great trouble, recognizing enough words to piece it together.

A longsword that weighed almost twice as much as the norm. Onyx Steel instead of Irrys Steel as well, with special requirements for the hilt, fancy gemmed guard, grip, pommel and all that. A betrayal of their own history. Spending hundreds of years telling anyone who cared that their steel could slice a man’s udders like cheese, and then secretly getting it from The Onyx. Vermin didn’t know much about Waterrush, but he knew about the Onyx Oblivion. The great fire-breathing rock, from which the best metal on the land was made.

But nothing else mattered just then. Not even the fancy order. Every blow on the red-hot steel was another second he thought about Clay, his strange accent, and the things he knew that he ought not to know. It earnt him a charred apron, and half-burnt loincloth, when he stood too close to the bench with his hammer.

After the toil was over, he headed for his closet under the ground, towards the side the sun rose from, his run down dwelling amongst free men. The clock was ticking, so he rushed down the stone steps next to the forge. It was damp, cold, and moist down here, where the Guild kept all their metals, and meat storages. Right opposite the foot of the stairs was his door. He slammed it open, crouched in, and let his overclothes and apron fall down to the floor and into their place. The place was so small that he could fit half a dozen standing Vermins inside the room, all of them stuck up against each other, but it was his.

The key was underneath the mat somewhere, so he reached down, letting his hand slide the dust off the cloth. Once he found it, he slipped out the door, and took a left, walking beside the foot of the steps, which brought him to a closed broom cupboard. The key fell inside the lock, and the plain looking cabinet built into the wall was shoved aside to show a narrow opening. Before, the opening would only allow a man of his size through if he cut himself into three parts, and threw them inside. That was when Drey and the others used ther shovels, and made it bigger for him. If one entered and started crawling little by little, they would find that it climbed upwards, leading to a spot on the other side of the outside wall, under the cover of a row of trees. A spot which he continued to hope would be under the trees, because they were cutting them down like pork chops these days.

This path was dug over weeks, just about two years ago by Drey and his mates, for Vermin. It was his nameday gift, for when he turned six and ten. Not that he knew his name day, but from then on, he’d only know that day to be it. Though it brought him great joy, Drey dug up that tunnel less out of the good of his heart, than to use it for other reasons. And within a fortnight, it turned into a smuggling racket inside the establishment.

Bar Vermin and a few others, everyone could leave the Forges at night if they pleased, but had to make sure not to miss the next day’s work. Smuggling goods through the main gate while leaving had been slippery work for some time though, and the tunnel opened up a great ‘business’ chance. Before, tools and food were all workers dared to steal, but now nothing was off limits. This wasn’t common knowledge, and was only for the ears of Drey’s inner circle, and Vermin himself..

He could see a shade of dull white ahead of him, and his shadow on the side walls. He prepared to dress himself, rubbing grass on his upper body, lifting himself slowly into the moonlight, stretching his aching muscles, and then crawling underneath a bush to his left. Right in front of him, sitting in front of an evergreen tree, were Drey and his companions, rolling the grass using parchment, sitting in a circle. His shadow Drey looked up.

“Took ya long enough mate, I wager you isn’t coming. That, or you got lost. Wouldn’t be your first time, would it?” He asked.

“Wh-whatsat?”

“Ahh, right, ya and your ‘hammer’ ear. Ya do be reminding me of my Aunt Fremma, with your slouching, and your hearing and all that. Except her clothes, Magyar knows. She’d rather die a slow death than wear them rags and snotty britches.” A drone of laughter erupted, as he clenched his fists tight. He was used to this, but he still didn’t like it. People changed in front of others, he had noticed.

Vermin didn’t answer, letting his eyes smallen to the lighting of the candles. As he recognized the others around the circle, he flinched, and lowered his head. He didn’t need telling of all his problems, not in front of these lot.

“Down straight to business then, shall we?”, mouthed Garry, an enormous man, in both girth and height. And arms like slabs of fleshy meat, with a belly that jiggled with each laugh. “Yes, we didn’t call you up here for our amusement, we do be having people for that sort of thing.”A short silence followed. “A lil birdie tell us that some man in your cell escape. Just up and bolt away. Now we do be knowing even a wee fly couldn’t get past our gate without them guards knowing about it, and it got us thinking.” He strained his neck, twisting it into place. “Especially when there’s a reward do be waiting for whoever gets hold of their culprit. Have anything to say about it?” Garry asked, snarling at him. Vermin needed no second telling of what Garry was hinting, but it was too much for him in one day. He just stood, there, inspecting an interesting coloured bug on the ground. Garry stood up, turning his shoulders towards him.

“Ya better start talking’, cause we doesn’t be having all day, and it’s you who do be talking.” He had a look on his face like his master when he was about to take out his whip. Not just him, but the other two geves which he’d brought with him started circling Vermin, telling him exactly what he was getting into. He’d seen this too many times before..

“I-I-I d-d-dont’t know wh-what ya g-gone talkin’ bout. I n-never e-even s-see this p-prisoner”, he said. Garry laughed, but his eyes were just as serious as before, trying to pull the secret from Vermin..

“Is that so. Well, that lil birdie hear ya two got talking like old friends in that cell. Hear ya be crying like a lil girl, he do be saying.” Vermin’s teeth were shaking. He dare not look at Garry now. “So we know that this man do be holding a knife at yer balls, and forcing it out of ya. Ya gutter rat, you!!!” He charged down Vermin, but Drey ran in front of him.

“Garrry!!!! Let the man fucking talk. Ya don’t know what happen.” Stood alone against the three of them Drey was, his eyes a bit crazy. He was no fighter. That, Vermin knew. “No-one’s asking questions yet. Not one knows about our lil arrangement. And since when have ya be trusting that fucking gaoler, huh?? He’ll say anything to make Vermin’s life miserable.” Just that moment, there was a click, like something scuttling. Vermin’s eyes moved to it in a flash, as he’d been watching the oddly colored bug for the last minute, finally recognizing it. He took off, grabbed the knife from Drey’s belt, and stuck it straight into the bugs eyes, an inch away from Garry’s bare feet. Garry fell sideways.

“Ya cunt!!Ya dare try attack me!!Boys, take him!!” The two Geves approached from both sides, but didn’t attack. It was strange, because he had only his hands, and the men both drew longswords. They could’ve run him down like a goat, but they didn’t. Now that he had time, Vermin held his knife end up, and showed it to Garry. The men, having sensed that something was not quite as it seemed, stopped to look.

“Our Gh-ghastly Prisent. Gone killing ya, it would’ve”, he said, putting the weapon down underneath a candle. With the dagger edge through its wicked yellow eyes was the Prisent. Blue goo oozed out of its watering hole, and gushed over its sticky honeysap skin, causing everyone including Garry to stand as still as stone.

“Th-thank you.” And this time, it was Garry who couldn’t quite get his words out. Vermin got up, buried the knife deep into the ground, and backed away, Drey slapping him on the back.

“I do be telling them it wasn’t you, but, you never can be too sure of yourself.” Drew said, while Garry scoffed.

“Hah, find me someone who’s more cocky in all of Irrys, I’ll run naked on our streets of Gemsdrive, with ‘Affluency, integrity, and wits smeared across my body”. How one could think of murder one moment, and running naked the next he would never know, but that was Garry. The lot of them cracked up, including the Geves, who suddenly had their broadswords in, and an even broader smile out. As he breathed a sigh of relief, he saw a shadow on one of the trees. The next second, it was gone. He could make neither head nor tail of its shape.

Must be nothing, he thought, not completely at ease.

“Wine??” Drey asked, halfway between tossing him a bottle. He shook his head twice, making it very clear. What his friend didn’t understand was that if Vermin had a bit, he’d have more, and then a bit more, till he could no longer walk in a straight line. It didn’t bode well for him, since noone else had to go back through a spider-hole piss-drunk, crawling in their own puke. He had some serious work to do the next morning too, work that he couldn’t do feeling like his head was being blown apart by a volcano, like the metals he would hammer. It would just give his master more reason to have at him.

Vermin sat back and watched the men, not even looking over their shoulder. No-one would blink an eye if they overstepped their bounds, or if they were out beyond hours, gone drinking in the woods. Everything in their mind they could say, and more importantly, be heard.

“Ohh, would you look at our bleeding time. We should go lads, lest the gaffer’s in an unforgiving mood on to morrow.” Garry said. Right when he spoke, Vermin heard a faint noise in the background, like a twig crunching, but it might have just been one of them, so he let it pass.

“On to morrow then.” Drey slurred, falling into a pine tree. Smiling stupidly, he sank his teeth into a brown thing, which looked like the skin of a pineapple. Before dropping to the ground, he waved to Vermin and the rest of the others who were leaving, and asked Vermin to wake him up in the morning.

Vermin snuck down the pothole, into the tunnel, and back to the closet like he’d done a hundred times before. A good night’s sleep ought to clear my head, he thought, and collapsed onto his cot, and into the depths of his escape.