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013 - Meed [medieval horror]

[Warning: long chapter ahead]

"GRUEL!" Broderick called out, a giant pot of a yellowish brown substance gently swaying against his hip as he walked.

It was his first duty of the day and already managed to set him in a poor mood, a fact that often meant the prisoners could go hungry.

Stopping at the first cell he banged his ladle on the bars.  The prisoner within, an elderly man, scrambled to the front of his cell, bowl in hand.  Before he could thrust it between the bars Broderick dumped his serving onto the floor.

Broderick guffawed as the old man dropped his bowl and fell to the floor, desperately trying to soak up what he could with a shred of cloth.

"That's the third morning in a row, old timer.  You better smarten up and be ready or you'll waste away in 'ere."

Turning away from the miserable spectacle he continued down the hallway with another shout of gruel and found bowls held ready at the next three cells.

"Aye, good, good," he muttered, as he began to fill the bowls.

It was when he reached the last cell that he found a surprise: a new prisoner, and one in fancy dress at that.

"Breakfast already?" the man asked with a smile.

Broderick eyed him wearily, people did not smile down here unless they were mad.  "Gruel."

"Ah, very good," he replied, as Broderick filled his bowl.  The man's hands were clean and he wore two beautiful rings.

"Who brought you in 'ere?" Broderick asked in a hushed tone.  This prison was his domain and in his six years as head jailor he had been aware of all comings and goings.

"Palace guards about, oh, four hours ago," the man replied, slurping his gruel.  "This is quite good, better than some of the food at the party, I dare say."

Broderick grumbled.  The palace had its own holding cells in the dungeon and so something was not adding up.

Heading back the way he came Broderick asked some of the more cooperative prisoners about their new compatriot only to find no one had seen him being brought in (although a few had heard footsteps and the cell door closing).

Frustrated, Broderick returned to the new prisoner's cell.

"What's yer name?"

The prisoner hopped up from his haybed and waltzed over to the barred door.

"I would have yours first, if you don't mind."

Broderick, still unsure of the prisoner's status, bit his tongue.

"I do mind.  What's yer name?"

The prisoner's smile faded, but only slightly.  "William of Kant.  And yours."

"Broderick," he grumbled, "just Broderick."

"Well, I am sure you will agree with me, Lord Broderick, that a gentleman such as myself is out-of-place in such a space... not that you should be here any more than I," he hastily added.

Broderick did not like where this was going.

Reading him well, William quickly went on.  "That is to say, I suspect there may have been a mistake in my being deposited here.  If you could possibly look into this, I would be ever so grateful."

Broderick said nothing and turned to leave.

"I am sure your efforts would be rewarded," William added, inspecting the rings on his hands.  "If not by me then by the King, who is sure you give you your due meed."