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CHAPTER 37: SAVED
When Master Edwin, the hall master, did his belated monthly inspection, Master Townsend's apartment was in something of a shambles. The dishes in the cabinet were sticky. The bed was not properly made. And the housegirl -- Myrtle, was it? -- was nowhere to be seen. When he inquired of Townsend where she was, he just shrugged vaguely and said something nonsensical as usual. Master Townsend sighed, sent his own girl to fetch him a book, and sat down to wait.
When the chit returned at last, carrying a package from the food exchange, Master Edwin shuddered. He could smell her from across the room. Her dark hair was lank and greasy, her body filthy.
When she saw Master Edwin something quickly flashed across her face. Relief, maybe? She sank to her knees and bowed her head, silently awaiting his judgment. Townsend took no notice.
Master Edwin sighed. As disgusted as he was by the seeming sloth, he knew it was not the housegirl's fault. All of Townsend's slaves ended up this way.
He would send someone in to do a thorough cleaning, again.
Townsend wouldn't care one way or another, but Edwin wouldn't risk a roach infestation, or worse.
He clucked to himself. Pansies were disgusting. He wished it were not his unfortunate lot to have one in his hallway, where he had to deal with the mess.
He would send his own girl to work on Mary, or whatever her name was. If the rag was palatable enough after a groom was through with her, maybe he'd fuck her himself. If Townsend's history held true, he had denied her relief this long time. It would be unkind to send her back to her training center in that state.
***
Mariah lay in her bed half asleep, warm and relaxed, listening to the sounds in the apartment as she had for so many mornings. Master Gabriel getting dressed in his bedroom and then fixing himself breakfast. The patio door opening and a quiet conversation with Rose. The doorway to the hall opening and closing, with Rose's softer footfall remaining in the living room, no doubt cleaning the immaculate space.
Something had happened the day before, something very upsetting, but Mariah was not ready to remember that yet. She was too comfortable. She allowed her hand to drift down. The subversiveness of this action thrilled her more than the release it would bring. She touched herself softly as her mind sought a story to tell. She remembered the sounds she had heard Rose and Master Animal make in the field the previous afternoon. Swiftly she closed off that thought. She had no desire to intrude on them.
Circling, she rejected other directions as well. If she dwelled too much on any part of her life -- the fields, the factory, her various assignments -- she risked getting lost in their sour taste, hatreds or despair buried but not gone.
At last, she thought of the master she had met in the hallway, just once, when she belonged to Master Townsend. He had fucked her when she was desperate, and had been kind about it. Mariah's body began to melt. He had had her quickly, and she had been so needy, she had come almost as soon as he touched her.
In her mind, after, he turned her around, and they were on a couch, and he was rubbing her back, and saying kind things to her. Noticing her. Seeing her. And then, without willing it, it was Master Gabriel who was on the couch with her, and his hands went down to her lower back, lower still, and his lips were on her shoulders, and she was . . .
She jerked her hands away from her body and sat up. Master Gabriel, never!
All the events of the day before came crashing back to her. The feeling of calm, of rightness, that had overtaken her in the meadow had seemed so true. She had been outside the gates, with Rose and Master Animal and . . . her master, she forced herself to think the words . . . nearby, and she had felt content. Even as she walked away from them, exploring, it never occurred to her to escape. Only a few days ago she had decided not to make an attempt while her body was weak and she had no plan. She had put the idea out of her mind. She had relaxed. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
And then she had come to the next meadow, filled with flowers, and had actually felt good -- good! -- about helping Master Animal. When she had gone back to get him she had heard him fucking Rose, their enthusiasm -- joy even -- surprising but unmistakable, making her ache herself. Rather than disturb them, if she even could, she simply took some empty bags. As she filled them with the flowers she felt an odd pain inside. Loneliness, she realized, but not the kind that had followed her for so many years. Something lighter, as if it had a cure.
And then she returned with the flowers, and . . . She shuddered, thinking of it. With Master Gabriel's words she realized that she had misunderstood everything. That feeling of peace was not because she was supposed to stay, but because she had a chance to run. Instead, she had been a lapdog. And because of that she had missed her glorious chance, outside the gates.
Bitterness had overwhelmed her when she realized how close she had come to forgetting that all of this was a mindgame. That Master Gabriel, her supposed rescuer, was responsible for her being caught when she had run. She was a slave. His slave. Forced to play the mindgame until the ending he chose.
She heard Rose murmur a few words, and then the door the corridor close. Footsteps in the living room that she did not recognize, followed by silence. Curiosity gave her energy to drag herself out of bed and open the door to the living room.
"Good morning."
Mariah startled. "Raul?" she asked, confused, when she saw the hall monitor on the couch. "What are you doing here?"
Raul held up the knitting needles in his hands, and pointed them towards a basket on the floor. "Darning socks," he said. When Mariah merely blinked he added, "And seeing you don't run off."
Mariah flared. "Watch me," she said. And she swiftly crossed the room to the door.
As she reached for the doorknob, Raul said, "You don't remember me, do you?"
Mariah stopped, and turned to look at him. He was about the same age as Mariah, compact, with curly brown hair and a calm manner. Rose spoke of him as a friend, or nearly so. His mistress seemed to rule the corridor firmly, and Raul had the marks to show that she was no pansy.
But Mariah could not place him. She shook her head. The fields? The factory? One or another of her placements?
"We were at Mistress Dominique's training center together," Raul prompted her. Mariah started, and took a step into the room to get a closer look at him.
"Once," Raul said, "You and I were sent for a couple of pecks of apples. On the way back, I tripped. The apples went flying, and I sprained my ankle. I couldn't walk." Mariah shook her head. She had no recollection of this. Raul continued. "You sat me down, gathered up my bruised apples, went all the way back to the orchard, brought me a fresh basket, set it down next to me, went to Mistress Dominique's and came back with a vet." He shook his head. "And you managed it all so that I was never punished."
Mariah had a flash of a younger man, sitting with his back against the wall, his leg out in front of him, scared. Thinner than Raul was now, and with longer hair, but the same. She nodded slowly. She couldn't remember much about the incident. She said thickly, mortified, "If that happened, I'm sure I was trying to get myself out of punishment." She couldn't meet his eye, wondering what else he might remember about her. She glanced at the door.
"Maybe," Raul said. "But I know every slave in the center jockeyed to get sent on errands with you. They knew you would keep them safe."
"Everyone hated me," Mariah said flatly.
Raul laughed. "After all this time, you still believe that?" he said. "Mistress Dominique had your wrapped tight around that mindgame."
Mariah was suddenly exhausted. She walked over to the footstool opposite Raul and sat down. He did remember. What she had been forced to do, had done, to the others. "Taejon told me . . . ." She couldn't continue. The words seared her still, after all this time.
Raul rolled his eyes. "That asswipe?" he said incredulously. "You cared what he thought?"
Mariah didn't answer. She had forgotten how much she cared, how much he had wounded her. To her embarrassment tears pricked her eyes.
Raul shook his head. "I'm sure you don't remember," Raul said, "but you whipped me. More than once."
Mariah shrank back, horrified. "It was fierce," Raul said.
Mariah tried to stand up, to get away. But her legs would not work. She felt exposed, like not just her body but her soul was naked.
"But no worse than most other thrashings I've gotten," Raul continued. "No worse than the one my mistress gave me yesterday for washing a white shirt with a red sheet." He grimaced.
"But she didn't . . . not like . . ." Mariah whispered. She gave up trying to stand up, and put her face in her hands. She couldn't look at him. "I didn't want to," she said.
To Mariah's shock, Raul laughed. "Of course you didn't," he said. "It wouldn't have been much of a mindgame if you'd enjoyed it."
They sat in silence for a minute. When Mariah finally found the strength to raise her head from her hands, Raul was looking at her. "I'm happy," he said. Mariah shrugged. "My mistress is no pansy, but she treats me well as long as I behave. Her housegirl is . . ." Raul paused to consider. "Well, she's the best thing that ever crossed my path. On top of that . . . " he paused, and shrugged, grinning. "After despair, I'm happy," he said.
Mariah found her voice. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked, sounding harsher than she meant to.
Raul put his knitting needles down. "If you ran off while I'm supposed to be watching you, I could lose it all," he said. "My mistress might send me away, or, worse, send Wendy away, to punish me."
"Not likely," Mariah said, the act of forming words tiring her. "Rose says your mistress favors you. She wouldn't punish you over something that's not your fault."
"Maybe," Raul said. "But the one who worked so hard to save me from punishment when I was clumsy isn't about to risk destroying my life, is she?"
Mariah glared at him. "If I saved you back then, it was because I didn't want to whip you myself," she said. "Master Gabriel would never make me . . ." She stopped, realizing what she had said. Giving into the mindgame again. With great effort she stood up and walked toward the door. She would go, she would. But when she reached it she hesitated.
If Raul smiled it was so slight that Mariah did not see it. "Rose heated you some gruel," he said.
Mariah tried to shrug indifferently, tried to reach for the doorknob again. Instead she turned back to Raul. He had known all along that she wouldn't risk getting him in trouble. Had probably spoken with Rose and Master Gabriel about it. The thought made her ill. "Have you told them?" she asked weakly.
"What?" Raul said. "That I knew you once, and you saved my skin, and it meant so little to you that you've forgotten me?"
"No," Mariah answered impatiently. "The other thing. The whipping, the mindgame -- did you tell them?"
Raul was quiet for a moment. "No," he said. "It never occurred to them to ask, and I think . . ." He took a deep breath. "I think that if they did ask me, seeing how much it matters to you, that I would manage to misunderstand the question."
The relief Mariah felt overpowered her. "Thank you," she whispered. Raul nodded and took another sock from the basket.
***
As far as Mariah knew, Master Townsend never noticed when she left. She had been in Master Edwin's household for a week. He had fucked her until she was sated, then had his girl do the same, and then he had whipped her for her neglect of Master Townsend. Then he fucked her again, and punished her again.
After a few days, when he had made her beg to orgasm and then had his girl shatter her with her tongue, Mariah groveled before him. Master Edwin nodded to himself. "You may speak," he said.
"Master," Mariah began, "I . . . this slave begs to thank you."
Master Edwin patted the top of her head. "Now, now," he said. He was impressed by how quickly she had recovered from Master Townsend's neglect Not that she would ever be allowed to know that Townsend had neglected her and not the other way around. Damn pansy.
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