Arlen's Tale, Part 1

    Arlen's day began as it always did very shortly before the sunrise. His eyes snapped open at the clacking of the spring timer and he rolled off the small cot in the servant quarters of the estate and onto the floor with a heavy thump. Joints popping, he stretched and prepared for the day ahead of him. The nice clothes today, he thought. Master will have guests. Now clad in vest and proper pants, Arlen floated through the darkened halls of Dirham Manor. The veil of night still hung heavy over the rooms, though it barely affected him at all. Even without the soft green glow from his wrist and ankle bindings, Arlen saw as if it was day – though his first task for the day would be opening windows for the actual members of the household.
    The last of the curtains were carefully pulled open and arranged just as the sun began to rise, and Arlen moved on. The slave ran over the list of tasks he would have to perform this morning almost subconsciously as he darted into the kitchen to snag some bread and water from the pantry before anyone other than him got up. The cook, Mrs. Sansen, would be here after about nine as usual so it was up to him to make breakfast for his masters. His skills in the kitchen had started out rudimentary, but Arlen had improved enough that he might make a decent cook in his own right. At least, that was his opinion which he understood didn't bear much weight.
    The pitter-pat of feet down the stairs let Arlen know that Mrs. Dirham was the first up this morning. Her attendant should be arriving in a half hour to dress her properly, Arlen reminded himself as he busied with the eggs and sausage while making sure the toast was properly done. Confident that everything would take care of itself for a few moments, Arlen grabbed silverware as carefully as he could from a shelf nearby and hurried out to the family dining room. Just before sliding the door open, Arlen shifted his gait to a more smooth walk and strode out into the dining room.
    Terna Dirham was a cheerful woman. This was the nice and polite way of saying that she was a bit.. plump, but she was easily the kindest woman Arlen knew. So it was no surprise when she spoke while he put out the silverware at not-quite-rushing speed. “Good morning, Arlen.”
    “Good morning, Mrs. Dirham.” Terna opened her mouth to speak for a moment, then looked at her slave again. “Arlen, dear, have you been sleeping well?”
    Arlen didn't say that he never slept well and that he was wracked constantly with horrible nightmares, but he could have and he contented himself with that. “I slept well enough to do my job, master.”
    “Well, that's clearly not good enough dear. Come here.” Terna gesticulated wildly at him until Arlen put down the remaining silverware and stepped over into her reach, sitting down when gestured while the noblewoman searched through her person for the makeup she was never far from. Arlen sat quietly, used to this particular display of worry when important and influential guests were coming over even if it was just a social call today. Terna fussed and hemmed as Arlen sat in the chair, growing steadily more worried about the eggs on the fry-pan. “Mrs. Dirham-” “It can wait, dear. I need to make you look proper.” As soon as she applied the finishing touches to what he was sure was just a foundation he leapt out of his seat, apologizing with a “Sorrymrsdirham”, words running together as he half walked half sprinted to the kitchen just in time to shove the pan off the flame. At least they were only slightly burned, Arlen mused.


    Breakfast had gone fine much to his relief, and nobody had noticed the slightly toasty eggs. The man of the house and their youngest daughter, Vanessa, had been a bit late getting up which Mrs. Dirham had teased them over relentlessly, but overall the sun was bright, the sky was clear, and things were going about as well as could be expected. This didn’t stop Arlen from being nervous, of course. Titus Jakalov, owner of the Jakalov cookware company, was coming over today for a ‘social call’ that Arlen knew would be a business meeting in disguise. Mr. Jakalov was far more important than any of the guests he had been personally attending before -- usually his masters would go off to them, not the other way around -- and Arlen worried, privately as possible, that he would embarrass his master in some way. That could not be allowed.
    While he fretted, Arlen dusted, tidied and cleaned, again and again the things he had already gone over. It would only be for an hour or so, but in that time he could do grievous harm to the kindest people he knew. Lost in his thoughts, Arlen didn’t notice Lazaran Dirham, his owner and master behind him until his broad, smooth hand clapped him on the shoulder. With a start and yelp Arlen turned on one heel, looking up into the nobleman’s face.
“Something the matter, boy?” Arlen’s eyes darted left and right, looking for a suitable excuse that wouldn’t make him seem weaker than he knew he was, but Lazaran cut him off. “You’ve cleaned that vase four times in the last ten minutes, and you aren’t that bad at polishing. Come, speak up.” Arlen started to speak, stopped, and stared at his master blank eyed for a moment before slowly speaking.
    “I -- Well, sir, I’m afraid that I might do shame onto your house.”
    Lazaran looked down at Arlen incredulously, mustache twitching. “What? However would you do that, boy?”
    “Well, sir, I could say something accidentally rude to Mr. Jakalov, or drop a plate and distract him, or I could pour tea wrong and spill it on him, or-” Arlen’s slow speech sped up, faster and faster until he was cut off by his master waving a hand in front of his face. “Arlen, Arlen. If anyone was to bring shame upon me, it would be ME. Not you. Look, if it concerns you so much…” Larazan rubbed his chin, almost lost in thought. “Look, boy, if it’s that much of an issue I order you not to speak unless ordered to.” Relief swelled within Arlen’s chest. Finally, the pain of choice was with him no longer. “Yes, sir.”
    “What did I just say?”
    “Sorr-” Arlen fell silent.
    “Good! Well, why don’t you go put on some tea? Our guests should be here soon, and I’m sure they would love to have some.”

    It would be impolite to call Mr. Jakolov a small, unpleasant man. He was more precisely a medium sized unpleasant man, Arlen thought as he served a small cup of tea on a tray to both Mr. Jakolov and his radiant, golden-haired wife. He could smell a faint aroma of roses and a nameless perfume about her, and she felt… apart from the rest of them -- yet he paid it no mind. Probably a freedwoman, Arlen thought. She certainly had the blood of Agape somewhere in her line.
    Still, she was pleasingly quiet next to her husband, who was chatting amicably (and slightly too loudly) about anything and everything on his mind while his masters pretended to be interested. Titus Jakolov only acknowledged him after a few moments of standing there, waiting with the tea.
    “... And of course, our production has gone up significantly in the last two quarters. Eh? Tea?” With less than a moment’s thought, Titus took the cup from the tray. “Ah, yes. As I was saying, the new batch of trained slaves has allowed my workshops to take the lead from those Perrington fools in production inside of Stonebridge and the surrounding areas. Speaking of, I see you’ve acquired a new slave yourself?” Titus gestured to Arlen, though the house servant felt nothing but tension. This was exactly what he’d been fearing, and even he could see Larazan wince.
    “Ah-a, Titus, we’ve owned him for eight years. Ever since he was put up for auction.”
    “What, really? Lazzie, where was he the last time we met for a meeting like this?”
    “He’s a house servant. He takes care of the house, and doesn’t go out unless Vanessa needs an escort into town.” That was true. Arlen didn’t much leaving the premises of the Dirham manor.
    “What, you trust a slave around your daughter?”
    “Of course. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, and they grew up around each other. Just like another member of the family. Well, he does more in the way of chores, but still. It’s not like he’s much of a danger, just look at him.” Four heads turned Arlen’s way, and it was all he could do to not visibly start sweating under the heat. Mrs. Jakolov was the first to speak.
    “He’s a bit twitchy, isn’t he?” Her bell-like voice cut through to Arlen’s rational center, and he stopped the nervous wringing of his hands behind his back.
    “Well, I don’t want to call him a nervous wreck, but the boy does worry quite a bit.” Lazaran said, slowly.
    “If you want, I know a good cleaner to fix problems right up. Clean up those troubled thoughts.” Titus said, almost as an aside to the Dirhams.
    “No! I. Um, I mean, no, he will not be needing any such services, thank you.” Mrs. Dirham’s outburst drew their attention away from Arlen for just a moment, allowing him a moment of respite to let out a breath. Please, not the cleaners. Anything but that.
    “Well, suit yourself. Come on, son, what’s your name?” Arlen would have spoken, but the memory of being offered up for ‘cleaning’ by the man and his master’s orders rang fresh in his mind. He looked Titus dead in the eye but said nothing.
    “Come on, son, your name.” More silence. “I don’t have all day, boy, what is your name?” Dead as night. Titus started to redden in the face and he half stood. “Damn it boy,give me your name!” Arlen started to sweat -- even under orders, this was looking bad. Mr. Jakolov was walking close to him, and even with his short height he was still intimidating while red-faced. Glancing left and right, he could see Mrs. Jakolov rolling her eyes politely and his master, Mr. Dirham barely stifling laughter while Mrs. Dirham looked naught but concerned for him. So, a joke was it? He’d do his best to play along. Then Titus Jakolov grabbed his collar and roared at him.
    “Damn it boy, tell me your name or I’ll have you flogged for this insult!” Lazaran burst into laughter.
    “Jakolov, Jakolov! Calm down, man! I ordered him not to speak unless I ordered him to! Hah, the look on your face!” Arlen saw Titus visibly deflate and he could visibly hear the gears turning before he burst into laughter. “Ah, Lazaran, you dog, you got me again! Hah!” Arlen didn’t understand anything anymore. How could a man go from enraged to laughing in moments like that? And at such a poor jest? Surely it had to be some sort of pure human thing. He let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding in when Titus stepped away.
    “Go on, son, tell him your name and who you are.” Lazaran could barely stop laughing, but he managed to squeak out that between chortles. Mrs. Dirham just looked disturbed, but Mrs. Jakolov was sensibly chuckling behind one white-gloved hand.
    “Amh… Er, Arlen Dirham, sir. Fourth generation godborn, from the line of Nyctis” Titus turned to Lazaran with a look of surprise. “Fourth generation? Why, I bet for the money you spent on him you could have bought seven slaves. What does he do for you?”
    “Sir, I bring sleep, just like my great grandmother. Well, really, I help people sleep.”
    “It’s true. Just having him around makes you sleep like a baby. You should really try it sometime, in the eight years we’ve had him not once has any of my house had a nightmare.” Arlen declined to comment. “Besides that, he’s a decent cook, a hard worker, and I’d say that over the years he’s earned his keep and cost.”
    “Well, it’s your money, Lazaran.” Titus shrugged and collapsed back onto the seat, rage gone. Lazaran turned to Arlen, clearly remembering something.
    “Ah, Arlen, why don’t you go and bring Vanessa some tea? I’m sure she’d enjoy a cup. Remember, two cubes. No more.”
    “Of course-Sorry.”
    “Don’t worry about it, that was clearly more trouble than it was worth, funny as it was. Oh, and make sure she’s actually studying. She’s got her first magus exam next week.” Arlen turned, and walked out of the room to the dimming sounds of conversation, of Mr. and Mrs. Jakolov’s surprise at little Vanessa Dirham being a magician of all people. Two sugars, biscuts, and a cup of tea. And, perhaps, a moment to calm himself before he went to see her. That would be good.