Cy
made no noise. The others that had been sent to be punished were doing enough
of that, pleading their innocence, their cases, their life stories, and some
even tried to struggle from the cages.
The
older cogs stayed silent, as she did. They knew better. From the list the
workers barked, there were five of them there today, and the death sentence was
only for her.
She
tried to hold the colors of the capital in her mind, yet all that came was gray.
Her young memories fell like paintings ruined in the rain, the yellows,
purples, oranges, and reds – all the color of Grimora rushing down into the
whirlpools beneath.
Alain
pawed at her side. “Do not fret.”
In
response, Cy unclipped the basket from her sash and set it down on the slick
ground before the swinging cages, cut into the cliff wall, and the only
platform that could withstand the waves. “There is no reason we both should
perish today, Alain.”
The
cat crept from under the blanket and gave her a stern look, his amber eyes
piercing her. “I cannot perish, and you will not die today.”
Two
of the cages had been lowered. Judging from the screaming, they would only be
lowered to where the water brushed their chins. The threat of drowning was
small, but the waves beating the cages against the cliffs and the hungry
predators beneath more than made up for it. If they were fortunate, they would
come away with few shattered bones and perhaps a sting or bite.
There
were always more slaves washing in from the East, looking to start anew behind
the safety of the Grimoran walls. It didn’t matter how many the sea took, there
would always be more.
“Even
if I escaped the cage, the waves would crush me,” she murmured, listless. “Or
whatever is down there would swallow me whole. I have never swum, my friend.”
“You
are built for swimming,” Alain argued. “Why do you think Domirus never fully
submerged you? He knows what you are.”
“And
what is that?” Cy snapped.
“C’mon,
cog.” One of the workers took her arm and led her to a cage. Cy felt Alain at
her feet, even as she was strapped in. When the man went to get a syringe, she
hissed at the cat, “Flee!”
“No.”
“You
are just a little cat! You will die, too!”
Alain
gently bit her ankle. “I cannot.”
She
quieted at the feel of the belt tightening around her upper arm. The needle was
in and gone before Cy could even whimper and the opiates banished her pain.
“You
can still leave,” Cy told the cat and sunk to her knees, the barnacles crusting
the rusted bottom scraping her legs.
He
did not answer, but she felt his presence rest on her lap.
Death,
she supposed, should have been terrifying. The drugs made it seem no different
than a walk in the arbor gardens, surrounded by lilies large enough to sleep
in; she knew from experience. Her fingers idly stroked Alain’s fur as the cage
lowered.
The
ocean roared and foamed at the mouth for sacrifice. Despite the crimson water’s
beauty, Cy remembered the many warnings of the giant beasts in darker waters.
“There are beasts that press their gargantuan mouths to the deep holes in the
sea,” Domirus had warned. “They create powerful currents in the hopes to suck
down careless swimmers and ships – your best hope is to close your eyes so you
do not have to look upon the endless rows of teeth awaiting you.”
Now,
as the water crept up to her waist and the chain groaned from the effort of
holding the cage, the entirety of the ocean looked black to her.
Some
of the older cogs hung nearby and sang the anthem of the Shadow King. They
still believed in their King. In Grimora.
Cy tried to join them, but the words tasted like poison.
Instead, she pushed out a throaty beat from her chest and gave the song a tune.
One
by one, the words lost a single voice until it was only her singing to drowned
patriotism. Then, the water filled her lips and the song grew silent. She was
sure some still sang through the pain, but all her ears heard was the muffled
roar of the ocean.
She didn’t bother trying
to hold her breath and let the water fill her body. And fill, and fill, and
fill. Cy did her best to keep Alain above her head for as long as she could,
but he scurried from her arms and dove down beneath her.
‘He
will escape,’ she thought, easing. ‘He will find another person to help.’ With
her eyes closed, the quiet chaos of the ocean surrounded her, a blanket keeping
monsters at bay as she waited to drift off into sleep. The opiates were the
sort surgeons used for the nobles when they required something intensive, mixed
to pull them into a soft slumber.
Alain
pawed at her chest and she jumped. “You see?”
The
opiates made it difficult to process anything, but Cy was mildly curious that
the water appeared to do nothing to stop her breathing.
“Hold,”
he instructed and ducked underneath her legs.
“Wait--,”
she said, but only bubbles came out.
Beneath
her the cage straightened and stilled. Confused, she turned herself upside down
and hooked her feet on the upper bar of the cage. Somehow, her little cat had
managed to tie the cage in place with tendrils of the sinuous ivory permanent
fused with the bedrock.
“C’mon,”
he slipped between the small holes in the cage while she stared blankly. “You
know how to work a lock, do you not?”
Cy
wanted to tell him that was a cog stereotype. Instead, she sighed and turned to
the lock. She could have sworn the cat was smirking at her. It was a
surprisingly simple mechanism – the workers no doubt expected them to panic too
much to be able to handle it. The lock rested at an awkward angle from being
beaten against the cliffs for so long.
Turning,
she braced herself on the opposite wall and used her legs to push against the
bracing for the lock. A few shadows in the darkness of the water gave her
pause. There was no shortage of stories about cages that had descended with a
cog in them only to be lifted with half the cage bitten off and no cog remaining.
“Pay
no mind to them,” Alain barked. “You have limited time!”
With
a nod, she kept pushing, face scrunched up. No good. She glanced back at the
seabed and pointed down to a sizeable stone.
Alain
nodded and slipped back down, rolling it along the cage by balancing it against
his stomach and scaling along its sides
Cy
crammed her arms as far as they would go and wrenched the stone inside. The
water slowed her down tremendously, but she beat at the lock as though it was
Domirus’ face. She had grown light-headed before, at last, the lock came loose
and fell into the depths. With another few kicks, the door finally gave way.
The current swept her up, flipping her head over heels several times before she
managed to grasp at the ivory and wrap it around her wrists; it wouldn’t hold
for long, but it was her only choice to stay rooted. The waves kept up their
attack, and all she could taste in her mouth and nose was brine.
‘And
now?’ She thought, dazed. Popping up to the surface would mean an arrow to the head.
Swimming further into the darkness would attract one of those ominous gray
blobs watching her. The current would already be bashing her against the cliff
side if not for her grip on the cage. A shadow moved over her and she glanced
up towards what had to be certain death.
Instead,
it appeared to be one of the rowboat-sized black petals awaiting her. Caution
was for people not on opiates. She shrugged and used the slimy footing of the
jagged rock bedded thinly around the cliff to tumble inside where Alain waited.
He
tugged the stem over them and hid them away with a curl of the petal. No arrows
flew, no one shouted, but her heart ached as the current pushed them under the
arching stone pillars supporting Grimora.
“Can
we not help them,” she asked of the other caged cogs.
The
cat settled beside her, wary. “Going back now would mean death. I cannot
protect you from a hail of arrows.”
Cy
cupped her hands over her ears to silence the cries from the others and curled
in a ball, weeping. “What now?”
Alain
paused before admitting, “I had not thought this far.”
“Gods.”
Cy rolled on her back, blinking through the sensation of her mind swimming. She
looked up at Grimora’s underbelly and managed to lift one hand before giving it
as obscene a gesture as she could think of.
The
cat chuckled. “Best rest. With that injection and being underwater for so long,
your strength is surely sapped.”
She
couldn’t argue, but tried regardless, “Alain, tell me what you are.”
After
a long pause, the cat answered only with, “The same as them, I suppose.” He
nodded out to the horizon.
Cy
sat up with a groan, “You know I cannot see what you--”. She did see. What she
was seeing, she had no comprehension of.
Bobbing
along the waves were hundreds upon hundreds of lights in an array of boundless
color.
It
had been so long since she had seen purple, or green or yellow, or any of the
shifting colors before her and her cry of delight turned into a sob. “Oh,
Pantheon above. What are they?”
Alain
climbed atop her shoulder. “They have never given me a straight answer, but I
would wager they are the dead.”
Her
awe turned cold. “The dead?”
“I
told you that I cannot perish. I was under the water with you for just as long,
and I am still here. I imagine that is because I am already deceased, as you
would have eventually drowned.”
Words
failed her as they watched the lights dance in silence. All she did manage was,
“You told me you were a cat, you little git!”
“You
never asked if I was a spirit,” he pointed out. “Besides, I am a cat.”
After
a moment, she asked, “Am I dead now?”
“Probably
not. You can still feel pain, right?” He put a paw on her shoulder and made her
lie back down. “Then again, memory becomes irrelevant when you drift long
enough. I remember finding you. You talked to me. You somehow knew I was there,
and I have been with you since.”
“Can
others see them?” She yawned, despite herself.
“Doubtful.
If the Meij’ins could, there would be
a petition to demand they drifted elsewhere. To be truthful, I’ve no idea why
you can see them. Many of them are not aware of you and the rest cast a curious
look or two. The only thing that has ever reacted has been the rifts”
Cy
thought on the anomalies and shivered. “What happens if they keep happening in
Grimora?”
“No
longer your problem, is it?” Alain smoothed the hair from her eyes. “Please,
rest. I will try to find a solution but I need you strong, Cy.”
She
gave him an uncertain look.
“If
I had wanted to do harm to you, I had over thirteen years to do so,” he sighed.
“I
know. This is a lot to take in, Alain. I need answers.”
“Rest.”
He moved to the end of the petal.
“Not
until you have given me answers!”
The
cat turned back towards her and his eyes reflected the distant lights as the
eddies softened and the petal returned to the calmer waters further out. “I
cannot promise I will have all the answers, nor that the drugs in you will be
good for this, but I will try.”
“You
said you know what I am,” she managed.
“Yes.”
She
waited for him to continue but Alain held his silence. “And?”
“Sorry,”
he sighed. “I just realized how insane all of this will sound. When we found
each other, you were young and I’ve no idea what your life was before that,
aye?”
“Aye?”
Cy pleaded.
The
cat stooped slightly, his face too burdened for any mere animal. “You are a
Xen. You will not know the name because your people should not, and do not,
exist anymore. They vanished thousands of years ago and I do not know anything
more on that.” He paused, giving her a moment, though an eternity would not
have sufficed for his words to make sense. “As for your ability to somewhat
interact with the dead, that I cannot explain.”
Cy
fell silent for what felt to her years. The word Xen had no meaning, and she
could do little with the information for now. “Could Xen breathe underwater?”
“For
a short time, I believe. They were a water-based society. Your former master
knew as much.”
Her
heart skipped, “Oh! Perhaps he meant to set me free this way?” A smile broke
free, near maniacal from the drugs, “Oh, he did love me! He even said this was
the best he could give me!”
Alain
put a paw to her shoulder and eased her down without response. “I am going to
find somewhere safe for you, but I need you to sleep off those opiates.” He
paused again, “Forgive me for not answering you in our time together until now.
I was afraid that you might banish me or think I was a demon.”
She
squirmed with glee. Everything else seemed meaningless. “Ha, ha, it is fine!
Master loved me enough to set me free!”
His
rustling and the sickly sweet scent of the petal won out in the end; the
opiates did her no favors. Even with the questions swarming her mind like an
angry hive of wasps, Cy found an uncomfortable sleep awaiting her.
Fifteen
years with her master floated by in her dreams. Fifteen years of his voice
guiding her in the dark, of each command being executed like a swift slash of a
sword, and fifteen years of her loving each moment with him. So many wished to
escape his side, but Cy had never understood it. Didn’t they realize that
Grimora would fall apart without her master? Her kind would ruin it—ruin that
glorious beauty.
Cy
thought about writing him when they were safe and that gave her enough comfort
to ignore the blackened hands trying to reach through her dreams.
******
Captain
Damian Samhiel Bourdeaux perched on the railing of his ship, the Maelstrom, and
watched the gelatinous beasts in the sinkholes try to suck her down.
“Can’t
manage it, can ya?” He called, tossing a long, mussed mane of white curls
behind his shoulders. With a grin, he gave a sympathetic shrug, “Sorry
beasties, better creatures than you have tried!”
He
popped one slimy tentacle as it grasped at him with a deep laugh. His amusement
was cut short when he turned and saw his crew all gathered on the other side of
the ship, peering over the edge.
"I
best not walk over there and see a bunch of slack jawed idiots watching a sea
falcon wrestling with one of the maws again!" He grabbed his whopping
stick, just to be safe. The splintery old broom handle had left many a sailor
with a welt over his many years aboard.
His
first mate, a tanned young man that Damian simply called Azim for his blue
eyes, was the only one who faced him. "We're not idling, cap'n. We're trying
to figure out what in the seven pits of the underworld is clawing at the side
of the ship.
The
captain pushed through his men and glanced down. What had been indignation
turned quickly to confusion. "Issat a cat?"
There
indeed appeared to be a black cat pawing incessantly at the side of the ship
and yowling over the waves. It sat with an unnatural calm on one of the large
black petals that often crossed the barrier reef where the crimson waters met
with the emerald green of the Hynlean Sea.
“Go on and pull up the damned thing,"
Damian barked.
None
of his men said anything and hurriedly rushed to his order. Damian set his
whopping stick aside with a bit of disappointment.
"Whole
petal!" Azim yelled. "Damned thing is sogged and heavy!"
With
grunts of dissent, five men hefted the petal up with a fishing net. It took
some effort to haul the petal over the railing, but they managed to drop it to
the deck with a unanimous sigh.
Azim
tried to pick up the cat but stopped. The cat had a look in his eye that
conveyed everything and the first mate shivered. He unfolded the petal instead
and his eyebrows near vanished into his hairline. "Uh, Cap'n?"
Damian
paused from his boxing match with the stubborn beast and glanced over. Within
the petal, folded into a huddled slumber, lay a pale woman. He had no words at
first and then managed a, "Well!"
Examining
her, he frowned at her long, pointed ears slanting sideways. A gentle tuft of
bright yellow frills tapered from underneath the fold, covering her lobes.
"And again, well!" He motioned over what passed for his ship's
doctor, "She alive?"
The
tight-lipped, stern Farrell examined her while the rest of his crew tried in
vain to pretend they weren't gawking. At last, he sat up and announced,
"She is alive. Dehydrated and hungry, no doubt, but alive."
His
first mate kneeled beside the captain, avoiding the vigilant feline. "Ser,
what are the orders on this? Chances are someone is hunting for this one."
He pointed to the marks on her wrists, "Back in Grimora, this means she's
a cog, a slave, and valuable property."
The
captain scratched his chin and reminded himself to shave later. "Law of
the sea, my friend. Castaways are abandoned goods as far as most honest traders
are concerned."
Azim
perked an eyebrow, "Honest traders, eh?"
Damian
shrugged with the carelessness that Azim loved and loathed. "We are better
than the scoundrels who sail the seas, taking boats and slitting the throats of
anyone aboard, no? In my experience, people would much rather trade their goods
and supplies for their lives, and I expect our pale little ocean flower will do
the same." He paused and grinned, "Besides, the men will riot if they
have to do laundry after shore visit again."
"Aye,"
Azim couldn't argue that one. A night in a brothel with fifteen drunk, randy
men was not merciful on their already beaten clothes.
"Farrell,
try some smelling salts." Damian ordered.
The
makeshift doctor opened a case riddled with slashes from a few unexpected sword
fights and waved the vials under the girl's nose.
With
a clogged cough, the girl convulsed.
"Calm
yourself," Damian told her and sat her up. The moment he did the woman
heaved up a stomach worth of sea water, splattering his dark blue coat.
Though
the sea roared, there was dead silence amongst the crew.
Damian
looked to his soaked coat and idly shrugged, "Got that out of the way, at
least." He patted her back to release the last few hiccups and then asked,
"Alright?"
The
woman looked at him, eyes wide and gently glazed like the sheen on a rare vase.
She had no pupils, and Damian guessed that she was blind by how she stared past
him.
"Cap'n,
you're speaking native." Azim advised. "Doubt she speaks
Alvoran."
"Oh,
for the gods' sake, of course." Damian cleared his throat and tried again
in the trader's tongue, "Alright?"
The
woman squeaked and shook. All she managed was, "Where-?"
"Why,
you are aboard the Maelstrom, my dear!" The captain gestured with gusto.
"You've the pleasure of meeting Damian Bourdeaux, high devil of the seas
and saver of pretty ladies."
She
turned scarlet and his laughter filled the sea. The little cat stared him down,
fur bristled.
"You
must have been adrift for several days, my dear. You've hit the waters of the
Hynlean, far past the crimson waves of the capital." He smiled as her
stomach affirmed his guess. "Best get you fed."
"You
are not taking me back?" He couldn't decide if she was hopeful or
disappointed.
"Nay,
lass. We're too far out, I loathe Grimora and its heat and I figure you--,"
he paused and asked Azim for the name again, “--cogs would be glad to be out of
reach of your slavers."
"Yes,"
the woman remained neutral. "Thank you."
Damian
shrugged again and lifted her over his shoulder without effort or concern for
her cry. With a few steps, he had her inside the lower quarters and set on a
bed.
She
pet the surface, stunned. "What is this?"
"A
bed."
Her
eyes widened, and he frowned. "Are you putting me on, lass?"
"No,
no! I have never been on a bed before," the word rolled off her tongue as
though it were a foreign delicacy. She smoothed out the blankets and pillows,
near cooing in delight. "Oh, it is wonderful!"
A
lopsided smile crept over his face, "That's the best response to a bed
I've ought seen, lass - and I've got fifteen lads who work in the sun all day.
Course, I know all their names."
She
straightened, angry at her show of weakness. "Oh, mine is Cy."
"Cy?
As in-," and he heaved a deep sigh.
Her
blush deepened, “Yes. My master named me that for the noise I caused for him,
but he spelled C-Y.”
“Ah.
I thought it might be short for the Bas word ‘Cyreina’.”
The
frills decorating her ears seemed to bristle. “Cyreina?”
“Aye,”
he frowned. “Bas for moon flower. My Bas ain’ the best, though, but I do
remember a little.”
“Wait,
what is this language?” Cy forgot herself and almost interrupted him. “I have
heard many languages but never Bas.”
The
captain leaned his weight into the archway, “Shite, lass, I figured you’d know it
better than I would. You’re Xen, aincha?”
Alain
had been inspecting the room nearby. At Damian’s question, he whipped around
and sprang into Cy’s lap.
“Yes?
I mean, I believe so?”
He
scratched his chin, keeping an eye on the cat. “Bas is the Xen tongue. You
ought know it better than I do.”
A
flurry of questions near burst from her. Alain stopped them with a well-placed
claw into her upper leg. What she did manage was, “You know about my race?”
“Xen
ain’ really a race. Species, more like. I’m no scholar, moon girl, I only know
what I’ve heard from the waves.”
Cy
pulled Alain up and ignored his gnaws of protest. “But they’ve been dead for
thousands of years, no?”
Silence
filled the room.
The
captain cleared his throat and excused himself with a quick comment on bringing
her supper in a moment. The door shut behind him and Cy was left with the floor
rocking gently beneath her and a parade of lights swimming outside.
Good
to his word, the captain sent someone down with supper for her. His voice was a
bit gruffer than the rest of the crew, she noticed.
"Are
you Meij'in?"
The
voice laughed, almost coughing, "Nay. I'm from Hanner'ok."
"Oh,
you're Nuburan!" Cy tried not to let her stomach give her away.
"Forgive me, it has been some time since I spoke with one of the
Clans." From her understand, Nuburans were people who were born tanned and
developed characteristics of animals the more they embraced the aspect of their
Clan.
"Ah,
don't worry yourself. If you could see me, you'd never guess I was Nuburan
anyhow. No aspect tells: no tail, no pointed or unusual ears, not a single
thing from my family. Never did bond with the whole leopard aspect, so I
suppose that's normal."
The
food smelled of fish simmering in a broth. She couldn't even smell rotting vegetables
hiding anywhere. "Leopard, eh? I met a rat aspect once. He was a
merchant."
"How'd
you know he was a rat?" The man asked, an air of suspicion in his voice.
“He
told me." Cy smiled, sheepish. "He introduced himself as 'Gideon
Gyrehand, rat bastard, merchant and smith extraordinaire. Even with barely a
seis to my name he talked me into buying a little moon charm."
"That
is a silver tongue and a half! I am Azim, as it were. First mate. The captain
asked me to make sure you weren't going to get the deep sea madness or
anything." He slid the food in front of her. "Go on, then."
Cy
broke from her stiff pose and ate so fast that she was astonished she didn't
choke. Between bites of bread and the stew she blurted out 'thank you' to the
first-mate repeatedly.
"Been
out there for a while, eh? Only time I've seen anyone eat like that was when
they'd been out at sea for a few days." He took the bowl back when she had
finished. "Your cat sure is a protective little bugger."
"Alain?"
Cy finished chugging the water with a gasp of relief. "He and I have been
together for a long time."
The
cat, almost on cue, crept into her lap and stared Azim down with wide amber
eyes.
"Mind
if I ask something, lass?"
She
did but shook her head.
"You
one of those Druids?"
The
look on her face answered before she did, "Forgive me, I am not familiar
with that term."
"Right.
A Muse? It's a slur to call one of you a witch, right?"
Her
ears practically flew up and her frills flushed red. "What? I am no
witch!"
Azim
held up his hands for peace and almost immediately wanted to shake his head at
his own stupidity. "I'm not accusing, lass. While you were out, you kept
muttering in some strange language and the tide got rough without any real
cause. No storm clouds, no irritated beasts, just you and your cat."
"That
is odd, but I can assure you that I was not casting spells in my sleep and
neither was my cat."
"Alright,
no need to get in a huff. It's not like we send them to the dungeons
here."
Cy
hesitated while he clanked about with the dishes. Finally, she managed,
"Ser? What is to happen to me?"
"Ah,
don't worry yourself too much, lass. The captain might be a stubborn,
infuriating man, but he's got a system of honor. No one is going to hurt you
aboard this ship. Though, if you are the sort to hate working, this probably
will end up with you being returned to the sea."
"Oh."
She had no idea whether she should be relieved or not. "I am not afraid of
work."
"Figured
you wouldn't be with those markings. Take the night to rest up. I'll drop off
some more suitable clothes for you tomorrow morning. And, ah, please get a
bath."
She
nodded, blushing. Seaweed and dried gull droppings was not the worst aroma she
had worn, but it came close. "Thank you, Azim."
"Tub
is down the hall. Knock first, aye? Wouldn't want anyone taking it as an
invitation." He laughed and shut the door behind him while Cy was still
floundering for a response.
Alain
waited until his footsteps were gone before speaking, "Holding up
alright?"
"There
is food in my belly, that is more than enough." Cy stood and swayed.
"The ship is slippery!"
"You
haven't gotten your sea legs yet." Her cat sounded amused. "Well,
this isn't ideal, but the first mate seems honest enough."
"He
called me a Muse."
"You
are a Muse."
Cy
found the bed and threw herself on it with a dramatic flair she had learned
from the fussiest of nobles. Instead, she all but flew over the side and wedged
herself between the wall and the bed. She tried not to give Alain the satisfaction.
"A Muse is a witch! Those creatures that were hunted to extinction,
Alain!"
"Deny
as you might. The dead still follow you, and I doubt they would be seen by a
person lacking your gift."
She
followed the glow from outside and watched the lights dance. "Why do they
follow me?"
"You
keep them safe, I imagine."
"Me?"
Her heart leapt.
"I
am no expert, but I believe those rips were trying to drag in the spirits.
Whether they feed on them, revel in making them suffer or are avid collectors,
I cannot say. You've seen how it grows darker around the torn area, correct?
They are trying to flee." He sat at her side and laid his paw on her hand.
"Alain,"
she paused, "what really are you? No more nonsense!"
The
cat stretched in response. "I've no idea. A cat, maybe some poor sod
unfortunate enough to be caught in this form. You can imagine more colorful
explanations, I am sure."
"I
am not so certain that I am not mad and imagining all of this," Cy murmured.
"Do
you remember the old man who would stop by when you were digging graves at the
bluffs?" Alain asked. "Did you never realize that he was dead?"
She
thought on it for a good stretch. "I did think it was odd that he kept
getting barked at by the guard dogs but never nipped. Those nasty things bit
anyone who got too close to the wrought iron."
"His
head also fell off," the cat reminded her.
“He
might have been a very good magician?” She argued.
"You're
very good at denial," was his answer.
Cy
fell silent before she struggled to her feet and muttered, "I'm going for
a bath. Perhaps I can drown myself in there and avoid anything else that is
insane."
She
didn't need to see to know Alain was smirking at her as best a spectral cat
could as he said, "Xen can't drown in a bath tub."
With
a huff, she found her way to the heavy wooden door and crept out. Fortunately,
the hall ended to her immediate right so she only had one direction to
flounder. Each door, she found, had a small metal plate engraved with its
purpose. She passed by the kitchen, two quarter rooms, and the office. Finally,
she found the wash room. When her knock went unanswered, she hurried inside and
found the tub. It wasn't dissimilar to the one that had once held the scalding
hot water they disinfected cogs with.
Cy
stoked the fire trapped underneath and changed the water, letting it heat
before she submerged. She didn't care if she accidentally boiled a layer of
skin off so long as all the grime came away. She was surprised to find that
baths were much more pleasant when there weren't accompanied by people
scrubbing every inch of her with bristle brushes and throwing on disinfectant
powder after.
The
soap gave her chance to do something she'd always wanted to do. Play with the
bubbles. She popped a few and ducked back under the water in case they decided
to retaliate. The bubbles, Cy decided, didn't mind being popped and so she
popped everyone that she could find.
It
felt filthy, but she couldn't help herself. The only time she had ever felt so
devious was when a smith she had worked for had snuck her a sugary treat that
crumpled in her mouth and made her cough powder for hours after.
Her
smile faded as she thought of Grimora. Her poor master, she thought. He must be
struggling with his paperwork and no doubt the other cogs would wrinkle his
fine suits and over spice his meals. Cy sank into the water and remembered how
Domirus had cupped her tiny hand in his own long ago.
It
occurred to her that she had no idea what tomorrow held now. Before, it had
been simple to let her body toil while her mind played. A whimper escaped.
"Alright.
We can do this. Just get up and work. They will grow to expect you to do
certain tasks and you will be fine," she told herself. Still, the
uncertainty paralyzed her until someone knocked and she had to bolt from the
now cold waters and into a bed where hazy dreams waited.
