Chapter Five: The Weakest Link

            Rain made the days even more miserable. Bailey had assumed that working under a hot sun was the worst possible condition, but apparently, he had been wrong. Whilst it was true that the sun burned your back, dried your mouth and made you sweat, the rain had its own fair share of curses to go around. It had begun as all the slaves were lining up in the encampment courtyard, and at first the Timberwolf had been glad of it. They’d had several days of nightmarish heat, and the light patter of water droplets felt good on his shirtless chest. As they walked towards the docks however, he began to understand why the others were complaining. The rain drenched Bailey’s fur, and as he was walking he could feel himself getting heavier. He began to realise as they approached the dock that when he was a Lord, the extra weight of wet fur wasn’t an issue; he could simply dry off whenever he needed, as well as spending the majority of the time indoors. But now he’d be spending the entire day out here under the onslaught. The second issue was even more pressing; the boarding planks to the ships were narrow, flimsy wooden things – even on the best of days. When they were being attacked by the sky like this however, the planks became slippery and difficult to cross without hazard. As Bailey boarded the ship, he looked down into the depths a few metres beneath him, the filthy harbour water slopping limply between the ships wooden hull and the docks stone wall. Fall down into that crack and…well he couldn’t imagine Turin putting in any great effort to rescue him. Lost into that meat grinder and your bones would quickly be crushed like biscuits. Of course, the general darkness that accompanied the storm didn’t help at all either.

            Despite these factors, the crew got under way soon enough, and Bailey fell into a rhythm that he’d been slowly learning over the last few weeks. He’d lost track of exactly how long he’d been a part of the dock crew, but it must be a while now. His body had lost all traces of lordly excess, that old, yet comparatively small layer of fat he used to carry around his stomach was all but gone now. He used to be so self-conscious about that, and now there were few things he wouldn’t do to see it return. Bailey tried to follow the advice of his ‘friends’, if you could call them that, and forget his old life. His mind would often wander to the palace, and he’d found that he would need to make a conscious effort to ignore the thoughts of his old friends. Of his father.

            Bailey found that the idea of Aldrich dead was still unreal; his father had been a constant in his life. Granted, it wasn’t always a pleasant one, but the Timberwolf had been there, a pillar of Bailey’s identity…well, of Alistair’s identity. He couldn’t imagine life at the palace without him. In fact he could barely remember the palace life at all anymore. It all seemed so…vapid, and shallow. The things they worried about up in their towers, were of such little importance in the real world sometimes Bailey felt like laughing. Other times, he felt like crying. How quickly it became them, instead of us. He thought wanly.

            “You, take this!” A large fur cried over the thunderous rain. It was the tiger that had harassed him and Misha a week or so ago, the one that had stolen their food. Bailey tensed for a moment; he’d been doing his best to avoid the big cat since the confrontation. However there seemed to be almost no recognition in the tiger’s eyes, and so he accepted the large crate being handed to him and nodded hastily. He turned, balancing the wooden box on the front of his waist as he made his way over the sighing ‘bridge’ and down to the street level. He flinched as the wood creaked beneath his foot, but it held just fine in the end. Bailey set the crate down next to a stack of others just like it, waiting to be loaded into another cart by the second grouping. He wiped the rain out of his eyes, then turned and went back onto the ship’s deck for another load. He passed Misha on his way, giving the mutt a smile as he did so. Misha was probably the only one Bailey could say was his friend with any certainty. He went out of his way to sit with the Timberwolf and talk to him. The two almost had fun together, laughing and carrying on. Resh was nice enough, but he acted closer to something like an uncle, or distant father. Garret was perhaps the most interesting fur that Bailey had ever met in his life, but the Akita made a good habit of keeping his distance – from everyone.

            Another crate was shoved into his paws, and Bailey turned on the spot and began trudging back towards the pile of crates on the road. The fur he knew as ‘Dirk’ was currently working with a few others to begin loading them onto a waiting wagon. Out of the corner of his eye, Bailey caught Turin staring at him. The jackal stood beneath a doorway, scowling. He seemed to have some kind of personal vendetta against the Timberwolf, always conveniently looking the other way whenever anything happened to him. Luckily Bailey had managed not to mess up badly enough to earn a proper beating, but the jackal had never been short on screams directed at his groups. He had no delusions that the instant the Slave Lord could justify beating him within an inch of his life he would, the only thing stopping him was his own superior’s rules against superfluous violence. Garret had told Bailey that Walter Randor, the Slave Master of the city and the one to first welcome him to slave life, had a strict rule that all punishments had to be earned. Turin would probably ignore this rule, except for the fact that Randor had other furs stationed around the slave group to ‘assist’ him, and they wouldn’t hesitate to tattle on the jackal. At first Bailey had thought the rule was kind, and almost reasonable, but then he realised just how little it could take to ‘earn’ a punishment. Walking slow, losing your grip, complaining, making eye contact with a Slave Lord for too long…the list was comprehensive to say the least.

            The day carried on much like that for hours on end. It worked like some piece of mechanical machinery, ticking over methodically. The same repetitive motions played out again and again. Bailey had at first expected the work to at least build muscle on his slim body, but he’d soon discovered that the slaves were hardly fed enough to keep going, let alone actually gain weight. He often found himself wondering if the slaves were treated well, with some level of kindness or dignity, how much more efficient could they be? Then he began to question the whole idea of slavery as a whole. Growing up as a pup, questioning the trade of living people had never occurred to him. That was just the way the world worked. Some were born as Lords, some were born as slaves. His religious teachings had always reinforced the idea too; before the Allgod died, he made certain that everyone who came after him would find their way to where they belonged. The pieces of his soul that supposedly resided within every living fur made sure of it.

But that was before. It was easy to say that some deserved to be slaves, when your father was the Lord of War. It was easy to look down on others and assume yourself better by only luck. Bailey found other questions raised by the teachings too. Why did it seem one could only go down in station? Nobody ever rose out of the station of being a slave to become a Lord. While it was true that sometimes furs managed to buy back their freedom, or even be set free by a kindly master, they were released into the city as ordinary citizens. And if the Allgod made sure that everyone went where they deserved, did that mean that Bailey deserved to be here? To be treated like this? He hadn’t done anything wrong, his father had. Aside from that, he thought Resh, Garret and Misha to be good furs too; surely they didn’t deserve this nightmare of a life as well?

            The questions overwhelmed him, and more often than not, it was easier to simply ignore them.

            The scream that rang out in the air shook all of the slaves from their stupor. Bailey was standing on the ship deck at the time, and he immediately ran to the side to see who was wounded. The cry had been high, almost girlish in pitch. He looked over the edge, searching the dock until he saw the figure. It was Misha, lying back on the gangplank, the crate he’d been carrying atop one of his feet. The mutt had slipped in the wet, dropping the box on himself. Bailey watched as two other slaves pulled the crate back, stacking it with the others. The mutt held two trembling paws above his ankle, grunting and hissing at the pain. He cried out as the two slaves that had removed the box hefted him, pulling him off the slippery wood and dumping him onto the street. His foot had been twisted by the heavy crate, and while Bailey doubted it was broken, it would at least be a bad sprain.

            “Is that everything loaded off?” Turin called to the few furs still standing on the ship. Bailey watched as three of them, incidentally led by the brutish tiger, carried the last few crates off and nodded to the Slave Lord. Bailey followed after them, although he felt exposed with nothing in his paws. “Well, get it loaded into the wagons, quickly.” He snapped, turning to the whimpering mutt.

            “I can’t walk, it hurts so much.” Misha cried, sobbing from the pain. He clutched his shin ruefully, rocking back and forth slightly. Turin crouched down next to him.

            “Should have been paying attention then, huh?” He barked, before lightly poking the ankle. Misha gasped, throwing his head back and recoiling. Bailey just watched with wide eyes. Turin seemed to catch him staring, a cruel grin flashing briefly across his face. “Well, if you can’t walk, you ain’t any good to me. I don’t have freeloaders on my crew.”

            “What do you want us to do with him?” One of the other slaves asked. It was a larger wolf of some kind, but Bailey didn’t know his name. Turin shrugged, waving a paw dismissively.

            “Leave him. I don’t want to waste time dragging him along behind us.” He said, turning away. Bailey glanced around warily. They were just going to leave him here? Like this? He searched out the other slaves, quickly finding Garret’s tall frame in the crowd. The young wolf hurried over to the older fur, grabbing his arm. Garret instinctively flinched, turning to Bailey with his lips pulled up, baring his teeth. He relaxed as he realised who it was.

            “Don’t sneak up on me like that.” He spat, jerking his arm free and turning back to the wagon he was loading.

            “Turin said he wants to just leave Misha here.” Bailey said, furrowing his eyebrows, a slight whine in his tone. He was still confused. “Isn’t he worried about him running off and escaping?”

            “It’s a pretty common practice, to leave the wounded behind.” Garret answered, looking back to the wolf and gesturing at the whimpering Misha. “Look at him; he has his brand, and the manacles. The guards will come along soon enough, and without a Slave Lord to mind him…well, they’ll just get rid of him.” The Akita said finally, looking away again. Bailey gasped and grabbed Garrett’s arm again.

            “You mean they’ll kill him?” He asked, panic in his voice. Garret nodded slowly, refusing to meet Bailey’s stare. “We have to do something, we can’t…Misha can’t die. You have to do something. He’s my friend.” The younger wolf said, tears brimming in his eyes. Garret said nothing, and Bailey thumped a fist ineffectually on his back. When it seemed clear that the Akita would do nothing to help, Bailey cursed him and turned away. He jogged over to the crying Misha, just as all the other slaves were preparing to leave. The rain seemed to beat down harder than ever, as if were actively fighting against the young wolf.

            “Here, let me help.” Bailey said, linking an arm underneath Misha’s, the two of them stumbling to their feet. Turin spotted the mess, walking over deliberately. “You have to let me help him!” Bailey said pathetically, before the Slave Lord could get a word in. “He can still be valuable!” Turin shrugged.

            “Not in this state.” He seemed to consider the mewling mutt, eyeing up the Timberwolf too. His lips paused, as if he were about to refuse Bailey’s request but thought better of it. There was a flash of cruel inspiration in his eyes. “Listen Lordling, I won’t stop you. But I will be locking the encampment doors as soon as the others are all inside, if you don’t keep up…well…” He waved a paw in the air. “And if you somehow do make it, there’s no food tonight, for either of you. I’d just leave the worthless scrap.” He pulled his mouth back in a gruesome smile; it was a distorted perversion of something joyous, plastered across his face. Bailey felt his stomach grow cold, but he nodded, accepting the terms. Turin waited for a moment, as if expecting the young slave to drop his friend and run, but Bailey stood firm. The jackal just shrugged, and turned around to order all his slaves to begin walking.

            “We have to keep up.” Bailey muttered to Misha as they began to walk. “He won’t slow down for us.” The mutt just nodded, panting heavily from his pain. Every few steps they slipped on the wet harbour’s cobblestones, unbalancing themselves. Every few steps, the slaves seemed to gain just a few paces more on them. Bailey was starting to panic, when he felt some of the weight of Misha being lifted. He looked across the mutt to see Garret standing there, Misha’s free arm draped across his shoulders, his expression stoic.

            “We have to be faster than this.” He grunted, picking up their pace. Bailey nodded, trying to match the Akita’s broad steps. Before, he had been assisting Misha to walk; now it felt like the two of them were doing something closer to carrying the injured fur. His good foot only occasionally touched the ground, spurring them onwards as it did so. They kept going, puffing from the exertion, but slowly gaining speed on the slave troupe.

            Garret wondered just what the hell he was doing. Risking his neck and food, for these two idiots? He’d warned himself about getting attached to the newcomers. He shouldn’t allow it, the only thing he had to gain was hurt when they inevitably succumbed to the world they lived in. It’d be faster to just let them both die here…But deep down Garret knew what had made him break away from the others and come to help. It hadn’t been for Misha. It had been Bailey. There was something about the wolf that he liked. A sense of honesty, or maybe it was simply naivety. Either way, when he’d glanced back to realise that the former Lord would be locked outside the gates and sentenced to death by guard…he couldn’t help himself.

            The boy is too new, he doesn’t know yet. I’ll stick by him until he understands, then see if I can get moved to another team. Garret thought. The fact that Bailey had accepted not having dinner that night was enough to tell him the wolf was still deluded. He probably still thought this was some kind of game, a time-out that would soon end. A part of Garret despised the Lordling’s life; another part of him envied it. He’d never known niceties. Even before being sold like a thing he’d had it rough. Hunger had been a constant companion, night pains and cramps from lack of nutrition a constant in his growing years. He’d even been completely and utterly betrayed by the one person who he thought he could trust, the only one who he’d thought was certain to love him.

            Garret had a lot of scars, and soon, Bailey would too.  

            They made it through the gate eventually, sagging from the weight and collapsing from having to rush the last few metres. Misha was sobbing from the pain and relief; he’d thought himself dead from his injury. Even Bailey was panting desperately, those last few steps had been practically a run. He was puffing so hard he thought he might vomit, his stomach in twisted knots. It had only hit home that he’d almost died after the gates slammed shut and he spied Turin across the yard glaring at them. Misha stayed sitting in the mud, cradling his foot and whimpering as Bailey and Garret stood carefully. Bailey stepped forward and embraced Garret in a tight hug. His chest ached, and Garret felt his face grow hot as the younger lordling gripped him tightly. Don’t do this. The older fur accosted himself.

            “Thank you.” Bailey panted between gasps, talking into the Akita’s thick neck fur. Garret grunted, shoving the wolf backwards and growling at him.

            “Don’t ever do anything that stupid again. You have no idea how dangerous that was, you almost got yourself, and me, killed.” He snapped, and Bailey’s face fell. His grin disappeared into a hurt look of pain, but Garret refused to be guilt-tripped.

            “But we saved him…” Bailey said meekly, pointing to Misha, who was now rocking slightly and hissing.

            “You don’t understand anything, do you? He’s a thing. You’re a thing you idiotic child. Nobody here cares about you. No one wants to make sure you see tomorrow. Do you know how it feels to go hungry? Do you know how awful it will feel tomorrow when we work, without anything to fill us? I wouldn’t be surprised if the exact same thing happens again.” Garret spat, his frustration all bubbling to the surface at once. Why had he let himself get sucked in by the young idiot? He should have ignored him. If he wanted to die, he should be allowed to. Garret owed him nothing. “If it does, don’t expect any help from me again.”

            “But then why did you come back in the first place?” He asked in a defeated voice. His eyebrows fell, and Garret looked away. Stupid puppy eyes. The kid had had an easy life, he didn’t deserve to be coddled anymore.

            “Because it’d be stupid for you to die for something you didn’t understand yet. Next time, I wouldn’t count on my help.” He said, growling slightly. Bailey looked as if he were about to speak, but Garret pushed past him, stalking off to the sleeping hall.

            “Thank you Bailey.” Misha said from the ground, tears streaming down his face. Bailey just smiled, he felt drained. The rain bucketing down on them did nothing to help the feeling either, it was hard to shake the feeling that even the weather wanted them to fail. The Timberwolf reached down and helped the mutt to his feet, and this time Misha hugged him. Bailey felt slightly taken aback, but slowly reached a paw up and patted the trembling dog’s back.

            “It’s okay.” He said softly, feeling Misha fall into his arms, being held entirely now by Bailey. “We need to get inside, get dry. Otherwise we’ll be sick too.” Misha nodded slowly, linking an arm around Bailey’s shoulders.

            Later that night the two sat up, dimly lit in the corner of the hall by the light of the moon. Bailey had borrowed a length of bandage from Garret, who had after some nagging had begrudgingly relented the material. It was wrapped tightly around Misha’s foot, holding the sprain in place, hopefully it wouldn’t take too long to heal well enough for the mutt to walk. Their stomachs ached now, and Bailey found that he felt weak. His limbs were trembling and his mouth throbbed. There was no way he could sleep, and Misha seemed to feel the same.

            “Who were you?” Misha asked suddenly, speaking in a low whisper so as not to alert the other slumbering furs. “I mean…before you were here.” He blushed, looking away as if he regretted even asking. Bailey sighed.

            “I…I don’t know.” He said, trailing off.

            “If you don’t want to talk about it…that’s okay too.” Misha said hastily, raising his paws up. Bailey smiled.

            “No, it’s okay.” He said, although he made a mental note to be vague in his descriptions. “I was…someone important. Not like this at all.”

            “Did you live in the palace?” Misha asked hesitantly, and Bailey raised an eyebrow. While he had lived inside the palace, it was only because his father had been a Lord of War. Many nobles lived in the richer districts of the city, or even in other cities controlled by the Tevarian Empire. He supposed it made sense however that most furs who grew up on the street would assume all important nobility resided within the palace. Slowly, he nodded.

            “Yeah. My father was…an important person. We had to meet with the King a lot.” Misha’s eyes went wide.

            “Wow. I…what was he like?” He asked, and Bailey frowned. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about before. What was King Hulrich like?

            “He was…I don’t know. Stern. Kingly I guess. I didn’t talk with him very much at all. It doesn’t matter. My father wanted me doing other things. Studying, learning to one day take his place I suppose. Not that I ever really wanted that.” He paused. That wasn’t a thought Bailey had ever before had. Not that I ever really wanted that. He repeated silently. Growing up, it had always been acted as if Bailey taking his father’s place was a sure thing. He had studied wartime strategy, despite having a severe lack of interest in the subject.

            “At least you had a father.” Misha said, smiling wanly. “Did you have a girl?” Bailey shrugged. Laris. He hadn’t thought about the girl in a very long time. She’d been the last thing on his mind these last few…weeks? Months? He wasn’t sure how long he’d been living this life. Technically they had been engaged, a part of him felt guilty for not feeling sadder she was gone.

            “Sort of.” He admitted. Misha grinned.

            “Oh, sort of? What was her name? Was she…y’know, alright?” He asked, sidling up a little closer to Bailey. Bailey blushed furiously, his face growing hot as he looked away.

            “Her name was Laris. I…didn’t know her very well really. Not well enough. We were going to be married eventually, when she was old enough.” He explained. Misha rolled his eyes.

            “You were going to marry her and you didn’t know her very well? That doesn’t make any sense Bails.” He said, using a nickname that only Resh and Misha ever used. Garret had snorted a dismissive laugh upon hearing the cut down version of his new name, and Bailey had felt ashamed of it since.

            “Well, we were only organised to be married because it was a good alliance for our houses. We didn’t actually court each other, not properly. I was simply told one day that I was to marry her. I don’t know. I suppose I was fine with it, but…she just never interested me that much.” Bailey said, feeling deflated. His friends had always lusted after girls, even though most of them were also engaged, they’d chased the females like…well, like dogs. Bailey had always felt a little left out in their conversations going over recent ‘conquests’, as if he were missing something they all understood.

            “You never even courted?” Misha paused, grinning childishly. “Didn’t you two ever…well, y’know…” He shrugged, and Bailey stared for a moment, before his face flushed with embarrassment.

            “Uh…no. No we never did.” He admitted, looking away. Some of the other boys he knew had their own side girls, despite being engaged. It was a common noble practice really, to have a wife for politics and appearance, and a mistress for fun and sometimes (but not usually) love. Female furs they would meet with on the weekends in secret. His friends would often regale Bailey with their tales of sexual exploration, but he’d always found the topic somewhat…dull. At least when they were describing the girl, when the guys occasionally mentioned stuff about themselves he’d find himself…weirdly interested. It freaked him out, and he’d avoided the conversations as much as possible.

            “Oh. But you did it with someone, right?” Misha prodded, poking Bailey in the arm. He flinched, and squirmed on the spot. Misha poked him again when he hadn’t answered, and finally Bailey gave in. He exhaled deeply, rolling his eyes and swearing under his breath.

            “No. No I never did…that.” He said, feeling the warmth in his face. He was certain that a cook could use his forehead to sizzle a piece of sausage on right now. Still. Misha was a good friend, and it felt…wrong to lie to him. The mutt began giggling, rocking back and forth on the spot. Bailey glanced away, ashamed. A sleeping fur sat up and cursed the giggling dog, telling him to shut up. Misha tried to hush, but he was still beaming with glee.

            “Gosh. I first did when I was nearly fourteen.” Misha confessed, and Bailey gawked. So young. He hadn’t known his tail from his ears when he was that age, let alone how to even speak to girls, forget bedding them.

            “I guess things are different on the street.” He said with a sigh, and Misha frowned.

            “You’re not any better because of it...” He said, sounding slightly hurt. Bailey winced, realising he had just kind of put the mutt down offhandedly.

            “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that…just that, well things are done differently I guess.” He explained, and Misha seemed pleased with the response. He shuffled a little closer, leaning against Bailey for warmth.

            “You’re a good friend Bails. I don’t really know what I’d do here without ya.” He said casually, closing his eyes and mumbling. Bailey felt himself flush, the fur on the back of his neck standing on end.

            “Um…thanks, I guess. You’re nice too.” He said meekly. Misha let his head sag, resting it on the Timberwolf’s shoulder. It was an odd thing to do, but Bailey found it pleasant. He didn’t want to push the mutt away, the gentle, ambient heat coming off him was nice. The two didn’t sleep much that night, but eventually they fell asleep on top of one another like that, comfortable in the shared warmth of their fur.