LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC – THE CAPITAL CHANNING – SECTION 10

 

In truth, Zaur Stugr had searched long and hard for these many years and had finally given up all hope of ever uncovering the truth and of finding out what had happened to his father. Then, just when he least expected it, because of the strange twist of fate the answer had miraculously reached out to him.

“I must relay the message through a courier (an affiliate Kozur) at dawn to, without further ado, retrieve my father's remains from that hellish pit.” Zaur Stugr nodded with resolve. Unfortunately, Zaur’s full schedule did not allowed him to leave the Capital to supervise the work himself, for nothing short of a miracle, would enable him to facilitate his being absent from his official duties long enough to conduct a proper burial with full rights and ceremony befitting the station of his Father. The burden of his office was most exacting (demanding, rigorous) on his time, same as every other official regardless of their status in Channing, for each official was constantly monitored, their every action and allotted time incessantly regulated and documented (registered), under the entrenched (engrained) layers of bureaucracy with its rigid regulatory standards and lawful domination. Not a single unsanctioned intake of breath could be taken without dire repercussions, under such oppressive and absolute rule of Emperor Zakhertan Yozdek.

01-ZAKHERTAN YOZDEDK  (44)JP

 “Perhaps when this whole business with Fradel Rurik Korvald is concluded I may find the means; I promise you, Father, your spirit will find eternal peace in Heaven while your foul murderers will pay for their nefarious deeds in Hell.”  In irritation Zaur drummed his fingers upon the box.

If only he was free, free to do what he wished without the piercing eyes of Lamont Gudaren, Zakhertan’s invincible militia and that cursed Eunuch’s Black Molochs monitoring his every move!  Regardless of all the power he wielded, and yes, he was a covert (surreptitious) rebel leader, nonetheless existing (functioning) and even thriving, under the domineering, tyrannical canopy; unfortunately, at this very moment he’d realized he was nothing but a pawn of capricious fate after all. Indubitably, in the end, his every feat (act, achievement, engagement), encounters had been preordained (predetermined, fated) by the Heavenly Gods ‘dictates.

“And you, oh my most unfortunate Father, your fate had always been far more tragic than mine could ever be!” Zaur Stugr, shamefaced, groaned, recalling Sorgun's confession to him that night long ago when Zaur was a young boy…Young and utterly innocent.

 Only years later had Zaur comprehended the full implications of those words and, from then on, had remained eternally grateful to Lord Wutenzar Thuxur Marrog Zhon. He had henceforth honored His Lordship's memory in secret each year, on the day of Festival for the Dead.  He owed so much to Lord Zhon for all that he had done to extricate his father from the wrongful indictment and later still, for restoring him to his rightful (position) status.  But then because of the capriciousness of fate, more troubles had beset them.

Zaur Stugr’s mind presently recollected those perilous times back then, with the country in the grips of chaos (turmoil) and incessant wars, remembering most vividly, his father's sleepless nights that were spent endlessly pouring over documents, attending clandestine meetings, arranging for the provisions of armaments and his ceaselessly pacing the floor in his study until the (wee) small hours of the morning. 

Then, once more being constrained to flee, they had journeyed to far away alien lands where they had encountered (met) strange people with different (unfamiliar) dialects and customs; only to covertly return, though remain invisible, amid mainstream (ordinary) denizen obscurity (anonymity).

“Oh, father!  Father! “Zaur Stugr’s heart ached as if he had just become an orphan once more.  He leaned back, lowering his eyelids on the tears that welled up unbidden.

Zaur choked, recalling another time and another place that seemed like an eternity ago.

Zaur saw it all again in his mind’s eye, as vividly as if it was just happening before him that last exchange with his father, Sorgun Dufo. (Note: Learn all about Sorgun Dufo, in Book 6- The Assassins- Section 10)

02-- SORGUN DUFO

Sorgun Dufo stroked his son’s hair with a grave face and looked into his young eyes.  "Now, pay attention, Kundrick."

“Kundrick Dufo,” Zaur softly whispered his childhood name; he had not the occasion to think of it for many years now.

 "Listen son, circumstances dictate that I should go away for a while.  Wenjenkun is in the grip of grave peril, and I have it within my (power) means to alter its ill-fated course.  I must undertake a very dangerous task, and time is of the essence.  Hopefully I will achieve my goal and spare this nation of ours from the impending catastrophe.  Though you may be only a child my son, you are strong enough to be entrusted with grave responsibility.  Take this box and guard it with your life, if necessary, until my return.  You must not fail in this, for inside is proof of the allegations I will be bringing before our Illustrious Sovereign Zuronghan Alric Therran Valamir. Without them all is lost."

Zaur Stugr caressed the box once more, holding it as he had gripped it as a child (of about nine years old), feeling the weight of its importance. 

"In the meantime,", Sorgun had continued, "I have arranged for you to remain in the good care of my old friend, Sanzo Tezcat.  I know you are a strong-willed boy despite your polite manners, and I charge you now to behave and do as Sanzo says. Do not give me the least cause to regret this decision.  When I return to reclaim the box, I will explain everything to you, in full detail." 

But his father never returned.

“As discerning as you were, Father,” Zaur Stugr smiled wryly, “even you did not grasp how you were being played (toyed) by fickle fate.  You did not perceive, had no way of knowing of Sanzo's secret life.  How things might have turned out differently, had either of you, more specifically him, breached that wall of secrecy and taken the other, you, into confidence.  You are not entirely to blame though father; after all, you pursued a common cause and trusted him (a confirmed bachelor) well enough to leave me, your only son, in his care. “

“It was clearly not negligence on your part; perhaps it was Sanzo's excellent disguise, crafted so well it had fooled even a childhood friend such as you.” Zaur lowered his head in woeful air.

“How capricious fate is.”

To be sure, (definitely) Sanzo Tezcat had been a master of camouflage; what’s more, he had been bound by his blood oath of allegiance sworn in complete secrecy to the Sacred Brotherhood of the Kozurs.  Since even blood relatives were kept in the dark (unless it was sanctioned by the brotherhood to reveal it, and that happened hardly ever,) Sanzo Tezcat could not have confided in Sorgun Dufo even if he had desperately wanted to, even if it were to save his own life.  So serious were the repercussions of breaking the oath that even the most horrible death was preferable to betraying the Brotherhood.

03- SANZO TESCAT (2)

Zaur’s noble father had never suspected that this bookish (studious, thoughtful), benevolent, and foolishly idealistic, equable (composed, placid) erudite (scholarly, historian), who always seemed to be lost in some fantasy world of his own so distant from the crude realities of present life and politics, was anything more than what he seemed.  And so, at the time, Sanzo Tezcat must have seemed the ideal, safe candidate to entrust with the safekeeping of young Kundrick Dufo.  Besides, Sorgun Dufo's own scruples and good conscience would not have permitted him to involve (or recruit) his childhood friend Sanzo, this idealistic, gentle soul into the perilous, clandestine struggle that took up his every waking moment.

Perhaps that was the root, true basis for his father's undoing; he should have looked deeper into the man’s soul, should have questioned the obvious when it came too easily.  Sanzo, a wolf in sheep's clothing, would have proved invaluable in altering the course of Sorgun's doom.

Vividly Zaur recalled the look of panic in Sanzo Tezcat 's eyes when, just three days after leaving with Sorgun Dufo on a mission, Tojo Tugo was spotted (was seen) in the crowd across the market square.

In an instant metamorphosis, Sanzo had dropped all semblance of his benign, placid (docile) disguise and clearly incensed (irked), hastened (rushed) Kundrick home at once.  Within the space of an hour, they were packed and ready for the flight to disappear in hiding.  Cursing furiously, Sanzo Tezcat had slammed things about and committed countless, obviously important documents to the roaring flames of the kitchen fire.

Despite his forced restraint, Zaur gritted his teeth and cursed the name, Tojo, Tojo Tugo, father of Imperial Captain Zunrogo Tugo.

 “May you burn like dry leaves in Hell for your treachery! “Zaur scowling cussed (swore, cursed).

Many nights since the time when he had first pieced the facts together, Zaur Stugr had anguished over the dilemma. 

Zunrogo Tugo had been a mere child back then, could he be held morally accountable for his father's heinous crimes?  In the end Zaur had exonerated Zunrogo from all blame and did not exact lawful revenge on him.

Despite this resolve, Zaur Stugr had held, in the depth of his heart, a strong dislike for Captain of the Palace Guards, Zunrogo Tugo.  If it were up to him, alone, the Undersecretary's Office would have had no dealings whatsoever with this arrogant, martinet (despot, bully).  Unfortunately, Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren had long ago recognized Zunrogo’s specific talents and, over the course of the ensuing years had engaged his increasingly invaluable services to successfully carry out the most difficult of the Prime Minister's sinister schemes.

As Prime Minister Lamont Gudaren’s avowed subordinate (in official capacity), Minister Zaur Stugr was constrained to maintain an outward (superficial) civil relation with Zunrogo, son of Tojo the traitor; and when bid to do so, enable (facilitate) the despised Captain to augment (expand) his influence and fortunes. Despite solid evidence, Zaur suspected Zunrogo Tugo of having other affiliates, moreover, a far more powerful patron (benefactor) than PM, not ruling out the possibility of that sponsor being someone from the Royal Yozdek Family.

At this point Zaur's mind, unexpectedly, reverted to his childhood.

"How will Father find us?  I'm not going anywhere." Zaur remembered crying out as he squirmed and wrestled against the servants with all his might, steadfastly refusing to budge an inch. 

That was the first time that Zaur (Kurndrick Dufo) had ever defied his father's dictate.

Zaur smiled, recalling how stubborn and cheeky (rebellious) he’d been back then.

 As it were, when threat, force and reasoning failed to sway Kundrick Dufo, the steward Lios then had resorted to a ruse.  Pretending to have briefly consulted Sanzo Tezcat, wily (crafty) Lios had, by choosing his words very carefully, reassured Kundrick that Sorgun Dufo had already sent word to Sanzo that he would meet with them at their intended destination once his pursuers were thrown off his trail.

04- FEARLES KUNDRICK DUFO

When defiant Kundrick had boldly confronted his guardian in his study later still, demanding Sanzo validate this info, Sanzo Tezcat had simply suppressed an outward venting of his displeasure (at this obstinate upstart) and glared sternly at Kundrick.

 His gruff silence had, oddly enough, reaffirmed in Kundrick’s mind that the words Lios had spoken were the truth.  Thus beguiled, Kundrick Dufo (Zaur Stugr) had then complied willingly with all that was expected of him. 

After they had fled to safety, Kundrick had waited fruitlessly for many a day, looking forward to that time when he would be reunited with his father. Every night before going to sleep he’d envisioned (in his mind’s eye) the joyful event, how he would eagerly, elatedly greet his father and then excitedly blather away, recounting (relaying) the many hair-raising adventures he had already experienced.

When their urgent flight to safety had warranted a third move within one year, Kundrick Dufo bit more wizened (more able to discern a lie from the truth) and skeptical, this time he’d adamantly stood his ground, obstinate and unafraid.  Raising quite a ruckus he’d demanded the full explanation he felt was his right to have. On the verge of being bound, gagged, and forcibly transported, Sanzo Tezcat just then arriving on the disordered scene, in an icy tone (a voice commanding absolute obedience), had barked, “Put the boy down.”

Zaur could still envisage (visualize, picture) the riveting scene, how Sanzo’s brief, forbidding look that fanned the room had instantly frozen all commotion (clamor) and frenzied protestations.

 A tomblike (deadly) lethal tension had gripped the room as all, save for Kundrick, stood perfectly still with their heads lowered in abject contrition.

Sanzo Tezcat with slow, deliberate steps, hands clasped behind him, walked over to the window, and gazed absently outside; he stood there for what seemed an eternity, his hand then (grasping) resting on the hilt of his partially hidden stiletto (an ancient, ceremonial dagger). Sanzo’s dark green, piercing eyes subsequently had reverted back to Kundrick Dufo; noting with some amusement, the boy’s adamant stance and the unflinching stare of defiance returned back to him, Sanzo simply nodded.

In truth, despite the just then wavering, inexplicable fear Kundrick had felt in the pit of his stomach, determined not to show any weakness, he had obdurately (pig-headedly) tunneled his hard gaze into Sanzo's eyes.

The steward Lios, having been rather fond of the indomitable boy and at that moment fearing for his safety, had defied his subservient place to cough gently and to flash Kundrick with a worried look.

Quite unexpectedly however, Sanzo's face had suddenly softened (relaxed) and he threw his head back and gave a loud, boisterous laugh that resounded in the tense stillness of the air.

"Ignorance makes a lion of the lamb (young sheep)." Kundrick thought he heard Sanzo Tezcat grumble under his breath as he walked over (drew near) to the boy and seated himself comfortably into a plush chair.

“Who’s he calling a lamb?” Zaur remembered well, how he’d inwardly seethed in rage at the time. He was a real firebrand (a troublemaker, a real hothead) back then.

Kundrick’s fury unleashed he stood ready to pounce on Sanzo, “I’ll show him...” 

But then, steward Lios, catching the boy's attention just then, his eyes had implored Kundrick to keep still and to concede, warning him of dire chastisement if he persisted with his defiance.

05-SANZO TESCAT (10)

Sanzo Tezcat, well composed, with his hard gaze glued to Kundrick Dufo, had pondered on a concern for quite some time, as though the urgency of their flight had never existed and as if they had all the time in the world to spare.  In contrast, these precarious moments had dragged on, for Kundrick and presumably, for his friend and ally, Lios.

Then unexpectedly Sanzo had slightly leaned forward and indicated that Kundrick was to take the seat across from him as, with a singular look, he dismissed the steward and the rest of the servants from the room.  Kundrick Dufo, unflinchingly never taking his eyes once off his guardian, had complied.

Instead of the admonishment he had expected, however, Sanzo had, in a sympathetic, patient tone, promised that one day, when it was appropriate for him to do so, Kundrick would receive all the pertinent knowledge that he sought and that he, Sanzo himself, would answer unequivocally all Kundrick’s queries without the least reserve.

“Until then,” Sanzo had austerely ejected next, “it would be most dangerous for a boy of your stature (station), to possess too much knowledge.”

Looking away Sanzo had then in a softer tone distractedly added, “And since it seems we would be together for quite a long while, I prefer to have our relationship be, more affable (amiable).”

Sanzo, rebounding from that momentary sentiment quickly however, had again austerely exhorted (urged) Kundrick to behave, as his father would have wanted him to, with the decorum becoming of his station and to show the perseverance and self-discipline that was his innate (inherent) good breeding. 

Most incredible, Sorgun Dufo had been one of those rare, exceptional individuals (persons) who had won Sanzo's eternal gratitude and affection. Fortunately for Kundrick Dufo, he had been the beneficiary of all that respect Sanzo had held (felt) for his father and, though the boy had been nothing but a liability thus far, in fact, by this last defiant spectacle (demonstration) worn rather thin his privilege, Kundrick, as sole exception, had still been tolerated by his guardian.  Zaur had learned years later how dangerously close he’d come to being slayed that day.

It had taken tremendous amount of self-control on Sanzo’s part, not to have lashed out and simply offed (killed) the boy; in the end, during his pondering Sanzo seeing something in the boy, (in fact Kundrick had reminded him of his own unruly childhood-self,) that Sanzo had decided from henceforth, to judge the boy on his own merit (instead of his father's) and to give him one last chance.

Sanzo then had communicated to Kundrick in no uncertain terms that, if he wished to remain under his guardianship and in his good graces, absolute obedience was required and expected of him. The underlying tone of this last part (of Sanzo’s speech) had been most firm and severe, leaving no room for discussion or negotiation.

 

(END OF SECTION 10)

 

                                                                                   ~

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE STATE OF THINGS - SECTION 26

Canute Yonn swallowed heard, then fighting the blinding, throbbing pain in her head, he continued to relate (reveal) his mother’s tragic story to the indifferent (unsympathetic) ears in court. “Tresor and his wife Suen were a kindly folk; and at the beginning they took great pains with herbal tonics and diligent care, to save my mother’s life. After a partial recovery, however, she was again driven out into the cold; this time the culprit was poverty, and the humble farmer and his wife had to harden their heart to do this.  Their reasons being valid, I carry no ill will towards them."

“How very magnanimous of you," Mouro ejected sarcastically and sneered.

Disregarding him, Canute Yonn elucidated (explained) why he’d so readily forgiven them: "Their deprived circumstances were onerous enough, but that year’s incessant rain had spoiled most yields (crops) and created scarcity. This prohibited any acts of charity to kin, much less a stranger.  Famine had already claimed two of their children, one at the age of three, the other barely a year old. My mother, Helga, was crippled by Senson's countless blows to her legs and could not work the fields or do any other strenuous work; she was a liability and a hindrance to them.”

01-FARMER TRESOR

“Subsequently, with scant clothing and food, her baby a millstone in her belly, my poor mother drifted from place to place, scavenging, begging for alms, to survive.  All the while trying not to hate the innocent child, me, in her womb. I’m telling it as is, when she had later unburdened her heart to me. She had endured these unspeakable hardships, living for the day of her vengeance."

"See, trouble begets trouble.” Micen stroking his beard, mused heartlessly. “They should have made certain of the serving maid Helga’s death before abandoning her in the ditch; if they had, all this trouble now could have been averted."

"I came into this world in a house of ill-repute, where we stayed until the day of my mother's passing." Canute Yonn, oblivious, continued hoarsely.  "I grew up hearing her bitter, tragic sobs every night, for she had never grown accustomed to selling her body."  He gazed dully at the floor to hide his eyes, brimming with tears.  The rekindled pain of those times again tormented his mind, wrenching his soul.

                                                                                       ~

"Please don't cry, Mama!"  His heart breaking, Canute buried his face in the pillow to drown out his sobs.  What was it that ailed her so?  Who was Senson, this name she had so often, like now, cursed out loud in her sleep?  He was seven years old.  He felt quite grown up and he did the chores like grownups, but everyone still treated him like a child.  I'm old enough to understand, why won't she tell me?

He tossed his covers aside and, sitting up, fixed his gaze on the locked door that separated him from his mother.  The room, no bigger than a closet, in fact it had once been used as storage, had a tiny window so high up that it let through only a thin sliver of moonlight.  The wind was howling outside but the dancing shadows in the room did not scare him.

 I wish I could comfort her; he rubbed his eyes sleepily; I know she needs me.

 Hanging his head low he heaved a deep, stealthy sigh wishing he could forget that another, a stranger, who was sleeping snugly beside his mother.  As he tried to purge his heart of the gripping loneliness, troublesome thoughts and haunting questions again crowded his brain.  Why does Mama claim we have no family?  What about my father? 

Canute knew that his father was not dead, for once in slip of the tongue, she had referred to him in the present tense.  But why weren't they with him?  Wouldn't he be angry if he came here and found out she had slept with all these men?

He didn't play in the street anymore, for the other kids would tease him and call him and his mother all sorts of unmentionable names.  Like sharp slivers each name-calling stabbed at his heart.  Many a time he had retaliated with fierceness and pent-up anger, beating and dispersing all those who had ganged up on him.  Unfortunately, swift repercussions, beatings and berating soon followed from his elders in the house.  He was in a no-win situation.  Things will never change; why should I fight back (riposte)?  Still, a faint smile brushed his lips when he recalled the proper whipping, he had given to that big bully Yenn Katog, who was always inciting the other kids against him. It served him right!  And, it had more than made up for the thrashing he got later. 

He now stuck out his chest in self-congratulation.

Canute’s mind reverting back to his father, he reclined and closed his eyes in hopeful dreams, imagining that one day his noble, warrior father, their savior, would appear at their door, looking tall and distinguished, kindly and strong, to claim them.

02- CANUTE YONN'S IMAGINED FATHER

His heroic father would rescue them both from that ugly, intolerable existence.  For, to the marrow of his bones Canute detested this place he was forced to call home.  It broke his heart to see his mother ceaselessly tormented, day after day, by this uncaring, insensitive lot.

 Restless, he shifted his position.  His eyes fell on the discarded old plantation fan Tike had given to his mother.  He picked it up and examined it in the scant light, noting particularly the holes.  Absentmindedly he began gnawing at its edge.

 A few doors down he could hear that old tyrant of a house mother, Tike, scolding one of the girls.  In anger he threw the fan aside.  Oh, how he hated that callous old shrew who intimidated everyone, young and old!

He grimaced, thinking how when he was younger still, his mother had kept him in line with the threat that Tike ate disobedient, disrespectful children for supper and that was why she had gotten so fat.

Unsought, he saw before his mind's eye those venomous, piercing beads of eyes, encompassed by a gelatinous face which split into a threatening snarl to expose rows of rotted teeth.  "I'll get you yet, you piece of shit!" Tike was shaking a fat, threatening finger at him.  "Your days are numbered; wait and see!"  He retorted, clawing the air savagely to tear at her reverberating double chin that always seemed to drip perspiration.

03- CANUET FACES TIKE

 Tike thrived on tormenting people, always caning, hitting, beating and cursing everyone.  Never satisfied, never smiling, except at the guests, and then her smile was more hideous than her frowns and haunted his nightmares frequently.  She flogged him incessantly, not sparing the rod even at the slightest provocation.  Worse still, he resented being forced to behave, to be made to quietly submit to her abuse. His mother Helga was made to suffer the worst of it, for every one of his defiant acts.

He could hardly comprehend the extent of the fear Tike evoked in his mother's heart when Tike threatened to throw them out on their own.  In fact, had his mother Helga not been the prettiest and one of the key attractions of Tike's establishment, the street would have been their home a long, long time ago.

Oh, how I hate her!  I swear I'll kill her some day! he shook his clenched fist in the air.

The weeping and cursing finally muted after the slamming of several doors.  It was the same scenario being played out every night.

The following day Canute received an additional reason for despising Tike.  Canute's mother Helga had been sick for the last two or three days now, vomiting and feeling dizzy.  He was really concerned about her so, after the guest had gone, finding the door unlocked, he'd quietly snuck into her room and attempted to give solace to her.  She looked paler than usual.  When the steps of the old tyrant were heard approaching the door he heeded his mother's directive and made himself scarce.  Not wandering too far, he eavesdropped.

"Doctors cost money", he heard the shrew say.  "Besides, keeping it is out of the question."  A few other words he could not quite make out.  Then he observed Tike taking a small bottle from her pocket and handing it to his mother.  "There, I don't want you to think about it any longer.  I was good enough to get you this.  Never mind where I got it, just drink it.  He assured me it would get rid of the unwanted pest (nuisances).  You don't think this is the first time I've had to do this, do you?"

Canute watched with some trepidation hoping against hope that it was medicine to cure his mother’s ailment, as Helga with some reluctance, a grim, ghostly expression on her pale face, raised the foul-looking potion to her trembling lips.

"Don't drink it, Mamma!  It may be poison!" His fears triumphing (prevailing) over hope, he sprang from hiding place to shout his warning.

"The idea!” Tike turned her venomous eyes on Canute, panting with rage, hands brought menacingly to her hips.

 "You ungrateful brat, poisoning her, is that what you think I'm doing?  You, you a slandering scoundrel, you!  Haven't I warned you never to come here this early in the morning?  How long has he been there?"  She turned to Helga, worried that he may have inconvenienced last night's guest.  She had another good reason to be fearful, since abortion was illegal in Wenjenkun.  She needed to ascertain that Canute had not heard or understood enough to incriminate her.

"I'll tell-on you!" Canute warned, having sensed her fear.  "I'll have you locked up!" he shouted defiantly, not really knowing what he was threatening her with.

"You, wrenched viper in my bosom; I'll teach you to threaten me, you piece of shit!" shaking her finger at Canute Tike began to viciously berate and curse him as she pounced on Canute.

But Canute was too agile and too swift to be caught, not one with her bulk.

Huffing and puffing as enraged Tike chased him down the hall, her shouts to the others to grab him created such a pandemonium that the whole house was turned upside down.

In the end Canute had successfully slipped through those innumerable, vicious, grasping hands and hid. 

By dusk, when eventually the mayhem settled down and everyone returned to their routine tasks, exercising due caution, Canute Yonn stealthily emerged from his hiding place.

By providence spotting the old shrew, he, hugging the walls, followed Tike all the way back to his mother's room.

Once more Canute hid and, from this vintage point, watched and waited with his heart pounding, for Tike to have her say and depart. Tike’s face was beet-red from all that exertion as she huffed and puffed and animatedly gesticulating, flailed (flapped, waved)) those fleshy arms of hers.

What has she got so much to squawk (crow) about?

Curiosity, getting better of him Canute pressed his ear to the door and eavesdropped. 

On and on, with mounting rage and spurting poison, Tike cursed and scolded Helga, as she unmercifully, vented her cruel diatribes on the hapless, ailing (sick) young woman.

 "I told you to get rid of that brat long ago.  He'll never amount to anything, mark my words.  He's nothing but trouble.  You know he's no good, but then you're no better!  Why do you encourage him to come up here?  Are you stupid or something? Mother’s affection, baloney!  All useless emotions!  You've no business feeling love, not for a bastard, not for anyone!  Now you listen!  I'm just about at the end of my patience with you.  I'll only tell you this once more.  Harden your heart to him or you'll be made to suffer.  Then you'll be sorry.  Get rid of him now, I say, for he'll turn on you too one day.  Just wait.  Don't you know the innate nature of all men by now?"

Tike paced the floor to and for in an unusual quiet, as she mentally formulated (prepared) her next set of arguments and rested her vocals.

The door he was concealed behind, (whom patrons sometimes used) was still unlocked.  He pried it on ajar and peered in to see what was happening.  To his dismay, he saw the emptied bottle in Tike's hand as she toyed with it before returning it to her pocket. Tike was careful that way; making sure to retrieve any would be incriminating items (objects) and destroying it later.

 Suddenly, in a much calmer mood Tike, going over sat by Helga’s bed and, her enormous paws cupping Helga’s delicate hand, she began persuading the ailing woman, to agree to something.  Typically, the shrew was trying first, a kinder, gentler approach but Canute knew all too well that, if this did not produce the desired result, she would in (but a few minutes) a flash reverts to her vicious nature.

"Why don't you let me get rid of the pest…? Arr, I mean the boy, for you as well?  You don't have to do anything.  I'll handle the transaction for you.  Why must you be so stubborn? I have your best interest at heart. Why won't you take my advice?  Can't you see that in the long run it would be better for him, too? He’ll grow up in a normal home.  I saw mistress Wang just the other day.  They're looking for another bond servant; trouble is they don't want to pay for a fully grown one. Now, don’t be so quick to turn this down; wait till you hear the rest of it. “

“When she told me of their wish to purchase a boy close to their Therran's age, to keep him company, be his study- buddy and, for to keep their son out of trouble; I'd at once, being so selfless (altruistic), suggested Canute.  She said she'd consider it.  I had hoped that they would have forgotten about that regrettable incident between the two boys.  But listen, if you agree I'll do my best to persuade them to take Canute off your hands; sold for a pretty price, I’ll even get a smaller commission, just to help you out. Besides, couldn't you use another new dress or two?  You really ought to be thanking me for finding him a good home.  You know that if he grows up here, he'll turn on you, sooner or later.  He'll hate your guts for what you're doing.  He'll despise you to the core for ruining his life.  Also, you know as well as I do, that no respectable, good girl will ever marry the illegitimate (illicit) son of a whore.  So why don't you heed my sound advice and get rid of him now, while there's still a chance, while there's still time."

Canute Yonn’s fury rising to the boiling point, he felt he would just explode.  He shook violently, uncontrollably.  He'd just about had his belly full of resentment against that old bat.  Grinding his teeth, he was about to dash out to gouge her eyes out… When,

"I caught you, you little worm!"  A strong hand grasped the back of his neck and lifted him up high.  "So, this is where you've been hiding all this time."

"Let go of me!  Let me go, you cursed dog!"  In vain Canute, eyes agleam with anger, tried to kick and claw his captor, the big, strong bully called Ron, Tike's nephew who (periodically) helped her with the running of the business.

The relentless verbal and physical abuse that both Tike and Ron rained on Canute made his mother livid with fear, worsening her wretched condition still more.  Her tragic pleas for them to stop hitting her boy fell on deaf ears until; finally, she uttered the words Tike most wanted to hear.  Canute was dragged outside, still kicking and screaming, bouncing down the steps until he was violently thrown onto the dirt of the cellar floor.

"I'll teach you to respect your elders." Ron ranted like a mad bull.  "So, I'm a cursed dog, am I, you, ungrateful turd."

He grasped the heavy stick which rested by the stairs.  "You've had this coming to you for a long time.  Take this, and this!"  He pounded solidly and savagely on Canute's tender young flesh.  "Plead for mercy, you wretch, or I swear I'll kill you!"

Despite the excruciating pain, Canute held fast, bit his lip to stop from crying out until he passed out. When he came to the musty smell of dust had assailed his nostrils and dirt coated his tongue.  His battered head was throbbing fiercely.  His fingers tentatively touched the area where the pain was most intense, at the hairline.  Just then he felt a sharp, cutting pain in his ankle and kicked his leg, scaring away the timid rodent that had wanted a taste of his flesh.  His torn shirt and pants had already glued themselves to his wounds.  Though every inch of his body was seared with pain he lifted himself with determination and persistence to his feet. Muffling his groans he groped his way in that semi-darkness, his path barely illuminated with a sliver of light streaming from the small window way up there; with determination, he weaved his way slowly towards the door.  As he had expected, the door had been barred shut from the outside.  His revulsion growing stronger by the minute, he drummed up his last ounce of strength and savagely pounded his fists against the wood.

"Let me out!  Let me out!  I'll get you for this, you fiendish bastards!"

 His strength was ebbing.  "I'll show you.  You can't keep me here for long…I’ll kill you all, you, you…. beasts!”

Curses on his lips reduced to barely audible whimper, his breath now coming in gasps, Canute (limply) collapsed to the ground.  He remained there motionless for an undetermined time until he'd recovered some of his strength.  The urgency of his mother's condition gave him the will, the (fuel) ability to forsake his pain.

05- CANUTE IN CELLAR

Rising to his feet, he first determined the direction he wished to go then slowly felt his way to that far corner.  He was relieved to find things undisturbed and so, with some difficulty, pushed the empty, moldy cart to the side.  This was not the only time he had been cudgeled or flogged then imprisoned in the cellar but, the last time, he had, through his resourcefulness, discovered this exit, this burrow through the wall and, enlarging it a little, had crawled outside, stolen a steamed bun from the kitchen, then returned to his prison without being seen.  He had been smart enough to have concealed the opening of this escape route and had confided its existence only to his mother, in order to ease her anxiety.

                                                                                   ~

(END OF SECTION 26)