Dwellers of the New World Chapter Eighteen ( Pt 1 ) The Master Has Spoken

Back at the barracks, there was a rank smell of rotting flesh, as Gregor sauntered through the dimness of the tunnels inspecting his cells, where prisoners had been left to die. Some of the bodies Gregor had brushed from his thoughts; his motto being out of sight, out of mind. The dungeons much further back into the cave hadn't been touched for so long, many prisoners had been forgotten and died, their bodies now skeletons left in their own excrement.

“Get these cells cleaned out!” Gregor shouted at the guard. “I'll send some of my men to help.” Gregor couldn't remember the last time he'd entered the prison cave and couldn't believe the old man who guarded the place could sit in the stench.

“Yeah Sir! Right away Sir!” The little old man replied in a frail voice, scratching his dirty head that was riddled with lice, his teeth were black where he was too lazy to chew on sage leaves. He found it hard to look up at Gregor, his shoulders bent, there was a lump on the back of his neck that left him hunched over.

Inspecting his prison, got Gregor thinking about the Doom Chamber, he wondered if any of the boys down there were still alive, not having a real care if they were dead, but the fact it had been so long since he'd set foot in the place, got him thinking about his crystal and how he'd used it to go to another time and place. He was getting bored with this world and was in need of a fresh start.

As he patrolled, Gregor had a passing thought! He wondered whether the stranger that he'd shipped off to Wild Whistling Isle was dead, he was pleased at how he'd discovered how to use the weapon taken from the curious man who's name was Dawson, feeling even more powerful as he threatened to use it on anyone who didn't comply with his wishes.

It was late afternoon when he left the cells, darkness was approaching, and though the fog had cleared, the only thing standing between him and going to the Doom Chamber was the approaching night. Heading back towards the entrance to the prison, he'd seen enough and couldn't wait to get out. He turned and faced the guard before leaving. “Next time I come here, I want those bodies to be gone and disposed of, all these cells clean and ready for other prisoners.”

The guard rubbed his hands together shifting from one foot to the other grinning, his blackened teeth that had not quite fallen out, gave him pain, but he wouldn't show any sign of suffering – certainly not in front of the Master. “Yeah Sir! All will be present and correct. No time to stop Sir, need to get this place cleaned up Sir. Just gotta show you to the door Sir and I'll make a start.” He shuffled along behind Gregor, coughing as he went, his scrawny body pale from lack of sunlight.

Gregor loved the idea of being in control and people afraid of him, it gave the man a satisfying feeling. The guard locked the door behind Gregor, unaware of the stench the Master had mentioned. “Dunno what the Master do mean about cleaning up,” he said to himself. “Ain't never had to scrub the prison before. What to do with the bodies? Ain't never had to dispose of the dead before either.” He thought about what Gregor had said and decided, he would leave it up to Gregor's men to burn them, then he would scrub out the smell as best he could. Muttering to himself as he went about his business. “Don't know what all the fuss be about, the smell ain't that bad, anyway won't be long before a new batch of prisoners arrive.” He had no qualms about talking to himself, being on his own most of the time.

Gregor made his way back to his cabin. As he entered, young Sam was carving out some pieces of wood to use as spears. “Well! Well! I see you're becoming quite the genius at weapon making.”

Sam looked up from what he was doing, grinning he put the spear down. “Yeah Sir! Well I was taught by you Master. I've made some bows and arrows like you showed me, also some slings, they'll come in handy for when I need to hunt. What do you think Sir?”

Gregor liked Sam and found him a great companion who was always ready to support him. “I think you've improved your skills greatly, just need to teach you how to use them, we'll go out hunting – maybe tomorrow. He'd completely forgotten about the cells and was ready for some supper. “Go tell cook I'm hungry – get yourself a bowl of stew while your there.”

Sam jumped up immediately, ever faithful. “Yes Sir! I'm on it now Sir.” Leaving the cabin, he darted across the yard to where cook was stirring a huge cauldron. “Master's hungry – wants his supper now.” Without waiting to hear what she had to say, he was about to run back, when he remembered to ask for a bowl for himself. Turning round he declared. “Master said I could have a bowl too.”

Cook put the spoon down and wiped her hands in her skirt. “Well! That's gracious of him.” She served up a huge bowlful for Gregor with some bread, saying; “Now you take this to the Master, then you can come back for your own food.”

Sam was always in a hurry, but now he took the bowl and bread from cook and made his way slowly back, almost afraid he'd tip some of the stew. When he reached the cabin, the guard opened the door smiling at the boy. “You be careful with that, Master won't be too pleased if you waste any.”

Sam gazed up at the guard, a pained expression on his face, he didn't like others telling him what to do, only the Master could order him around. As the boy entered, Gregor clapped his hands and sat at the table, as Sam set the food down carefully. “Good boy – now go get your own food, no time to waste, we'll get an early night tonight, there's lots to do tomorrow and maybe even some hunting! What do you think of that Sam?”

The boy gave a cheeky grin, turned and ran back out the door. It wasn't long before he returned, licking his lips, as he placed the food down on the table. He breathed in the aroma, savouring the steaming food. Gregor now allowed him to sit at the table. Sam felt special now he was Gregor's faithful companion.

Dwellers of the New World Chapter Eighteen ( Pt 2 ) Night Time Expedition | ABCtales