Thanks again to @Theironfelix for continuing Saddie's adventure with me. This is our second week of presenting a story together and it will carry on until we either can't go on or the story reaches a conclusion!
Here's the link to Felix's post and I hope that you all click and visit to give my bud some appreciation and cool GIF's!
We have two music aides to enjoy through the story: Felix's selection of "Collapse" {1.} and mine of "Steampunk Revolution" {2.}.
In the first installment to this story, Underground Complex, Saddie the thief is sent to retrieve a journal that is hidden away deep in an underground crypt. Threatened with the safety of her friend, Mister, she makes her way past treacherous ghouls with the help of a silver clockwork bird. After a harrowing battle with a fierce undead inventor, the two make their way back to the surface with the journal in hand. Unfortunately for the exhausted Saddie, corrupt authorities were waiting for her return. The story left off with the subdued Saddie losing her fight for freedom. She's carried off to be sold to slavers as her newfound automaton friend follows behind to find a way to set her free.
Chattels and Chains
beginning by
Waking up, chained and forced into a chattel-cart, the Thief’s mouth yawned and the body soon found the limitations of this new-found space. The yawning then dove deep into the other chained victims, the mass groaned and moaned as their bodies ached with the enforced stiffening they were subjected to live with. The Thief’s eyes conducting an equipment inspection: only the undershirt, pirate pants and headscarf remained; all else was seized and probably crying out as ‘twas locked somewhere in a damp cellar in the Policja HQ. Switching over the scan to the other passengers, last night’s message began playing a tune in the Thief’s mind and the body only shivered with each replay. Yet taking a quiet deep breath in, the Thief’s eyes began to realize all the passengers were all withers; taking a moment to strike banter:
“So, what gotcha into this mess ‘ere? I: forced into stealing something and now they want to rid o’ me.”
“Hue, so thou art us’d as a tool? Shame. But I canst nae falta’ with thee, we were all tools for their insidious quests as well. And now, we shall nae taste even th’ most vulgar o’ freedoms! Shame, shame. Say yah lassie, what be thy name? I be Aderito.”
“I be Saddie, black-market name bein’ Saddie th’ Goat.”
“Hmm, I actually heard o’ thee, but in passin’ words o’ course. May I inquire?... I take it as a yes. Was thou connect’d wit’ th’ Mister by any chance?”
“Tak, tak. Been a great ally o’ th’ Mister for as long as I’ve been in this wretch’d collection o’ princedoms.”
“So thou art Saddie th’ Goat... If thou hast been captur’d, then what speaks o’ me other comrades? Oj Bóg, please grant us a miracle as thou given us one when we escap’d that ever-consuming hole o’ Death.”
“Bóg? Why did yah speak Pol-”
Wheels scream as they scrape across the gravel road, the rocks concurring by singing of their disgraceful displacement. Saddie came to realize that the main vibrations came from the withered mass and not from the Earth trembling below. Then a gentle tap came unto the chattel-cart, the chattel-cart announcing the faintest of taps that only lil’ thievish ears could dare pick up. Saddie’s hands, surprisingly free, tapped back and soon an ancient smile formed upon the two figures separated by the chattel-cart’s existence. A finger pressed vertically upon the lips but a low whisper did leave from both lips that dare break the agreement.
“Mister! So how did yah escape, I thought they would drag yah-”
“Bah, they’re dotards. But I must say, Saddie, that be some expert calculation – Garrett taught yah good, but yah improv’d the art as well lassie. Anyways, seems as if I can’t just free a hatch as this clockwork swallow hath struggl’d to do so. Else yah wouldn’t be headin’ to port now; sorry, we’re goin’ to have to use th’ treasures to buy yer chattel-cart.”
“Swallow? The clockwork birdy! Aye, aye... Anywho, we can recover th’ losses later when we deal wit’ th’ damn Policja late today or soon tomorrow. Right now, get us out any means possible; these damned souls yearn for blood on th’ Policja as well.”
“I’ll try to find coats for ye chattel-crew as well, their shakin’ be noticeable.”
And with that, the two resumed their normal positions and the traffic flow resumed only some countless minutes after, or so thought in the ever-stirring head of Saddie. The shaking stopped and the cart sighed along with the mass; however, the trepidation would come back again soon as Saddie’s mind so reminded itself. Peering outside, she saw many other chattel-carts offloading many crooks: from the lumpen-proles, to the coloured crooks like her, to the weird xeno-species that so often finds itself on this Earth and to char-skinned withers. Her eyes began pouring rivulets but her mouth and eye-form contorting thanks to the steam building in her body. The steam so sung its leave from Saddie, the withers on board had noticed her ever-developing tomato-skin as they collectively swore that they heard her Haitian blood boiling.
“Kurwa policja! Kurwa! Kurwa!-”
“Saddie! Cisza-”
“Cisza!?! Cisza!?!”
“Tak! Or we’ll be execut’d without mercy.”
“Fine...”
“So thou art Polish?”
“Tak... Polski i Haitański.”
“Ah – explains a lot. Saddie, hath we truly reached port?”
“Indeed, we’re at the port; fear not, Bóg bless’d ye damn’d souls a great luck today. Th’ Mister came-n-told me that our chattel shall be sav’d.”
“What o’ the others!”
“Be quiet Ando, they don’t ship chattels by seawaters ‘til th’ next day... By land, same procedure. So Ms Saddie, how shall the Mister help us today?”
“We shall be “bought” ‘n’ then recruit’d. Knowin’ his tongue, we shall be settin’ th’ other chattels free late night before we carry out th’ real tasker. Any more qs, Aderito?”
“Nie. Let’s see if th’ Mister possesses enough funds to save us all.”
Now came the slavish march of feet, chains dancing with each foot raise and each thud on the wood-n-stone floor, the croaks of the many ravens that await a chance to nibble on a limp body and the many gazing eyes that stalked each chattel. Saddie’s soul, for the first time since whoever cared to track so long, felt the uneasy gaze locked unto her; the eyes of many slave-owning scum that she cannot address with a stern look back. Not even if it could change a thing if her look could dispel a collective gaze like that.
Reaching unto the platform, she saw the slim stick of a human which dressed in the weirdest of articles that a stick could dress in. She swore that Fortuna had kept this stick from flying with the wind or snapping because of the absurdity of its form. Yet that stick she noticed stood as a sore thumb to the general crowd of feather-coated or black-suit crowd of buying slave-owners ready to possess more hands on any labour they so forced the slave into. But with the click of chains, her eyes could see more clearly into the crowd to which the stick, the auction-master or whatever new term that wish to use next, was presenting to. Then haunted over her were bouts of dread and hope; yet dread slowly consuming that hope and churning fear in excessive amounts upon realizing that one gaze was solely fixed on her which was not of the Mister’s own concerning look.
How could she imagine that gaze, of all the other gazes of the slave-owners, that was so fixed unto her. The eyes, so plump and lusty, that it traced her every move; a smirk so faint, that she swore it grew with her seeing the body; oh, a body so plump that it made all the other slave-owners thin in comparison; and a gaze so deafening, her soul began quaking more intensely despite her body freezing up into a statue. Then, the gaze was interrupted and centered on the auction-master; she began to wriggle and felt only intense dread colliding with her veins.
“Welcome! Welcome! We shall start the auction now! Starting with ninety florins for-”
“First row of withers, hundred florins!”
“I raise that by five for the first row!”
“I shall take the second row for hundred florins!”
“Reminder that the second row and the non-wither are two separate purchases!”
“Hmph. I take both the second row and the non-wither for two-hundred!”
“I buy the whole chattel for five-hundred florins!”
“The whole chattel is being purchased, will anyone detest the purchase!”
“Whole chattel, five-fifty florins!”
“Whole chattel, six-hundred florins!”
“Sir, why these withers cost no more than three-hundred. Do yah intend to pay so much for her? If so, eight-hundred florins!”
“Whole chattel, one-K florins!”
“We have reached the cap! Whole chattel goes to no. thirty-five; please come right up and claim the contract here. Next auction in ten minutes!”
“Sir, I haven’t a clue why yah wasted so much on all them. The only worthy one is the non-wither! Withal, I guess you have a serious estate, telling by the famished looks and impoverished style for a fellow master. Hmph, I guess I shall acquire her on another date; maybe a deal to compensate what you truly lost here after your done with her.”
“Sorry, she’s not for bargain after this point.”
“So suit yourself.”
And so the plump slave-owner waddled away, the Mister returned his concern back to the chattel; florins floated about and sang the exchange of hands while drowned out by the occasional rhythm of selling shouts. On to the inking table, the contract announcing each ink scribble and the one-thousand florins singing of the changing hands; the chattel was soon transferred into his cart and his cart was ready to scurry fast away from the port. With feet climbing into the storage part of the cart, the Mister paid and gave directions on where to send the cart to. With another song of florins beginning, the Mister soon climbed into the back with them and closed the drapery which blocked the light to bounce about the room. Turning his head to the ex-chattel-crew, he found them all snug with their new coats; only a tossing-n-turning Saddie perturbed the gracious painting.
Crouching down and sitting with her, his arms grasped her in a teddy-bear hug; her body jolted and flew, but soon her cheeks blushed and the body dug deep into the Mister in returning the hug. Moments following the last moments, he felt tears burrowing deep into his cloths to then crawl unto his chest while his ears picked up on the quiet sobs; he froze completely and decided to keep quiet, with the occasional positive reassurances and hand strokes. His memory tried recalling moments of fright within the kid, but, as far as their first contact to now, she never really had exuded such deafening emotions except from the first encounter with her Ashley and the first few nights when Ashley returned not. Feeling teary himself, he couldn’t hold back and his whimper synced with hers – a quiet solidarity to which the withers noted and kept their peace in the cart.
Rearing back, both eventually stared at each other’s faces: the wet canvases mixed with the bruises and dirt accumulated from the day alone. But soon came crawling in a clockwork swallow, tweeting and bouncing as the metal gears chinked while the wood squeaked with each press. It’s mechanical ears detected what caused it eagerly to rush into the cart, the swallow spotted its friend and bounced high unto Saddie’s legs. A loud plop announced with the landing, the distress soon converting into small chuckles that grew with the bird dancing silly as the swallow raced inside the cart.
With the mass getting their fair turn to cuddle the swallow, for which the swallow chirped so happily; Saddie turned to the Mister and asked one question:
“Why do people suffer?”
And again the Mister froze – yet this time he knew of this vagueness. But, the trickster that ‘twas had misguided him and ‘twas misdirecting his attention to the question he was confronted to ask himself. Letting go of Saddie completely, his hands dug unto his face and his eyes wept another time while the mouth permitted weak sobs. But cut short the weeping was as Saddie reached in and attempted to calm the Mister down; realizing the soft hands on his pike shoulders and face burrowed into his biceps, he soon dismounted the stress and a sigh came rushing out.
“Even if I could answer, I wouldn’t even know how to answer that. I guess we all know why we suffer. Most of it being not natural to the Worlds that Fortuna herself created; they’re mere perversions of the gift Fortuna has blessed us all within. Withal, Fortuna made not the Universe alone, but she struggles to win it so all can find a freedom that isn’t vulgar and a life that shall not produce unnecessary suffering. Even then, why do people suffer now? It’s something I bet that the class, of which we steal from, has something to benefit from with their own project, and, as long as they can reproduce it, they have nothing to fear from this organization. They, themselves, participate willingly in it even as it molds them into worse monsters as to further aid in its reproduction. They, the society and this ruling class, need each other to live, but a future without them is a possible one. That very one future where only the tender souls will thrive and us remembered as being one of the many fighters that sought to live a life worth living. But does that even address the q, I have no clue; how can one imagine the laments of this beast in such a proverbially small spot we both occupy? I guess only a person that has looked and examined each suffering with a careful eye and biased towards the working gears can truly answer that q without any a worry.”
ending by
2.
Mister's dispirited reply had raised a miasma of silence within the cart, the cheerful chirps from the swallow ceased, and, with woeful gazes, the Withers cast their eyes to the floor. Saddie's throat strained against the lump that had hunkered down within. Such a melancholy countenance did not belong on Mister's face. To her, he was a beacon of strength, one of the flames this world could not extinguish. Ashuri's voice, from that night when the rain poured around the shelter of the oak, sang in her mind.
Nothing keeps the freeze of sorrow at bay better than a warm hand to hold.
Her witch always did have a way with words. Saddie's embrace tightened to grant her friend the comfort he'd given earlier.
Minutes passed in quiet contemplation from the group. Soft ticks from the swallows' gears punctuated their passing. Thankful she was, when Aderito's voice sliced the dense air left by her Mister's emotional speech.
"Well now, how's we gonna be movin' forward from 'ere? Seems to me that those others from the auction be needin' some o' us to unlock their shackles"
Leaving his preoccupation with the grimed folds of the cart's canvas, Mister slid his eyes to meet Saddie's. Her cheeks cherried with warmth to see that glint of fight and his special smile. With his voice again the sharp steel of command, he spoke.
"Then I will see to supplies for our task this evening. Mayhaps a few gifts to deliver as well. Wouldn't do to pay our deepest 'respects' to the policja empty handed, now would it?"
The slim thief's grin mirrored those of the group. Her blood was beginning to thrum with a familiar excitement. This was more to her taste. No more sittin' back as those rat eyed merchantists stole lives to fill their purses. She'd sneak out with the silver birdy to map those taffers' positions. Mister would do a bit o' shoppin' and the Withers would remain to plan their route.
Alighting onto Saddie as she jumped from the cart, the swallow nuzzled itself beneath her hair. Before the two set off, Mister's arms engulfed her in a hug. Against her ear he whispered,
"You take care of our lil' clicker and keep to the shadows, my fierce towarzysz."
She nodded and squeezed him back in assent to his orders. Easing herself into the flow of bodies scuffling to and fro, she winked back at him.
"Bring me somethin' sharp and shiny 'iffin ya please."
Evening had granted a deep kiss farewell to the sun when the thief and her oppressed friends left the safety of the chattel cart. Mister had gone along before them with a bulging satchel of what he called ‘signals’. The inelegant snort that had erupted from Aderito told Saddie that he’d whiffed the sulfur same as her. For all the times he’d cautioned her on the intricate beauty of subtlety, Mister’s choice for a message tickled her humor. Her new towarzysz confessed to her later that the choice was a damn sight odd for his old friend. He had regarded the young girl a moment ‘fore addin’ in,
“They hit a deep nerve ‘n him today. ‘Tis a mistake they shan’t be repeatin’.”
Down the stone lanes the group progressed, hugging the ink of the shadows along the alleyways. Before gaining sight of the first policja shack above the docks the revolutionaries split off. One group followed Aderito to the north end to subdue the guards and wait for Mister’s signal. They’d use the distraction to steal aboard a ship and ready it for departure. The rest would aid Saddie in releasing the captive Lumpen Proles and Withers from the slaver cages. Two firm pairs of eyes met in understanding. They knew the risks, had asked Fortuna’s blessing and were prepared to fight their way to success if need be. Two heads nodded their respect, then Aderito’s team vanished. The urgency of their purpose lent itself to their silent haste.
Two rotten taffers could be heard loud and brash from their post.
Worst guards in village, this lot.
She thought as her team sidled along the wall of steps.
’Twas shameful she’d been caught by this lot to begin with.
Light were the footsteps that carried them across the soft sway of the wooden dock to the iron cages. From her new pouch o’ tools she removed her picks and set to work on the first lock. As she worked, she prayed that the braying of the damned policja would cover any hinge sounds from the gate. With a twist and a final push of her pick she felt the lock proclaim its surrender. A triumphant grin broadened her cheeks. With caution, the captives inside pushed open the barred barrier, rushing out to follow her fellows in freeing the rest. Her pricked ears caught their low whispers of gratitude and more ‘n a couple of sniffles.
She was workin’ on gettin’ the last cage to sing another silent song of defeat when the sharp trill of a whistle cut the air. The walkway above the docks became lousy with torches and bodies rushing towards them. With a speed Garrett himself would be proud of, the slender girl worked the final tumbler and slammed the door open. Shouts of, “Don’t let them escape!” and thundering footsteps approaching sent the newly freed captives into a panic. With haste they obeyed Saddie’s orders to run as the wind to the north end of dock. Fast as they were, she knew they’d be needin’ a blessing to make good their escape. Determined to buy more time, she drew her blade. There was a gangly lookin’ taffer closin’ in on her to her right. She spun and rushed forward, her head lowered as a ram. She slammed into his gut and he flew back, ‘arse o’er teakettle to land still on the ground.
“That be my goat slam ya peckneck!”
A light titter of laughter from behind her had her twisting around for her next opponent. To her surprise, there stood only a finely dressed woman with an umbrella. Bodies of taffers strewn around her as leaded puppets missin’ their strings. Confused, Saddie tilted her head in question to the woman.
With a voice smooth as honeyed tea the lady answered the unspoken question.
”Don’t you worry about this lot little Miss..Goat, was it” Saddie stared. “I simply had to prevent those awful officers from abusing their authority to harm a young girl.”
The thief’s eyes blinked rapidly, her eyes working to process this blessed turn of events. From the corner of her eye she caught a shifting movement. She darted forward to move the woman out of harms way only to come dead to a halt as the woman casually spun her umbrella to her side. The ebony handle connected with the skull of the policja with a sickening CRACK. His body crumpled to the ground and the woman gave Saddie a wink and a curtsety.
“I’m Lady Chestnut and I believe that you should be making haste to my ship before any of these bits of scum awaken. Your friends have already stolen aboard so it simply makes sense for you to join them and complete the thing.”
Still confused, Saddie began to make her exit but her curiosity gave her pause.
“Why would an upper like ye’ be helpin’ us?”
The woman’s mouth opened to respond when a massive explosion rocked the docks from the southern end! A rainbow of fireworks rocketed up into the sky to rain their sizzling sparks down upon the scattering and screaming policja! The woman cried out with laughter as her white gloved hands began to clap in joy!
“Now THAT’S a right fine signal if I do say so!” Her gaze met Saddie’s again. Her voice this time was firm, “Not all of us who are well to do are happy to live in comfort while others suffer inside our city. Now..GO! I will not be telling you again.”
With a final nod of gratitude, Saddie rushed away from the billowing smoke and unlikely savior, to a stolen ship of hope.