A Cub's Trials 1
"GET IN HERE, YOU FURRY WRETCH!"
In the mess hall, where he was cleaning up after the Mutants' less than clean lunch hour, the small Thunderian cub cringed at the voice. He immediately set down his cloth and timidly stepped out into the hallway, headed towards the conference room, where the four ranking Mutants were holding council. The frightened child said nothing, only stepped uncertainly in and looked at the four Mutants with bright green, wary eyes.
S-S-Slithe, who had been the one to call the cub in, smacked him hard across the face. "Never come in here without knocking, yeees!"
The ocelot cub let out a yelp, but shied away from the Reptilian and nodded, tears welling up in his eyes.
"Good. We want something to eat during our council meeting, get in the kitchen and bring a tray of ham sandwiches and a jug of ale, got it?"
Again, the child nodded and slunk out when he was dismissed. He had been in this horrible place for almost a year. His suspension capsule had crashed not far from Castle Plundaar, and the Mutants had found it, and decided the small cactus would make a good slave, not to mention someone to take out their frustrations on. He had been approximately five at the time, he was around six now. Though unwilling at first, the child had been completely broken by this point, and was too terrified to disobey.
On the way to the kitchen, he was in a hurry, so as not to get punished for being slow; he did not see one of the female Mutants, running right into her, falling on the floor. She snarled and kicked him in the side as she moved around him. "Watch where you're going, runt!" she growled at him.
Ocellon was used to this kind of thing, and had curled up as soon as he realized who he had collided with. With barely an outcry at the kick, he scrambled to his feet and ran the rest of the way.
It was not long before the cub was pushing a small cart with the platter of sandwiches he had made and a large jug of ale. "Good," S-S-Slithe hissed. "You were prompt this time. You may have one of these sandwiches. Not get out of here and back to work!"
The child nodded gratefully and took a sandwich, running out of the room and eating it hungrily. It was the first thing he had been fed in almost two days. By the time he got to the mess hall, the sandwich was gone.
He once again got on his hands and knees in the filthy dining area, and scrubbed at the floor. He had already cleaned the tables, having learned a long time ago to be quick in his tasks. Sometimes he was smacked for tardiness or slowness, sometimes when his captors were in a bad mood, he was more severely punished. The poor cub was no stranger to the whip, nor the dunking basin in the dungeon. These two were the most frequently used methods of discipline, but he had been beaten with various objects before, and had even been branded when he first got there, to mark him as belonging to Castle Plundaar and its high ranking Mutants. There were other slaves in the Castle...but the unfortunate cub was the only Thunderian. The only non Mutant.
As he worked, he glanced down at his right hand, which bore the now healed burn scar. This brand was a pair of crossed sabers with "Castle Plundaar" written on it in Plundaarian. It was a large mark that covered his whole small hand, and had hurt when it was done. And it had hurt for a long time, as burns usually do. He also wore a metal collar bearing the same mark, and was kept in chains. He had gotten used to working like that.
He had been branded one other time: the one and only time he tried to escape. He had gotten far before being caught, but when they did catch him, the ocelot cub had been one sorry feline. They had branded his shoulder with a large "p" for potinn, the Plundaarian word for "escape", and had given the child a severe whipping, after which he was dunked. This entailed Jackalman holding the cub's head underwater until he was on the verge of drowning, with S-S-Slithe beating him with a thick riding crop, repeating it until they could no longer revive him when he blacked out. They almost went too far that time, as the child had nearly died. But the healer of the Mutants was able to bring him back. Ocellon did not try to escape again, as that incident had completely broken him. He was terrified of everyone in the Castle, even the healer and the few who were not cruel like the rest. Evil, yes; cruel, no.
After a while, Ocellon finished cleaning the mess hall in less time than it usually took for him, and he had been given no other task. As he put the supplies away, he wondered if he would be allowed to rest. He was not usually allowed more than six hours of sleep unless he had done very well or had been very good that day, and then he was allowed up to ten hours of sleep. This rarely happened, as the Mutants were not often in a good enough mood. The same happened with the food: if he did very well, he was fed more, if not, he was fed less. As it was, he was lucky to get fed once a day. His bones were visible through his ill-kempt hide, which was bloodstained and filthy, and many places had no fur either because he had been beaten too many times with the whip, or some other injury had occurred, or simply because of lack of healthy diet.
S-S-Slithe came in the room just as the cub was finishing up, as the meeting had ended, and looked around. Ocellon cringed as he entered the room.
The Mutant nodded in approval. "You finished fast, yeeesss? If you are good the rest of the day, I might let you eat supper tonight."
Ocellon nodded eagerly and waited to be told his next task.
S-S-Slithe scowled a little and grabbed the cub's filthy, matted mane. "When I am being generous, wretch, I expect some thanks!"
The boy winced and stuttered, "Th-th-thank y-y-y-you..." It was the first he had spoken, other than a whimper or an outcry, in weeks, not counting anything spoken in his troubled sleep. When he did talk, it was in a quiet stammer.
"That's better. Get the tray out of the conference room and wash everything, then get down to the fuel room and stoke the furnaces. I want them full by tonight, got it? If you manage that, I will let you eat."
The boy nodded shakily, and when the Reptilian released his mane, he scampered out, headed for the conference room.
When that was done, he went to the lower level, just one floor above the dungeon. The furnaces, which ran the whole castle, were big, but they were over half full; that was good, as he was the only one down there. But he had done it before. It was work harder than anyone his age should be forced to do, but he had learned to manage, and got to work.
By nightfall, the child was exhausted. He was filthier than usual, covered in soot and ash and grease from the engines and furnaces. He had worked half the day in the stifling room, and had nearly passed out twice...but he kept himself from it. He had done that once, and was harshly punished. Surprisingly he had managed to get the whole job done, and was shoveling the last of it in when Monkian came down to fetch him.
As the child shied away from him, he raised his eyebrows and looked around. "Hoo," he said. "Impressive, furball. S-S-Slithe said you could have supper if you got it done. I guess you earned it. Get up to the kitchen, hoo, hoo."
Ocellon nodded eagerly and ran out of the room and up the stairs.
S-S-Slithe was in the kitchen when he got there, and asked the boy if he had finished, and he nodded tentatively. When Monkian came up, he asked him the same, and Monkian confirmed that he had. S-S-Slithe nodded. "Very well. After you have done your dinner duty, you may help yourself to anything left over on the tables."
Ocellon's eyes lit up. The Mutants were wasteful, and there was usually a lot left over. He would be allowed to have his fill tonight.
"You can go to bed only AFTER the kitchen and dining hall are clean, however, got it?"
Ocellon nodded again. "Th-th-th-th-thank y-y-you," he stammered once more.
S-S-Slithe nodded dismissively. "So what are you waiting for? Get to work, yeeees?"
Ocellon ran off.
When the Mutants were done that night with their meal, the cub waited until everyone was gone and happily wandered among the tables, taking what he wanted to eat from the plates and bowls. There was good food that night, better than the scraps or low grade food the child usually was given, and he ate until he could eat no more, and then ate a little bit more. He wanted to take some for later, but he knew he would get into trouble if he did. After he had cleaned everything well, he went downstairs into the dungeon for the night to the small windowless cell he slept in. He had no bunk and only a chamber pot for his toilet that was emptied once a week. But he was able to sleep that night without the constant gnawing hunger he had gotten used to. With a full belly, he quickly fell asleep, not even hearing Jackalman lock him in for the night.