Blood.
Running along the cracks and gathering in pools on the uneven stone floor. A slick trail, brown in the light of the flickering oil lamps. There was a scream, quickly cut off, another, louder, longer. Someone sobbed a word, unintelligible at this distance.
He looked right, along the narrow passage, where several other servants peered bleary eyed from their cells. News moved along the night darkened corridor, passed from mouth to ear, mouth to ear.
“Vikta.” They said. “It’s Vikta.”
As if that was enough explanation, the heads withdrew and doors were quietly closed.
Closing his door too, but behind him, he looked around, listening. There was a murmur of voices from the right, urgent hissed commands. To the left, up the stairs that led to the guest chambers, was silence. More blood ran there, or dripped from step to step.
Snowy had woken at the noise outside his cell, but by the time he got there whatever was happening had passed. Now, he considered his options, left up the stairs to see what had happened, or right, down to the kitchens to see who it had happened to. He had little concern for Vikta, who was a strange boy, a little older than him. He had soft skin and a soft voice, and was often called to the north chamber to look after the guests there. He turned left, his bare feet silent on cold stone.
With care, he followed the gory trail up the steps, along the corridor and up more steps into the north tower. Voices sounded up ahead as he reached the landing. Moving quickly, he was just in time to see a bulky man being led along the passage by Underlord Guamon. Voices drifted back as they receded.
“Calm yourself your Grace, it is of no importance, the boy is just a servant, and besides he’s hardly scratched. I’ll wager he was just shamming to get out of his duties, you know what servants are like.”
“Are you sure, I think I really hurt the boy.”
“Of course, now put it right out of your mind. We’ll take you over to…”
Snowy crept forwards a few more paces and risked a look into the north tower guest chamber. The ornately carved door was pushed right back against the wall and oil lamps burned brightly. The chamber revealed was square, with two of its walls containing curtained windows. The room contained a large canopied bed, a long table and four chairs, a huge chest in dark polished wood and in the far corner, a small door that concealed the garderobe. Overall, the effect was, at least to a servant’s eyes, one of colourful luxury.
At least, that’s how he remembered it. The effect had been ruined somewhat by the removal of every piece of material except the curtains. A few of the senior servants were still in there, eyes down, lips tight. They had made a pile near the door, a blood stained mountain of sheets, blankets, feather pillows, rugs and clothing, and on top a wine flagon, it too slick and red.
One of the men looked up and saw him there. He froze, expecting a scalding.
“Best go back to bed Snowy, nothing here you need to see.” He said, firmly but without emotion.
The servant boy turned and began to wander back to his room, watching the blood seeping and congealing on the grey masonry. How much blood is inside a person? He thought. How much blood can a boy of seventeen lose and still live? He’d seen the pigs of course, hauled up by their back legs, their throats slashed with a long knife. The thick blood ran into a wooden bucket, but they stopped twitching long before it was full. He wondered if Vikta had stopped twitching, for there was surely more than a bucketful along here.
A shout startled him as he reached his chamber.
“Tyron! What are you doing? Get back in your cell!”
Marsa, the head vegetable cook, was walking along the corridor with a sack of sawdust, sprinkling it along the bloody trail. She was tall for a woman, thin and grey haired. Her face was severe to suit her manner, she rarely smiled and was the bane of the lesser servants’ lives. Her clothing was always white, whatever the season or occasion, and always spotless. She’d lived in the castle since she was a girl, and hadn’t really been far beyond its lands. Putting down the bucket, she hastened towards Snowy. Her hand moved towards his head and she tousled his blonde, almost white hair. She had a soft spot for him, and was the only one who called him by his real name. Neither he nor anyone else knew why. A few speculated it was because he matched her clothing, he with his pale skin and hair. Others that she was his real mother, on the evidence that both had grey eyes, though his were several shades lighter. Only she knew the truth.
“You must go inside Tyron. Close your door and try to sleep. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.” Marsa smiled down at him. She mused briefly on how he’d grown over the last year. Well, he was fifteen on Birth Day. Only a few more moons and he’d be a man. She grabbed his shoulders and turned him around to face his cell door.
“Go!” she whispered.
Snowy saw a tear roll down her face as she smiled briefly, then returned to her grim task. He thought about offering to help, but he knew she would refuse him. She was overprotective sometimes, and the other children teased him about it. But better that than the beatings some of the younsters got.
Inside, he crept past the still sleeping forms of the other servants he shared a cell with. Even at their advanced age, all three were still only Workers; they should have been Skillworkers by now, at least, with rooms of their own. They had obviously been drinking, again, and perhaps this explained it. They had barely stirred when he had been woken and soon returned to sleep. He wondered what their reaction would be when they found out about Vikta. They’d probably just shrug, say a few words of sympathy and return to their work. No one much liked Vikta.
Snowy had asked them once, on the rare occasion they were all here and awake together, what Vikta did. He knew the boy served in the north guest chamber, but he was never seen fetching from the kitchens or taking things to the wash room like the other servants. He also had a room of his own, with a real window and a lock on the door, yet he was far too young to be anything but a Worker.
The men had just laughed and replied “Women’s work.”
So Snowy was even more baffled. Women did all sorts of things. The only thing he could think of that only women did was have babies. It didn’t make sense. As his eyes closed that night and the sounds of cleaning diminished outside the door, he vowed to ask Marsa the very next morning.
But come the dawn Vikta was dead.