A Jewel in the Dirt - 25. Old Wounds, Fresh Blood I

"Henry's in the shower," Mistress Alice said as Dante headed for the bathroom - he sighed. All he really wanted to do was brush his teeth and go to bed. He noticed his Mistress' critical look and returned it for a moment before giving in to his curiosity.

"Mistress... what was it like back when Tom and Matthew were friends?"

Puzzled, she looked at him.

"Tom mentioned it." he added explaining and she relaxed a little before shrugging.

"Matthew and Tom were best friends, just like Matthew and Sarah were and still are. But Sarah and Tom have never been able to stand each other, and so Tom was only here a very few times before he came to us as a slave."

"Must be strange for him to be living here as a slave now," Dante said cautiously.

"He still doesn't act like one after ten years, at least," Mistress Alice replied, wrinkling her nose. "He was an asshole as a kid and he's still an asshole today." At that moment it was abundantly clear that she didn't like Tom, and Dante wondered to what extent Miss Carolyn had thought of the consequences when she did Tom's mother a favor and took her son in as a debt slave. "The friendship with Matthew didn't survive it, but I'd almost bet there was something going on in addition," she added, then frowned. "Well... something private between the two of them, I mean, besides all the other disasters."

Dante was about to ask another question, but she suddenly stood up and stepped to one of the bookshelves- what she was looking for there turned out to be a photo album.

"Here. That was probably the last real party around here." She pointed to a photo where a bunch of teenagers had gathered.

Matthew- sweet sixteen was written underneath. Matthew himself, obviously the birthday boy, stood in the middle laughing happily, Miss Sarah on the left and on the right- from the resemblance- probably his sister Melanie in his arms. A rather slender Tom, a head taller than Matthew, had his arms wrapped around Matthew's neck from behind and was grinning, while a girl who looked enough like him to be his sister had put her hand on his shoulder. At the far left edge of the picture stood Mistress Alice and Anthony, and in the background he spotted a boy who must have been Valentine; all the other faces he didn't recognize.

"And after that it all went down the drain?"

She nodded. "There are five people in that picture alone who aren't alive anymore."

"They're all teenagers," Dante said, unable to keep some horror out of his voice.

She tilted her head in agreement, then closed the album. "Sometimes I think the Great Mother looks down on this area here through a hole in the cloud cover and punishes us for our sins."

"And what, pray tell, did your brother do to be punished with death as a twelve-year-old?"

The album almost fell out of her hand, her whole body shaking. "If it's really a divine punishment, we might not want to know the sin that goes with it." She said it in a way that sent chills down his spine, as if she knew exactly what terrible sin Anthony was guilty of. But before he had decided whether to continue or drop the subject, the bathroom door opened and, enveloped in a warm moist cloud scented with apple and cinnamon, Henry entered the room.

~
 

"Hey Dante, can you take this to Mistress Carolyn in the office?"

Dante turned on the stairs to Dennis, who was waving some documents. "Sure." He hopped down the steps and accepted the papers. "Say... is it actually customary around here for the master of the house to fuck the slaves?"

Puzzled, Dennis furrowed his brows. "What kind of question is that?"

Dante raised his hands apologetically; just yesterday he had decided not to interfere- amazing how long his resolution had lasted. "Excuse my indiscretion, I just heard-"

But Dennis laughed softly. "It's all right. But I still don't have an answer. I mean, it's an open secret that Charles Horner is fucking the slaves until they can't sit anymore since his wife died, but as for all the other noble neighbors, I have no idea. Blaise only has Tom on the line, but if you ask me, it originally started with Tom."

"Oh, really?" That surprised Dante, because Tom had made it sound like he was nothing more than a plaything.

Dennis shrugged. "At first they handled him with kid gloves, but he was pretty much out of line, taking punishment after punishment. And then all of a sudden it stopped and instead of whip marks, Tom was walking around with hickies." He pulled up one corner of his mouth. "Told you different, huh?"

Dante nodded slowly. "I can't figure Tom out."

"Two things." said Dennis, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Assume he's an asshole, then you can only be positively surprised. And: don't get in his way, then he's quite tolerable."

Dante shuddered. "If even you guys here can't stand him-"

"He's not a bad person, don't get me wrong," Dennis interrupted him. "But his character would just be better off in a woman's body. He can be a wonderful friend and stick up for you to the last, but-"

"You know how he got me in deep shit with that honey theft thing, right?"

"Yeah." Dennis nodded and sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair, and Dante looked at him, waiting. "I have no idea what Tom sees in you. At least he only speaks well of you."

"He's got a damn strange way of showing his affection, then," Dante grumbled sullenly. "Thanks anyway."

"You're welcome."

~
 

"Have you heard already?", TJ wanted to know and Dante rolled his eyes.

"Whatever it is, does it have until tonight?" Of course, Blaise's new toy had been delivered right before lunch and now Dante was running late after clearing the table and cleaning the kitchen.

"There's been another escape of slaves in Westshire," Daniel said uneasily. That made Dante pause- involuntarily he thought of the secret compartment in the car and the pistol.

"And five this time," TJ added.

"Five?" Flynn asked horrified.

"From the steel mill." Seth said with a frown.

"And?", Dante wanted to know impatiently; he didn't want to get in trouble with the already bad-tempered Blaise.

"There are five of them," TJ said oddly emphatically, and Seth said:

"The slaves there wear different collars than we do, none with GPS. And yes, five of them could do a lot of damage."

"But five of them should also make them easier to track. Besides, Westshire isn't just a walk away. See you later!" Dante hurried outside; he had neither the time nor the nerve for escape stories now, however unpleasant they might be.

It had once again begun to snow, albeit rather reluctantly. The snow crunched under Dante's boots and the snowflakes stung his face. His mood sank.

"I practically only met Tom when he came to us as a slave. He's always been there for me like a brother, even though he can be an arrogant prick. But lately he's been different, kind of edgy."
"Do you have any idea why?"
"Not in the slightest."

Dante shook his head. He could have sworn at that moment Frank was lying to him. Why couldn't he just stay out of it? He sighed, annoyed with himself, and, lost in thought, almost ran into Blaise.

"Dante, wait a minute." Blaise had some papers pressed protectively to him.

"Yes?"

"About Frank... he and Tom had a fight, didn't they?"

A little uneasy, Dante nodded. "Yes, but also made up."

Blaise still looked unhappy. "You do spend quite a bit of time with him... What do you guys talk about?"

"This and that. Life here, Denser's Port, work, family..." Dante shrugged. He had never told Frank more than bits and pieces about Denser's Port, and generally they didn't talk very much. At least not with words. He felt himself blush at the thought, and Blaise looked at him questioningly. "He wanted to know why everyone was making such a fuss about underwear." Dante tried for a smile. "I don't think he really understood the point."

Blaise sighed deeply, sadness adding a few years to his face. "Do you think he would confide in you if... if..."

"I think so, yes." Dante nodded as convincingly as he could, then ventured another comment: "It must be stressful to see things change around you while you yourself always stay... the same."

"Hmm..." Blaise made thoughtfully, wrestling a smile from himself. "True enough. He had a problem getting used to a new baby in the house every time." For a moment he looked as if he were getting lost in reminiscence, but then he waved the papers vigorously. "I'll take these to the office real quick, and I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay." Dante nodded simply and hurried on.

"You sure took your sweet time," Frank grumbled after a sidelong glance, crumpling up a sticky plastic sheet.

"Had a quick word with your pa," Dante explained, hanging his heavy jacket on a hook.

Tom made an unwilling sound. "Frank, can you unwrap that thing?"

Frank grimaced. "Even babies can unwrap things."

"You don't let babies play with a chopper, though. Can you do it or can't you do it? I definitely need a pair of helping hands to take that old thing apart." Tom scowled at Frank and Frank sighed.

"I can handle it. And Pa should be right back, after all."

"And it's not like we're starting a trip to the moon, we'll be right over there," Dante added in a light-hearted tone; Tom looked at him doubtfully, Frank annoyed. Inwardly, Dante sighed. There had to be something in the air, and he didn't just mean wood dust.

The big saw-machine thing, which the four of them had heaved out of the way yesterday, was standing a little inconveniently, and Dante had to squeeze between the machine and the wall to get at various screws properly.

Silently, he and Tom worked side by side, with Tom half under the machine at one point. When their eyes met, Dante's resolve not to interfere crumbled for good; his curiosity was stronger. "What happened back then?"

"Hmm?" made Tom, who seemed to be completely focused on the screwdriving.

"Why did your friendship with Matthew break up then?"

Tom's face became expressionless, then he raised his hand to his collar. "Isn't that enough of a reason?"

"True friendship should be above such things, don't you think?", Dante wanted to know cautiously, because admittedly friendship was often a rather nebulous concept for him, at least when it came to anything other than general theories.

Tom seemed to suspect this, for he said coolly: "Don't talk about things you don't know anything about. And, by the way, let the dead rest, will you? That would help everyone here a lot."

A little offended, Dante returned: "That's exactly the problem here: people don't talk about things."

"And you talk too much," was the prompt reply.

They sized each other up with glances, and the feeling that Tom and Matthew's friendship wasn't broken per se, but Tom himself, crept up on Dante.

"You're just a false front."

"What?" Tom, his eyes already back on the job, looked back at Dante and straightened.

"Anyone who sets out to be disliked like you, has something to hide," Dante said. He wasn't quite sure where the conviction for that came from, but with Tom's demeanor, the way he stood up tensely and held the screwdriver in suddenly shaking hands, he must have been right. "Either dirty stories or broken self. Want me to guess?"

"Shut up!"

"Or what? You gonna shove that screwdriver up my ass if I don't?" Outwardly unimpressed, Dante merely raised his brows, but inwardly he was getting ready to strike back. He wasn't about to let Tom bully him once more.

"You want-" Tom began angrily, but interrupted himself when there was a dull thud in the background.

Dante's gaze jerked in the appropriate direction, he sucked in air to call out to Frank, only for him to start screaming.

Like a bat out of hell Tom shot off, Dante had to push himself from behind the machine to follow him. "Frank! What happened? What-"

Dante didn't see more than a pale screaming Frank, but with Tom's startled, sort of girlish squeal, it couldn't be anything good.

Frank didn't stop yelling at all.

"Dante, get in the house and call a medic," Tom barked at him.

"I- but-"

"Run!"

Dante winced and ran for the door, yanking his jacket off the hook and glancing back as Frank screeched:

"Don't touch me!"

He wished he hadn't.

Tom held Frank's hand, which had blood on it.

And on which three fingers were missing.