Chapter Fifteen: Good Intentions, Bad Promotions
NILHIN HAD BEEN A SERVANT FOR TWO SEASONS, a little longer than six months, and he had remained out of the eye of anyone important. He had no friends, and any allies, but he was cordial and friendly with all of the fellow servants. He knew everyone’s name, servant and master, disciple and teacher, that he attended to or occupied the same space as for any length of time. His main duties mainly involved tending to the gardens in one of the lower levels, thus climbing and descending several dozen sets of stairs multiple times a day, and tending to the laundry of the Neuma dormitories, preparing their uniforms so they could attend their lessons in clean clothes.
Nilhin’s boss was an old man, a generational servant of the Zaw clan, and he had discovered Nilhin writing poetry, to add to the pages he had transcribed of his mother’s work. The man nearly dropped the bowl of brown rice he came bearing, his eyes stuck on the brush in Nilhin’s hands and the calligraphy he had written.
“You know how to write?” his supervisor inquired. “I suppose you can read as well, then.”
“Yes, sir, this one is able to read and write,” Nilhin said, bowing his head. He set his brush down so he didn’t stain the paper he could barely afford on his small salary. “Is everything alright, sir?”
“I asked the kitchens for some extra grain for you, since you’re so small. You seem to eat what you’re given, but… but you’re still young, and I figured you’re still growing. You’d need it more than me, and it would go to waste otherwise,” his supervisor said.
“This one can’t afford extra rations.”
“No, this isn’t something you need to pay for,” he said. “You’re a very good worker -- a hard worker. I’ve actually asked for a promotion on your behalf. The request has been under review as far as I’m aware for a few weeks, but it should come back soon with a verdict. If I knew you could read and write--” the man made a shocked sound-- “I would have pushed even harder for a promotion. Perhaps even imploring for you to become a true disciple.”
Nilhin gave him a sad smile, before he climbed off his top bunk on the stacked beds against the wall of the servant’s quarters. He was one of six young boys who slept there, and he was the youngest servant without parents in the entire main staff of Neuma, who didn’t hire servants due to the loyalty of their current staff. Nilhin was lucky to have gotten a position, and the first months he had been reminded of it quite often. Their suspicion was warranted, but he quickly proved that there was nothing to worry about.
“This one is so thankful for your assistance and your kind praise,” Nilhin said, holding his arms out to bow, “However, this one cannot accept such things. My place is wherever I am needed most, and there are many far more qualified men and women in the halls of Neuma accomplishing far more than this lowly one could ever hope for.”
“I’ve already put in for the promotion,” the supervisor said. He held out the bowl of grains, “Now, eat this because you look like you might just crumple without it. I’ll have it arranged so you get an extra bowl with your meals. Some of the younger servants get the same accommodations.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said, slowly rising from his bowed position.
His supervisor handed him the warm bowl of grains, a spoon stuck into the side, and left. Nilhin sat on the bottom bunk of the bed and ate it quickly. It had taken longer than with Ogar, but his hunger had begun to return recently, likely having used what he had to keep him upright in the harsh conditions he laboured under. He ate like he was starving, looking up every now and again to reassure he was truly alone. He finished his bowl of grain and set it aside.
The hunger that burned a hole through his body didn’t radiate from his belly like a normal hunger, but throughout multiple parts of his body, but mainly his lowly stomach, where his apex rested. While his apex had formed, it was weak. Nilhin had wondered if, as a fox paragon, he had been born with one unlike a human who had to cultivate their energy to earn one in the middle of their adolescence.
For word of the promotion, it took another three days before the supervisor found him in his dormitory again, alone, and remaking his bed, tucking the sheets tightly over the stuffed mattress and smoothing out the lumps left by the coarse hay used to make it soft. He had spent his money unwisely, in a desperate need for comfort, and bought oil made from violets, just so that his bed could smell more like his mother. He had to cover the oil stains on the mattress fabric, lest someone start asking questions he couldn’t just avoid with a polite smile and excuse to attend to business.
“Nilhin, I have a letter for you,” his supervisor called from the door of the dormitory. Nilhin finished tucking the sheet tightly and he jumped down. He bowed before he accepted the letter from the man and he turned it over in his hands. His supervisor hadn’t opened it yet. When he looked up at the man, clearly confused as to why he hadn’t read what was inside, his supervisor smiled. “I figured we could read the results together. I’m quite sure with my words, and my reputation, the request was taken seriously.”
Nilhin opened the envelope, pulling the intricate folds free to reveal the leaves of paper. The handwriting was immaculate with ornate calligraphy that could rival Nilhin’s mother’s precision and elegance, but not by much. It was enough, however, that whoever had written this was certainly a very educated and learned person. Nilhin read the contents, and realised as he read, that the supervisor couldn’t. The man likely had someone pen his letter, or just informed someone of his request.
“For such a bold young man, certainly we can do better. Have him call the dungeons his home from here till further, the Zisha cell block shall be his. He will be housed with the other payethi of his division. Certainly a boy such as him shall strive to exceed in his task no matter his preference,” Nilhin read. “It was signed by Zaw Rronov.”
Zaw Rronov was the clan leader, and the servants were either terrified of him, or adored him, but either way, there was no misconception about both his stark coldness, and his propensity for violence should he be displeased. Nilhin had been promoted, but into a torturer, which was the crude way of saying an interrogator. It was often a reserved position for particularly volatile disciples, so Nilhin wondered how he, a humble servant with no known education, had been raised to such a position. Of course, this made him suspicious, but he was in no position to deny the promotion his supervisor applied for him.
“A payethi?” his supervisor asked. “I had hoped for a kitchen assistant or brewer’s apprentice, not this. Please accept my apologies, Nilhin. If you don’t wish to do this, I can rescind and all the blame will--”
“Apologies for such a rude interruption, but there is no need for you to do any of that. If this is what is asked of me, I can attend to these matters like anything else. Thank you for your assistance, sir,” Nilhin said. He stood back and bowed again, but his supervisor caught his arm at the elbow and pulled him up. He shook his wrinkled head.
“If you’re sure, but I’ve never known you to speak with anything but certainty,” his supervisor said. Nilhin had been a confused and helpless boy for most of his life, and the Zaw clan would tolerate none of his naivety. He had no choice but to use his limited strengths to his benefit, none of which included actual physical strength or power. He had been forced to rely on his ability to appear more confident than he felt, his overwhelming politeness, and the fact he looked weak and therefore pathetic enough to avoid being dragged down with him. He used these with different people, in different ratios, based on what he observed and how he judged them to respond best with. He was quite a good actor, because like the healer and Ogar, if Nilhin wanted to turn someone into a meal, there would be little they could do to stop him before that person was truly dead. However, such a thing would ruin his chance at life, and so even the few bullies he had interacted with had eventually gotten bored of him and his lack of reaction to their cruelty.
Nilhin went to the second page. It was the location of the Zisha cell block, the location of the dungeons, and the day he would first be reporting: the next day at noon (tudi-chas). He would need this information to report accordingly, and the third page was a personal note. Nilhin read it over, his body growing colder and colder the more he read. Zaw Rronov, the clan leader, had given Nilhin a warning, because the man had never heard of him before, and yet had been served by him for far longer than he was comfortable. Six months was a long time to be served by a stranger, especially when Zaw Rronov was notoriously unlikely to trust anyone, even people that he had known for years.
“What does that one say?” the supervisor asked. Nilhin hid it beneath the other two pages and shook his head. The threats were vague, written like poisoned poetry that made Nilhin both afraid and disgustingly intrigued by the clan leader (a man he had never met for good reason it would seem).
“It was just a brief overview of what I’ll be expected to do in the dungeons,” Nilhin lied with a small smile, steadying his trembling hands by folding the letter back into the rectangular shape it came in. “I’m actually quite grateful for this opportunity, even if it’s something I’d rather not do. I swear that your generosity in writing for my promotion is greatly appreciated. I will execute everything asked of me with the utmost efficiency.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, boy,” the supervisor said. He reached out to touch Nilhin’s bangs, ruffling his hair just to watch it fall back into place. “I hope that you’ll have time to visit us during meals. Me and the aunties have grown quite fond of you. None of the other boys let the aunties cater to them like you do.”
“I was raised by women,” Nilhin said. “I’ve long since learned the best way to handle them is to let them do whatever they want, and accept whatever tasks they give me.” Nilhin let out a soft laugh, and the supervisor quickly joined in.
“What good advice! And from someone so young. I’ll definitely tell my wife what you’ve said, and I’m sure she’d agree!”
“I should perhaps begin to pack my belongings. I will be moved to a room closer to the dungeons, after all.”
“I’ll let you go. Don’t leave this wing without letting me know you’re going, though, would you? I want to give you something, from me, my wife, and all your other aunties,” the supervisor said. Nilhin nodded in agreement before he went to his bed and pulled out the pages of poems he had collected, transcribed, or composed himself. He tucked it into a bag he made by folding his clean clothes together. He made sure the bottle of violet oil was securely corked and tucked it away with the rest of his treasures. He held the bag over his shoulder, leaving the dormitory he had lived in for the past half year.
Nilhin stopped near the small dining area for the staff of this wing and found the older servants and the young servants alike, all gathered around, drinking warmed water because they weren’t afforded even used tea leaves. The supervisor stood up just to drag him further into the room.
“Some of your aunties and I got you something,” the supervisor said. “We were waiting for your birthday, but you won’t be here when that comes to pass since you’re being moved. So, we’ll give it to you now.”
The aunties pressed a little brown box towards him, and Nilhin hesitantly picked it up. He slid the wooden lid open to reveal a small pendant chiselled out of a fine beige stone. It was heavy, heavier than most pendants that the prostitutes he had been raised with dared to wear. It was chiselled into the visage of a beautiful woman, and it was attached to a beaded hemp cord made of a variety of different coloured stones.
“It’s Ama Basha,” his aunty, the supervisor’s wife, said. “Here in Neuma, she’s highly regarded as a protector of wayward children, but a celestial of suspicion, too. It seemed to fit your personality quite well, and perhaps with this, she’ll bless you further, since she’s also the celestial that presides over orphans.”
“Basha?” Nilhin whispered, “A fox celestial?”
“The mother of them,” she said with a nod, clearly unaware of the panic that caused Nilhin’s heart to start picking up in ferocity. Was there something about him that screamed ‘fox’ at people? He had been so careful to hide everything he thought could be perceived as slightly inhuman, and yet somehow they once again were associating him with a fox. “Her husband is a fox, too, the first one she made, the first mortal fox. That’s why foxes are so smart, they are all descended from a celestial… I know you came from out of Tbai, but surely you’ve heard these before. There are temples in the city on the upper layers.”
“This one has never been outside of Neuma,” Nilhin said. “I’ve asked my aunties to procure me things if I need them. I’m afraid I’ve never seen Kotesh above, thus no temples. Does the rest of Aishold realise the Tbai people’s devotion to their most hated enemies?”
“Tbai are isolationists by nature because of it,” she said. The rest of the room whispered among themselves. “So, do you like it?” Nilhin smothered his confusion and his concern with a soft smile.
“I love it, aunty,” he said. “Thank you all so much for such a thoughtful gift. Would one of you perhaps help me put it on?” He pulled the necklace from the box and set the box down. An older woman walked around him and lifted his hair to snap the necklace into place around his neck. It wasn’t like the ornate gem and metal collars that the nobility he’d seen wore, but it was one of the nicest things he owned, and the only piece of jewelry since everything besides the poetry he’d taken from the brothel had been left behind in Storkott.
“Whenever you have a break, we’ll take you to the Ama Basha temples,” one of his aunties said, patting his shoulder. He nodded, and reached up to hold the pendant in his hand. He could have sworn that it grew colder, wrapped in his fingers, rather than warmer like most things would have.
“I should leave, but we can discuss this tonight when I come to eat with you,” he said, reassuring them that he’d be back. He was smothered with many hugs, mainly from the women, because the men and boys either patted his back or shoulder, or just playfully bumped their shoulders together. Nilhin finally decided it was time to leave, and with a bow to them all, who had taken him in, taught him, and put up with his endless inquiries, he departed.
He was met outside the dungeons by a servant who was waiting for him, a servant that he didn’t know. She was stern-faced and carried a weapon, a hind sword, at her hip. She was clearly not a disciple since she didn’t wear their uniform, and her head was shaved -- which only servants tended to have done, although not all of them did this (Nilhin hadn’t shaved his head upon his arrival). She took him to one of nine rooms, all small like cubbies stretched out against a long hall. She gave him the second door on the left and then she left him without an introduction or a single word. He figured that perhaps she was unsociable, or perhaps this was what was expected of her and other servants who worked on this section of Neuma.
When he entered his room, he found his first task waiting for him, written on paper left on a small table near his single bed. He set his things down on his bed and picked up the letter.
Your prisoners will be brought to you. Extract the information associated with their name and prisoner number, and report this information to the dungeon supervisor upon extraction. Use any means and techniques necessary to ensure cooperation. Each prisoner should take no more than six days to break.
Nilhin set the letter down, and added it to the three sheets he had received with his former supervisor. He prepared his bed, dabbing oil on the softer grasses used to stuff this mattress, and he sat on his bed. He took a moment to read through a few of his mother’s poems before he finished putting all of his items away in his new room. This was the first time he was truly living alone in a room, having shared with his mother all his youth, and then with disciples or other servants since her death. He was not prepared for the intense silence that came from being so alone. With people, silence and peace was a reprieve, but when alone, it was the first sound to accompany loneliness.
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