36 Scattered Ashes

They returned to an empty hideout. Fae clung to Joe's back as he scaled the building to its roof. Courage stayed on the ground, barking. 

"Where is everyone?"

Fae felt a squeeze in her stomach, "Clare? Sister, are you there? Anyone?"

An unsettling silence. Joe peered his eyes left and right. Nothing. 

Then Ben emerged from a hiding spot. His black fur was disheveled, and he squeaked with concern.

"There you are," said Joe. He crouched down to scratch Ben's head, but it did not calm the mouse, "I leave you alone for five minutes and shit hits the fan, eh?"

  That's when Joe spotted Blake by the roof edge. Blood was all about him as Blake clutched his stomach.

"Gugh. . . Fae . . ."

"Blake!" cried Fae. She went about tending to Blake's wounds, "Don't move. Look at you!"

The tears could not stop flowing down Blake's face. "I'm sorry Fae. I tried to protect them."

"Don't worry. You always do your best!"

Joe raised a brow, "What happened? I thought you guys had lookouts and everything."

"There was nothing we could do. . . It was the biggest roundup I've ever seen. They had the whole place surrounded."

"Someone must have followed you guys back here," said Fae, "This is not good. I don't even want to think of the vile things they are doing to Clare and the others!"

". . . They said we could trade Joe for them. Word of a wandering swordsman has all the slave owners excited. This close to the Great Auction. . ."

Joe rolled his eyes. No matter what you did in this world, cruelty was sure to find you. He had experienced this sort of indifference during his time in the Wolfswood. Nature cared not for right or wrong. Everywhere else was no different. 

Just another jungle~

['Still, this is strange. Unless it's for revenge, that stunt in the alley should not have people gunning for me. Did my identity get leaked? That's what I get for trusting pirates. Or maybe I'm famous? In any case—'] 

"Fine," said Joe through a heavy sigh, "Let's go save your friends."

Fae burst into tears. Never did she encounter such a kind stranger. "You can't! Even if you turn yourself in, they won't give them back. You don't know these people, Joe. They're—"

"Cunts, yes, I figured. Don't worry. We'll handle this the old-fashioned way."

Blake didn't expect that. If he did, things might have turned out differently.

"Shit," said Blake through pained breaths, "I'm sorry, Joe."

"Hmm?"

At that moment, Joe felt a prick at his neck. 

"Ah!" he cried. It felt like he was stung by a wasp, and venom pumped through his veins. He turned to find someone standing on an adjacent roof. What looked like a bamboo flute was in his hands, only it was directed at Joe.

"Who the—"

Suddenly, the pain in his neck seared down his spine. His vision went hazy, and Joe realized how dire his situation was.

"A blow dart?" is what Joe tried to say, but his mouth had lost all motor functions. Nothing but spit and phlegm.

He tried with all his might to stay conscious, but his world went hazy. As he collapsed, Joe could make out the faint voices.

"Joe!" 

['Poor Fae. The girl is having the worst day ever.']

"Kek kek kek. . . Good job, kid," another voice said, "He fell for it hook, line, and sinker."

". . . I did as you asked," said Blake, "Now return my friends!"

"That wasn't part of the deal. Consider yourself lucky I'm letting you and the girl live."

"Blake! How could you?!"

['Damn it. I thought the little shit was grateful I saved him. Not good. I can't stay awake. . .']

Joe felt his face brush against the ground. He lost consciousness to a symphony of chaos. 

Fae screamed, Ben squeaked, and Joe was dragged away.

***

Joe awoke to a dark dungeon, a bucket of water splashing his face.

"Err. . ."

"Looks like that wasn't enough. Give him another!"

Another bucket was unleashed. The water invaded his nose this time, and Joe immediately snapped into survival mode.

When he came to, Joe realized he was naked and suspended from the ceiling in chains. The only light was the torches on the walls. 

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Ser Joe. How good of you to join us."

"What? Where am I?"

"Your days of worrying about such things are numbered, slave. This is the start of your new life."

As Joe's eyes adjusted to the light, he made out a few snickering henchmen. 

But it was the leader with the queerest look. He was short, maybe a head or so taller than Tyrion, yet from his bones, you could tell it wasn't a dwarf. His hair was gray and frizzled. He struck Joe as a shorter version of Einstein, or a growth-stunted man who was zapped by lightning. 

"My new life, huh? That's funny. What's your name, funny man?"

"You will address the master with respect!"

The man with the blow dart strode forward and whipped Joe across his chest. Blood trickled from the gash as Joe grit his teeth. "Ah!"

The leader grinned devilishly. "Easy now. We don't want to damage the merchandise."

He prowled around Joe, tracing his hand along his chiseled body. It was like a canvas — the remnant of countless scratches, bites, slashes, and arrow wounds. 

"Although, with all these scars, I suppose they won't notice."

"The kids. Where are they?"

"Not your concern. Rest assured, they've been given quarters that fit their station. My name is Orso Essar, your new master until I sell you off."

"How did you know my name?"

"Simple deduction," said Orso, "Nothing happens on my turf without my knowledge. Normally, I'd geld you on the streets for all to see. But you're too valuable for that, aren't you?"

Orlo Essar went to the table in the dungeon where a couple of henchmen were ruffling through Joe's gear.

"A dagger, castle forged," Orso said.

"Hey, that's my cunty!"

Orso ignored the insolence. "A scarlet sword that burns at the touch."

"Burn? More like freeze."

"And finally," said Orso with a scummy gleam in his eye, "What do we have here?"

He went through Joe's dark green baby sash and took out the dragon egg. Glittered specks of red and blue danced in the torchlight. A white even paler than snow.

['Shit!']

"That's nothing," lied Joe, "A rock, maybe. I found it on the side of the road."

"Hmph. I don't believe you. Not that it matters. I'll find out soon enough."

"Look. . . Torso, was it? It's not too late to let me go. I'll leave with the kids, and we can let bygones be bygones."

Orso laughed, "Now, whose the funny one? If only fools garnered a heavy penny. No, with your skills, I'll sell you as a pit fighter."

Joe pondered for a moment.

['If it weren't for the kids, this situation might have suited nicely. What better way to infiltrate an auction than to be part of the show? Whatever. This fucker signed his death wish the moment he confiscated the egg.']

It was at that moment Joe spied a rather large rodent scurrying in the dungeon.

Ben squeaked silently, and for a moment, Joe thought he saw a wink. 

"Please," said Joe, "I'm not a pitfighter. I'm *THE* pit fighter."

"That's what I like to hear," said Orso as he tossed the dragon egg. A henchmen clumsily caught it. "Now then, I have a reputation to uphold. Can hardly present an unruly slave at the Great Auction! Larzo, be a good man and break him, would you?"

The man Larzo was who Joe identified as the blow darter. He cracked his whip. "With pleasure, master." 

"Hahaha! Good! And don't worry, Ser Joe. Your little friends have nothing to worry about. Well. . . The girls won't, at least. The pleasure houses of Tyrosh take care of their own!"

Orso's cackled laugh grew fainter and fainter as he exited the dungeon, leaving Larzo and Joe alone.

Larzo licked his lips. Never had he encountered such a firm body. He would enjoy making Joe scream.

"Now then," said Larzo, "Shall we start?"

"You tell me, genius."

Joe instantly regretted his words. Larzo cracked the whip against Joe's stomach, more ferocious this time. Joe could tell this sick bastard must have had a lifetime of whipping experience. 

The more Joe screamed in agony, the harder the whipping. The pain was stung so fierce. He was grateful for the blood; it's trickling warmth was almost numbing.

A whipping onslaught. CRACK after CRACK after CRACK.

With no other choice, Joe got lost in the pain.

And his eyes went white as milk.

***

Meanwhile, back in the eastern docks, the harem enjoyed their leisure on the old cog.

Hookhands never did name the slaves of his harem. He referred to them as Numbers, 1-10.

On deck, Void was sprawled out, sleeping. 

Number 3 brushed his coat. Number 6 massaged his paws. Number 10 sang a sweet melody. 

Number 10 was less comely than the others, devoid of their goddess features, but her voice made up for it more than well. Angelic like a siren on a magical coastline.

Number 7 had platted Cookie's tail. Never did Tyrosh see such a stylish horse.

Suddenly, Void sprang from his sleep. And to the surprise of the harem, his eyes were white with intelligence.

With graceful agility, Void jumped the deck. The numbers all stood on the ship, watching Void vanish into the city.

"Should we be worried?" said Number 3, her golden hair flowing in the breeze.

Number 6 pursed her lips, "Why? Master told us to stay on the ship."

"You don't think a wandering shadowcat will cause an uproar in the city?"

Number 7 yawned, "I'm sure he'll be fine. It's not like we can follow anyhow. We'd just end up getting snatched ourselves."

Number 6 winced with a melancholic gaze, "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am," said Number 7, "Now, everyone into the bath. You know how master gets. . ."

And together, all the numbers chanted the saying that had been drilled into their heads for as long as they could remember:

"'Always clean your teeth, feet, and fanny!'"

***

"Fae, stop!"

"No!"

"We can't save Joe. Orso's manor is crawling with guards."

"I don't care, we have to try!"

With tears in her eyes, Fae marched straight to Orso Essar's manor. It's high walls were foreboding, with tall thick gates and guards that patrolled everywhere.

Blake struggled to keep up due to his wounds. His hands shattered, his stomach poorly patched. 

"And how do we do that?" said Blake, "Knock and ask politely?"

"Shut up! I'm thinking."

Fae paced back and forth. Hope escaped her heart each time she caught a glimpse of Orso's fortress.

"It's impossible," she whispered in despair. Once you were caught by Orso Essar there was no escaping his manor. Now, here she was, trying to figure out a way inside. Madness.

'If only I could climb those damn walls!'

At that moment, a black mass prowled past the arguing duo toward a squeaking mouse. It was as if the two animals were conversing. 

Then Fae and Blake watched in disbelief as the shadowcat scaled Orso's walls.

Shrills of pain ensued. Shrieking cries of alarm. Bells tolled as the stench of death oozed from the manor. Fae rubbed her eyes as blood trickled from under the gate.

It sounded like pandemonium as they heard men scream and plead for their lives. A bright glow came from the manor as smoke wafted to the sky, and slowly it became quiet.

*SHING!*

Suddenly, the front gate had a Z-shaped slash, and Fae could see the warm flaming light seep through its cracks.

Out came dozens of slaves from the collapsed gate, each fleeing with as much as they could carry.  And to Fae's delight, out came all the children led by her little sister.

"Clare!" Fae cried, "You're alright?!"

Indeed, Clare had not a single scratch on her. "Mmm!" she chuffly replied.

Fae hugged Clare tight, "But how?"

That's when, emerged from the flaming manor, something pathetic was crawling for his life.

"No, please!" pleaded Orso Essar, "Don't kill me!"

From the flames, the silhouette of a man wielding a jagged blade grew larger. A rat perched on his shoulder, a large shadowcat at his side.

"Fool," said Joe, "You should have taken my deal."

Icebreaker stabbed into Orso Essar's heel.

"Ahhhh!" Orso screamed.

Joe stabbed the other heel, "What was that you said about 'breaking me in'?"

The slaver managed to get on his knees in a pleading position as one last act of desperation. "Please! I have gold. Lot's and lot's of gold! Let me live, and I'll make you rich!"

Those were Orso's last words. His world turned literally upside down as his decapitated head fell to the ground. 

And the life's work of generations of Essar slave owners got lost in the embers. Ash scattered in the wind. 

By then, a large crowd had gathered around the burning manor. For the first time in a while, the citizens of Tyrosh were privy to a bonfire, and the flame of freedom sparked in the hearts of many.

Fae never did get to thank Joe that day. He waited not for thanks or recognition. Nor did he seek revenge against Blake for his idiotic betrayal. The only one Jie stopped to acknowledge was Courage as he barked his thanks.

The last thing Fae saw was Joe's back as he departed the scene, flicking the blood from Icebreaker and strapping his dark green sash. 

No one believed the tales of the saved children from that night. But in their hearts was locked the image of that bonfire, that man, that shadowcat. 

A memory that joined them forever — survivors of a horror that could have been.