The Peasants’ Due
Laszlo spun on his heel and started making his way down the hall. Brandon took a moment to re-center, and then followed behind. Plum sidled up next to him as they walked.
“Are you alright, love?” she asked softly.
“Yes, I… yes.”
Plum didn’t look convinced.
“This is… strange,” Brandon continued. “‘Tis not quite right but… closer.”
Plum nodded slowly. “I think that perhaps this could be useful for you,” she said after a moment. “This could give you a chance to feel what it would truly be like.”
“Do you think I would change my mind?”
Her eyes narrowed. “About being you? Of course not,” she bit back. “I’ve not forgotten how unhappy you used to be.” Brandon suddenly couldn’t meet her gaze. “But I maintain the hope that you will change your mind about remaining him for the rest of your days.”
Brandon couldn’t quite bring himself to formulate a response.
“I would send off your familiar, madam,” Laszlo called from ahead. He had stopped at the end of a hall. “Your cat is rather infamous amongst the kitchen staff, so I hear.”
Plum snorted and bent down to scratch Meeks under the chin. She murmured something to him under her breath that Brandon couldn’t quite make out, and the familiar squawked and strutted away down the hall, tail held high and proud.
The three disguised magicians made their way down through the Keep and to the servants’ sections of the castle. As was fitting for a keep of this size and wealth, there was an entire wing of the building dedicated towards housing and organizing the servants. Brandon knew there were at least 150 servants employed by House Vermillion, and nearly all of them lived and worked inside the keep itself. As they neared the servants’ quarters, Brandon was taken aback by how little mind the staff seemed to pay any of them. Some servants gave them a quick glance, but to Brandon these glances seemed more to say ‘who is the new employee?’ than anything else.
Brandon and Plum followed Laszlo through the halls. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, and before long they came upon what, to Brandon, resembled a barracks of sorts. There were about a dozen beds, some of them occupied, and at the foot of each bed was a small chest. The sheets were yellowed and threadbare, the blankets patched and torn, and the wood cracked and covered in peeling paint. The room smelled of mildew and tobacco smoke, and Brandon spotted a patch of mold growing on the cracked, yellowed paint of the walls in the corner of the room.
Even more notably to Brandon was that the rooms were lit not by the familiar, soft white light of the mana-conjured glowlamps, but by the flickering orange light of oil lamps. Brandon was slightly unsettled to be indoors without the light of a glowlamp.
One servant, a young man with sandy blond hair and a wispy moustache, was sitting at one of the tables in the room, fiddling with a set of strange wooden tubes, all of different lengths. He glanced up as Laszlo approached him.
“An’ who’s this then?” the young man said with a voice that sounded like sandpaper. As his mouth opened, Brandon noticed he was missing at least three teeth. “‘Aven’t seen youse around ‘ere ‘fore now.”
“We’re the new hires,” Laszlo replied, and Brandon was shocked at the way he mimicked the other man’s accent. “‘Sposed to get some bunks fer us.”
The servant man barked out a harsh laugh that reminded Brandon of a donkey’s bray. “‘New hires,’ eh? Well, can’t say I’m unhappy to see more hands for the work ‘ere, but youse don’t look like you’ll last long,” he said with an appraising glance up and down at the disguised magicians. He paused at Brandon. “‘Specially a pretty little thing like you.”
In spite of the context, Brandon felt himself flush.
“Why not?” Plum asked, clearly trying her best to hide her own accent.
The man brayed again. “Ya seen this place?” he said with a gesture around the room. “Not like the wizards upstairs care about us overmuch.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long, thin cigarette, along with a lighter. He lit it and took a long drag, coughed violently into his elbow, and then stuck out his hand.
“Bernie’s the name,” he said, still shuddering from the cough. “I work in th’ kitchens.”
“Loretta,” said Laszlo. “I’ve been hired for the kitchens too. This is Addie, chambermaid, and Peach, laundress.”
“Pleasure,” Bernie replied, shaking each of their hands in turn. “Take any bed that has an open chest. Doubt you’ll be here very long anyway.”
“Are the magicians that bad?” Loretta asked, with a sidelong glance to Peach and Addie.
Bernie shrugged. “Depends on who you ask. Not like they beat us. They just act like we don’t exist.” He took another drag from his cigarette. “Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Aye,” he said, and coughed again. “The Duchess and the Prince don’t rightly seem to give a single shit about any of us.”
Addie winced, but Bernie didn’t seem to notice. “Most of them nobles are the same,” he continued. “They don’t hardly acknowledge us but t’ ask us fer somethin’. Some of ‘em, though…” he trailed off, looking at Addie. “Let’s just say a pretty thing like you should keep an eye out fer the Prince’s lady friend.”
Peach blinked, and Addie felt her eyes go wide. “W-why?” she stammered out, and Bernie shrugged again.
“Delora has a taste for servant girls, so they say. She never forces them but… can’t exactly say no, y’know?”
Peach looked mortified, but Bernie continued, seemingly oblivious. “Anyway, pay is decent at least. Man’s gotta eat.”
Bernie mumbled something about getting to work and wandered away, leaving Peach, Addie, and Loretta as the only awake people in the room. Peach had a look on her face that Addie had never seen before, but Loretta was already moving on and gesturing for them to follow. Addie placed a hand on Peach’s arm, but she flinched and pulled away, hurrying after Loretta. Addie tried to ignore the fact that it felt like her heart had just been stabbed through with an icicle and followed behind.
Walking around disguised as a servant girl felt strange to Addie. On one hand, this still wasn’t her: she was disguised as a different woman entirely. In spite of that, though, it felt more right than usual. Nobody other than Plum had ever called her Addie, or her, or pretty little thing, and even though she wasn’t truly herself, hearing those words filled her with a feeling that she could face any danger or fear of being exposed and it would be worth it. She found herself walking with a bit more confidence—a bit more bounce in her step.
Loretta led Peach and Addie through another series of corridors to what this time looked like a lounge of sorts. There were a few rough-looking chairs with tattered cloth upholstery, a weathered wooden table, and more yellowing paint. The entire room smelled of cigarette smoke and stale air.
Sitting at the table was another servant, an old, grey woman, hunched over her knitting. She looked up as the three entered the room and smiled warmly at them.
“Hullo, dearies,” she croaked, her cracked yellow teeth showing. “Youse must be new if even old Greta doesn’t recognize youse.”
Loretta nodded. “We are, grandmother. I am Loretta, and this is Peach and Addie.”
“Lovely names fer some lovely young women,” Greta said with another warm smile. Addie felt herself flush again. She felt an instinct to hide, fearing her secret was exposed, but she fought it down and focused on the warmth that blossomed in her chest at the words.
“Tell me, Miss Greta,” Loretta began. “What are your feelings on the wizards upstairs?”
Greta’s warm demeanor instantly soured. “Buncha ungrateful spellshites, is what they are.” Her wrinkled brow furrowed into a deep frown. “I tells ya, I’ve worked in this keep near 40 years and the Duchess don’t even know my name. They treat us like scum, they do.”
“So we’ve heard,” said Loretta grimly. “Then why’d you stay so long?”
“Haven’t got much of a choice, have I? Workin’ in the fields is worse off and the factories are a quick way to an early grave. At least workin’ ‘ere I got to meet my grandbabies.” She swore like a sailor as she fumbled with her knitting. “Least they don’t hit us. ‘Fore I came here my mama worked fer House Claret,” she finished ominously.
“I’m glad you’re out of there, grandmother,” Loretta said with a tilt of her head. “It was a pleasure to meet you, but we must be off now. We’re off to find the butler.”
“Ah, Mister Archie is such a good young lad. Last I ‘eard he was up in th’ magicians’ chambers in the main Keep.”
“Many thanks, Miss Greta.”
Loretta turned and left the room, Peach and Addie close on her heels.
Loretta wove through the halls once more, moving intently as she went. As they walked, Addie reached out and gently touched Peach’s shoulder. Peach flinched, but this time she didn’t pull away, and she glanced sidelong back at Addie.
“Are you alright?” Addie asked, her voice thick with concern.
“I am fine, love,” Peach said, but the furrow in her brow told Addie otherwise. “Just… thinking.”
Addie squeezed her shoulder gently and looked at her with concern, but Peach was either oblivious or ignoring it. Loretta led the two out of the servants’ wing and back into the main wing of the Keep. Addie was glad to be back in the light of the glowlamps.
“One more stop,” she murmured, more to herself than to Peach and Addie, and before long came to a bedchamber door. One that Addie knew was not usually in use but had been occupied for the ball. Loretta knocked twice and opened the door, not waiting for an answer.
Hunched over in the middle of the floor, staggering to his feet, was an old man, bald and with a droopy moustache. Greta’s description of the butler as a “good young lad” came to Addie’s mind. A bucket of soapy water and a pile of washcloths was next to him, and he was struggling to stand. Addie rushed over to him to help him up, and when he saw the supposed servants before him he visibly relaxed.
“Hail, friends,” said the man, in a voice that put Addie in mind of a decrepit frog. “Who might you be?”
“Loretta, scullion worker,” Loretta answered with a slight tilt of her head. “And these are Addie and Peach. We’re new hires, Bernie sent us to find you.” Addie was still amazed at how easily the lies flowed from her lips.
“Ahhhhhh, yes,” answered the old man. “I had heard that we had new staff starting.” He reached over and took hold of a simple, study-looking wooden cane from where it had been propped against the bed and leaned heavily on it, patting Addie’s hand in thanks. His clothes, in spite of the labor he had been engrossed in, were neat and clean and well-tailored. “I am Archibald, the butler. I suppose that makes me your boss?” He chuckled, and Addie noted his accent that was somewhere between that of the servants and the nobles.
“Were you cleaning the floors?” Addie burst out.
Archibald nodded. “Yes, Miss Addie, I was cleaning the floors.”
“Should there not be someone…”
“Younger? Yes, probably.” He grimaced as he adjusted from one foot to the other. “I believe that was to be your job, no?” Addie flushed, in spite of the fact that this was not her real job and she was not in trouble. “No matter,” Archibald continued. “It must be done, and I’d rather not draw the ire of the magicians.”
“That cannot be good for you, grandfather,” Addie said, her voice thick with concern.
“If it does not get done, someone loses their job,” Archibald replied solemnly. “And if someone loses their job, they are little more than a beggar. I will not let the good people who work here suffer that fate.” He sighed and rapped the side of the bucket with his cane. “There was little cleaning needed, anyway. I am already nearly done.”
“You seem a good sort, Mister,” Loretta remarked. “Why do you suffer this sort of work?”
“I’ve no choice, Miss Loretta.” Archibald pulled his pant leg up to reveal that his left leg was, in fact, wooden—a prosthetic. “As you see, I cannot work in the fields or the factories, but a man must eat. As must his children and grandchildren. The magicians are not cruel, but if the work is not done…” he trailed off. “Suffice it to say, this world has no place for the lame or the lazy.”
Addie felt a pang of guilt twinge in her stomach. “I shall do it then.” Archibald opened his mouth to protest, but Addie cut him off. “Please, go rest, grandfather.”
Archibald patted her hand with a gentle smile. “Very well, Miss Addie. I’ll not be one to deny a woman her work.”
Addie’s heart fluttered at the words, and Archibald tottered from the room mumbling something about “things that need done.” Addie bent down to pick up the rag and sank to her knees to scrub.
Loretta shut and locked the door behind Archibald as Addie began scrubbing the floor. Peach shook her head and drew her wand, casting a spell to magically remove the dirt and grime from the floor. Addie’s face felt hot as she felt silly for not thinking of that, and was about to ask why cleaning servants were even needed, but Laszlo interrupted her by casting a spell to banish the illusions over the three of them. There was a flicker and fizzle as the magic faded, and Brandon felt a wave of disappointment as he saw his old, achingly familiar hands.
“Are you beginning to see it?” Laszlo asked, his voice thick with tension. “The way they truly feel?”
Plum still looked as though she’d seen a particularly terrifying ghost, but Brandon nodded slowly as he stood.
“I do, but-”
“-but this merely seems like some unhappy employees, yes?” Laszlo interrupted. “I understand. ‘Tis not like this is proof of any large-scale problem.” He was nodding along as he said it, but his tone was continually more intense. “And like they said, at least you do not hit them.” The last part was nearly a snarl, dripping with derision.
“What are you implying?” Plum asked, uncharacteristically meek.
“I imply nothing, Madam,” Laszlo bit back. “I merely present the truth. Conclusions are your own to draw.”
“I can not believe that this is how we have been treating the servants,” Brandon said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “We must change this.”
“Yes, do,” Laszlo replied icily. “Change the fact that this entire Keep runs on their service and you pay them barely enough to feed their families. Change the fact that you know none of their names or faces, that you treat them like furniture more than like people. But none of that can change the fact that the better option for them is to destroy their bodies and souls labouring to keep your perfect, picturesque lives complete. None of that can change the fact that these people must work for you to survive.”
Brandon was speechless. The venom in Laszlo’s voice and face was shocking, but the fact that he found himself agreeing was even more shocking.
Plum was not so speechless. “We cannot simply upend society-” she began.
“No,” Laszlo interrupted. “You cannot.” He reached into the pocket of his vest and removed a small metal charm on a chain. “But we might be able to.” The charm took the form of four spiraling arms with a star in the center. “That is the answer to your question, Prince-Adept. The Fifth Law is working to create a world where one’s existence is justification enough to live.”
Brandon looked to Plum, who seemed just as bewildered and concerned as he was.
“You seek to, what, freely grant the means of subsistence to everyone?” Her eyebrow was back to its perfect, quizzical arch.
“And why not?” Laszlo retorted. “There is far and away enough wealth in just this Keep to buy the food to feed all your staff for years. And, must I mention, you are red magicians. You can, quite literally, conjure food from nothing.” The scorn in his voice was palpable. “But no, that is not what we seek.” He sighed. “The Magisterium would never let that happen. We seek to tear this system out by the root, so to speak.”
“After you tear out the root,” Brandon began, “what happens?”
“We build something better,” Laszlo replied. “One must clear the trees before building a castle.”
“How?” Plum asked simply.
“Now that,” Laszlo replied solemnly. “I cannot answer, I am afraid.”
“Can not, or will not?”
“Will not. Though I suppose there is little difference, as of now.”
“There is a very large difference, in fact.”
“Is there?” Laszlo asked wryly, his moustache twitching as his lips formed a smirk.
Plum looked ready to erupt. Brandon put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Her eyes flicked back to him, ablaze with anger, and Brandon flinched at the intensity of her emotion. Plum’s gaze immediately softened. She opened her mouth to apologize, but Brandon cut her off.
“Why do you want our help?” he asked Laszlo, his eyes still on Plum.
“Dyadic magicians, those capable of using secondary color magic, especially as impressively as the two of you, are few and far between.” He grinned again. “They fear what they cannot control. And you two, something tells me, cannot be controlled.”
“So you want us… what, to fight the Magisterium?”
Laszlo laughed out loud. “No, no, nothing like that, Prince-Adept.” He leaned forward. “I simply ask that you help your fellow human.”
“You still have yet to tell us how,” Plum commented, acid dripping from her tongue.
“Indeed,” Laszlo replied, infuriatingly.
“Sir Magician,” Brandon asked, exasperated. “Even should we agree to help you, you have given us nothing to go on. What exactly do you ask of us at this moment?”
“For now, I only ask that you take this,” he replied, holding out the spiraling sigil charm. “Should you choose to join, come to us. Bring that charm to the city of Algaran. You will find your way.”
“We are trustworthy, all of a sudden?” Plum seethed.
“Of course not,” Laszlo replied with a smirk. “But I do believe that my gamble will pay off.” His smirk widened into a grin. “For now, though, I must be off. I still have much to attend to before I leave Keep Vermillion.” He swept his hat off his head and bent over into a deep bow. “Prince-Adept, Madam,” he said politely, and took his leave of the room, leaving Brandon and Plum in stunned silence.
“What do we do, Addie?” Plum asked after a few moments, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I do not know,” Adelaide replied, equally quiet. “Do you believe him?”
Plum nodded slowly. “I believe that he believes it, which is perhaps even more important.”
“Do you think we should do as he asks? Take this charm to Algaran?” The chain dangled through Adelaide’s fingers as she held it up to Plum.
“No,” she said. “Not yet, at least.”
Adelaide nodded. “We can try to make things better here, yes?” she asked brightly.
Plum’s mouth twisted into an expression that was somehow both a smile and a frown. “I suppose we can try.”
Adelaide’s thoughts flickered back to Bernie. “Listen, Plum,” she began. “What Bernie said-”
Adelaide stopped as Plum’s face flickered through at least four separate emotions in half as many seconds. She quickly stifled it
“‘Tis nothing,” she said simply. “‘Tis nearly forgotten already.”
“Plum-”
“I said ‘tis nothing, Adelaide,” Plum responded, harsh as thunder. Her expression softened. “Come, love,” she said gently. “We should eat.” She turned and left the room.
Adelaide hesitated, reaching out as if to grab Plum’s hand. She let her hand drop and silently followed out the door.
Cambria's Corner 
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