Set Them Free: Chapter 3

 And so we bide our time. It's a slow process, waiting out Michael's changeover. Normally the weeks between changing pass like dust on the wind, but now that we're actually waiting for it, the time seems to pass so slowly. A watched kettle never boils after all. Despite our anticipation, we all carry on our work. We change shifts at the designated times, we prowl the streets of the many villages and towns under our care, watching for moments where we can intervene without breaking the laws. Under normal circumstances, Sam or myself would be willing to push the boundaries, acting when we thought no-one was watching, but things have changed.

Az was right, I can see that now. Michael's been changing over his men's shifts, and I can almost smell them when they come near. Lily and Sam have reported seeing them snooping around, always feigning disinterest when caught. But it's obvious what Michael's done. He's got his little posse watching us, making sure we don't even consider pushing the line. Now we're all on extra good behaviour, and we have to keep checking over our backs every thirty seconds. It's been tough, Lily caught a woman being mugged and couldn't intervene because one of Michael's underlings �" Amy �" was watching her. I had to spend last night consoling her, convincing her we'd right all the wrongs which were caused by the King's non-interventionist stance. I'm the on everybody's backing, so it's up to me to keep us all together. It's almost like things have gotten worse, harder to ignore, as though Michael or the King or something is causing the servants to become cruel, malicious creatures just to taunt us.

By this point in time, it's only three cycles of the sun before I'm in charge of shifts. Things are getting tense, and all of us are on tenterhooks waiting for the changing of the Master. I'm spending my shift roaming through the fields just outside my favourite town. Between my own shifts and consoling Lily, I've been on the edge of a total psychotic breakdown, so I choose to spend my shifts in the countryside. Less people means less crime, less squalor and less chances of me snapping and breaking the Guard's Code. Everyone in the countryside and the farmer's fields is calm, collected and friendly to one another, so there's more likelihood of a war breaking out than someone so much as punching another person out here. Clouds pass through the sky and wagons move along the roads in simplistic patterns, and what little trouble gets caused is easily ignored. I often find myself wondering what it is that makes the cities so violent. I mean, setting aside the fact that more people will inevitably lead to more violent acts, simply because there are more people, the ratio of violence to people in the cities is at least three times that of the outlying villages. Is it something to do with the crowded conditions? I shake my head and let the thoughts dissipate. Thinking such things will only lead to anger, and that's precisely what I came out here to avoid.

I move on towards the house of my favourite family, and as I do memories flood my head. I remember last year, at the Summer Solstice, how they had stayed outside and had a picnic on a nearby hill, all to watch the sun go down. I had watched from a small way down the slope as the sister and brother had played chasing on the summit, I watched as the parents readied their bottle of wine for the final setting. They'd been saving it for years, I remember being there when they had bought it.

Another memory flashes through my mind's eye. It's the son's first day of school, and he's crying into his sister's sleeve. He's scared, the poor young one, and the girl is trying to calm him down. She's been going to this school for two years now, and it took a lot for the parents to afford sending the son. The girl crouches down and clasps her brother's face in her hands. He stops weeping and meets his sister's eyes, and somehow �" I never figured out how �" he is calmed. The sister smiles after her brother as he suddenly goes skipping into the building, a single tear of happiness snaking its way down her cheek. That was when I knew this family was different. Up to then I had stuck to following city families, and they were always squabbling, arguing, yelling. This was different. That girl had shown me that the servants were capable of more...humane acts towards each other.

I sink back into reality, letting the memories fade into nothingness as the smell of freshly cut grass and the cool breeze returns to my senses. In the distance I here the sound of the farmer's market. Laughter, conversation, the sound of glasses clinking. The farmer's usually gather at dusk to share tales from their day, pass around gossip and generally have a good time. It's a simple life, but it works. I've joined them on occasion, always being sure to hide my identity from them. Some of the games they play are just insane, fake jousting tournaments, fight clubs. I remember winning over seven hundred pieces of gold in the fight club once. I gave it all to my favourites, so they could keep sending their children to school.

It didn't work. They couldn't afford both of them, only the son. And he refused to go without his sister. I remember both of the children crying, while the parents sat in despair. I'd acted then, I anonymously tutored the children while their parents worked, I left them books and homework. Nothing I was allowed to do, but everything I could, and should, have done. I was happy with what I'd done, and I know the children were grateful. I remember returning about two months later and found the two of them, standing in the middle of a crowd of younger, poorer children from their area. They were passing on the things I'd taught them, and I'd never felt such joy in my life.

I quickened my pace, and I was nearing the house, passing by a collection of laughing adults. I listened in as I walked, hearing their jokes and their tales. The joyous conversation faded into the background as I continued on my journey, until a new sound came to my ears. It was the mother, I'd know that voice anywhere, but I can't hear what she's saying. And then another sounds pierces the air....

Someone is crying.

I rush forward, fear tearing at my heart and panic clawing at my mind. There is such pain in those sobs, and as I near the small cottage I can taste the anguish on the air. I can smell the depression, the misery.... I can taste death's foul taint. I stumble forward, I reach for the door and a hand slams onto my wrist. I freeze momentarily, before following the arm up to a black garbed shoulder. Scratched, ill-kept armour glistens in the Sun and I stare with pleading eyes at Az. He pulls me from the door, shaking his head. He's here to perform his duty as undertaker, which means the worst has happened. He sees the pain in my eyes and simply drapes a large cloth over my shoulders, disguising me as a servant of his own. There is silence now, and I follow with nervous, trembling steps as Az opens the door into the house. My eyes glance down at a makeshift bed on the floor, and my heart stops. For a few moments I stare, lost in disbelief as Az moves past the weeping mother and the catatonic brother. He offers his condolences to the father, but the old man cannot hear him. I can barely hear him.

The meat was rotten, and it had taken its toll.

The daughter was dead.