Raising Evzen - 6. A Touch of Cream

Hands wrapped the base of Sasha’s tail tightly, the Faro biting down on one of the spare dowels. His bone was held in place, the motion of his tail stunted, and honestly, he couldn’t be happier. Maybe he’d start wearing a wrap all the time, just to keep from showing so much emotion.

“I don’t know if you’re just stupid, or actively suicidal,” Radek grunted. “You’re lucky Pan wasn’t around to hear Pan Evžen playing the piano.”

“I got him to play a few notes on the violin,” Sasha replied. “It was a good start.”

The fox tucked the dowel away, pulling up his pants carefully around the wrap. He took a deep breath as the fabric brushed the broken bone. It still hurt, and it was going to hurt for a while longer, but he knew it would be fine eventually. He’d be sore for a drak, but he’d never let discomfort get to him before, and Sasha would not let it get to him now.

“You still have four bells to rest. Use them well,” Radek said, rising to his feet.

The Daknar stepped from the dark room, the sound of his feet carrying through deserted halls to one of the stairways that led to the house above. Sasha stood up himself, allowing himself the privilege of a yawn in the lonely silence of the room. Four bells was more than enough sleep, and the Faro hurried from the room, eager to try out the bedding in his new home.

Following Radek’s directions, Sasha found himself in a surprisingly large hall, staring at a collection of bare pallets. A simple rag sat beside each, barely enough to be rolled into a pillow. It mattered little to the Faro; it was what he had to work with, and he would make do.

He rolled the fabric around his arm and set it at the head of a pallet, before stripping from his uniform to his underclothes. Another uniform sat waiting for him, in case the masters needed him for any purpose. Settling onto the wooden surface, Sasha ran his fingers through his soft fur, carefully pulling each strand apart. Marble Faro were prized for their fur, and he knew his masters would not be happy if he allowed his fur to be damaged by sleep. A proper brush would be better, but that was for Evžen to provide.

It took a moment to find a position that wasn’t twisting his tail. Sasha used the jolts of pain to further lock his cries away. He would not, could not, slip up around Evžen. To do so would ensure agony, and more than that, it would let the young master believe pain was the solution to everything.

Sasha would not let his master be so deceived.

He had barely closed his eyes when a quiet alarm chimed in the room. Eyes creaked open quickly, the Faro picking himself up carefully in the dark. Radek was already leaving the room, blue and red uniform flashing in a dim light. Sasha shut the alarm off, and collected his new uniform, before making his way through the dark halls to a bathroom.

Rusty water poured into an iron basin. Carefully, Sasha removed his tail wrap and descended into the cold liquid. He counted his breaths as the Lidikrys did, one of his breaths to every two of theirs. Forty breaths in, his body glistened with shampoo, fingers running through every bit of his fur to ensure no spot was left untouched. Eighty breaths in, the Faro was out of the basin, soapy water swirling down the drain.

Another twenty breaths in the air room left his fur billowing, crackling with bits of static as he dressed. The wrap went around his tail again, Sasha challenging his body with the dull agony of adjusting the broken bone. Pulling the wrap tight, the Faro laced his pants up, covering himself before buttoning his shirt properly.

Barely three hundred breaths after waking, Sasha emerged from the slave quarters, dressed and ready for whatever the masters would throw his way.

He passed Radek in the kitchen, the Daknar stopping the Faro with a leg as he worked a roll of fresh dough.

“The young master is expected to visit Ambroz today. He will not go willingly.”

“How do I put a positive spin on the trip?” Sasha asked quietly.

“Ambroz is taking him and the Anderle pup to the Houbové Louky arena. I believe they are watching a Císařský and two Střední matches so Ambroz can judge their reactions to both.”

“I assume the Krvavý Škrtič will not be present?”

“As far as I know, he’s campaigning in the Outer Rim, providing entertainment for the Lidikrys fighting the Kanin,” Radek shrugged. “But Pan Evžen is rather fond of Jindřich.”

“Pan Anderle?”

The Daknar nodded, digging into the bread.

“Good to know,” Sasha sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good luck. Hope he doesn’t ruin the rest of your tail.”

The Faro left the room without comment, passing into Evžen’s room silently. He stepped through to the closet between Evžen’s and Tomas’ rooms, closing the door before flicking on a light.

A moment’s searching provided two outfits; one for breakfast, and one for Evžen to wear to the arena. The day’s outfit hung simply from a hanger, providing no embellishment, leaving the Lidikrys looking plain. Sasha figured it was the safest option. He didn’t want Mistr Ambroz to be drawn to the young master after all, and from what he was hearing, neither did Bohdan.

The master’s clothes set out for the day, Sasha lifted Evzen’s laundry basket, carrying it carefully out of the room.

“Does Pan need laundry done?” the Faro asked as he stepped into the kitchen.

“Pan will not have his laundry sullied by washing it with his son’s,” Radek said, shoving the bread into the oven. “I will wash his clothing separately.”

Shrugging at the idiosyncrasies of wealthy Lidikrys, Sasha carried his load to the laundry room. It only took a few minutes to prepare the water, and the Faro returned to the keeping room, taking a soft rag to run over the instruments within.

A soft padding of feet alerted him to his master’s presence, and Sasha straightened up, adopting a neutral look as he carefully put the violin away. Stepping into the breakfast nook, the Faro knelt before his master, taking in the rumpled bed clothes that covered the Lidikrys.

“Your father will not be happy if you come to breakfast like this, Pane,” Sasha said quietly. “Perhaps we can get you dressed in something more suitable for eating?”

Evžen yawned widely, sharp teeth flashing in the light overhead. He rested his head on the table, one eye staring at Sasha as the other closed.

“Pan Novák will not let you meet with Pan Jindřich later if you aren’t properly dressed. Shall I go inform him you do not wish to see your friend?”

“I don’t want to be with Mistr Ambroz…” the Lidikrys muttered. “Jindřich can play with him on his own.”

“And you want to miss out on a day away from home, watching gladiators fighting?” Sasha prodded.

The Lidikrys’ other eye opened, and he finally sat up. Letting out an indifferent sigh to show the Faro the whole thing was a drag, Evžen dropped to the ground before scurrying back to his bedroom. Sasha followed at a distance, listening to the Lidikrys digging through the closet.

Stepping into the closet, the Faro pulled a plain outfit off the rack, showing it to his master.

“Do you think this will work for breakfast, Pane?”

The Lidikrys snatched it out of his hands, carrying the clothing to the bedroom. He paused suddenly, frowning at Sasha.

“Why aren’t you limping?”

“Should I be limping, Pane? I thought we wanted to show your father you could take care of a pet,” Sasha said apologetically, lowering his head.

The Lidikrys shook his head silently, staring back at the clothes in his hands.

“These don’t have buttons.”

“No, Pane, these you just pull on. They’re less formal than what you’ll wear later. I thought that would be best-”

A sharp slap shook the Faro, his head following the blow. He lowered his head again, not bothering to rub the stinging cheek.

“Slaves aren’t supposed to think!”

“Yes Pane. I’m sorry Pane.”

Yet another rule instilled by the Lidikrys’ father, likely to prevent slaves from revolting. It was utterly nonsense of course; Sasha was thinking constantly. Not that he was about to argue with his master; that would not be a productive use of his time.

Still, the Lidikrys pulled off his clothes, waiting for his slave to dress him. Sasha pulled the fabric over Evžen’s torso, carefully adjusting his master’s arms into the sleeves. Walking the Lidikrys into a pair of pants, the Faro slid them up Evžen’s legs, lacing the hole on the back shut around the Lidikrys’ tail.

“There you go, Pane. Now Pan Novák can’t find fault with you for breakfast.”

“He’ll find a reason,” Evžen muttered, hurrying from the room.

Sasha followed close behind, feeling the ache of his tailbone as he sped after his master. Evžen slipped back into the breakfast nook, staring at an iced liquid that waited in a cup for his father.

“I want coffee.”

“You know you get antsy if you have caffeine, Pane Evžen,” Radek said, carrying a set of bread rolls to the table.

“My son asked for coffee. You will give it to him,” Bohdan said as he stepped into the room.

“Yes, Pane,” Radek bowed slightly, moving to get the coffee. “How do you wish it, Pane Evžen?”

“Like my father’s,” the small Lidikrys said imperiously.

Sasha watched Evžen silently, obeying Bohdan’s command not to enter the kitchen for food. The young master was not going to enjoy the coffee without sweetener, and Sasha knew it. They were heading for a complete meltdown, and the Faro was grateful he’d had the foresight to put Evžen in a different pair of clothes than what he would be wearing that day.

Stepping into the keeping room, the Faro caught Radek’s eye as the Daknar worked on chilling more coffee.

“A pitcher of cream and a box of sugar,” he said quietly. “Do not put any in the drink, but offer it nonverbally. Pan Evžen will decide how he wishes his coffee to taste.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game Sasha.”

“That’s right. I’m playing a dangerous game. So let me play it and help our masters, or suffer at their hands without you,” the Faro added, turning back to the breakfast nook.

He returned to his spot behind Evžen, head bowed in subservience. It took a few minutes of silent eating before Radek stepped into the room with a tray of chilled coffee, sugar, and cream. The Daknar set it on the table beside Evžen, stepping back to the kitchen to clean up.

Evžen lifted the cup, gulping at the drink. He grimaced instantly, liquid dripping from his mouth and into his lap.

“Swallow it,” Bohdan ordered sternly. “You asked for it, you will drink it. And you will be happy with it.”

The young Lidikrys swallowed tightly, his eyes watering at the taste. He stared at the pitcher of cream, reaching for it unsteadily.

“Please, Pane Evžen, allow me to assist you,” Sasha said quickly, taking the pitcher in hand.

The Faro lifted the heavy jug, pouring the cream into the coffee until it was a lighter shade of brown. Setting the cream down, he offered the Lidikrys another sip. Evžen shook his head as more coffee dribbled down his chin. He wiped the liquid away with his arm as Sasha poured again.

“Evžen, use your towel like a proper Lidikrys,” Bohdan snapped.

The younger Lidikrys scowled, but wiped his mouth with an ornately decorated hand towel. He sipped at the liquid, grimacing a little less.

“And now a spoonful of sugar,” Sasha offered quietly, sprinkling the crystals into the mug.

This time, Evžen actually smiled as he drank the coffee, following his sip with a deeper draught.

“We will find what works for you, Pane Evžen,” Sasha promised quietly, sealing the sugar away.

“You will take him to the Houbové Louky in four bells. Mistr Ambroz lives at the Mushroom House. He will escort Evžen to the arena, and you will accompany him at all times as his chaperone,” Bohdan said sharply.

“As you wish, Pane,” Sasha bowed slightly, moving the sugar and cream to the center of the table where Evžen wouldn’t accidentally knock it over. “I will prepare Pan Evžen’s bath immediately.”

Hurrying from the room, the Faro felt the eyes of his masters on him. He fought the nervous twitch of his tail. The last thing he needed was for Bohdan to ask how his tail had gotten injured.