Chapter Nineteen

Am-Heh kept to his word and, as the sun started to sink into its wearing bed, he entered the stone courtyard that housed the dogs overnight.

The cobblestones were delightfully chill against his bare feet and the high walls gave shelter from both heat and wind should it ever blight the realm.

A slim mist rose up from behind, the mighty structure built to hide the lakes that were beyond them. Hidden from view, they were not erased from the ear or other senses. The dull scent of brimstone flowed like a dying river about them and the hiss as the flames fought each other was often heard.

The dogs were a fine sight. Elegant and athletic, their large upright ears heard every minute sound about them. They romped playfully, delighting in each other's company and few rounded stones that had been placed for their amusement.

Eight pairs of amber eyes turned on Ishaq as he slipped through the gate, looking him up and down inquisitively. The nearest moved over, leaning to sniff his hand. The wag of his tail seemed to settle the others, not to mention Ishaq himself who tentatively stroked the smooth tan head.

Finally, he smiled. At ease with the animals who seemed amiable enough, and certainly not the hellhounds told in legends. If Am-Heh had any, they were certainly not here.

"These are the hunting dogs," the prim female attending him stated crisply. Inside she was pleased to be done with this job, cleaning up after them was not something she revelled in. "The larger two wander the lake area, you'll have little to do with those ones."

"What kind of dogs are they?" Ishaq asked, happily greeting the others who, not willing to be left out, had trotted over.

The woman shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is they are the ones sent to bring back the larger beasts to be butchered to their food. These ones occasionally get given the excess birds or smaller prey they help hunt down but they can't bring down anything bigger on their own."

As if her words had been eavesdropped from beyond the gate, a low mournful howl permeated the air. Rich, guttural and Ishaq could tell it was from the lungs of a great beast. He couldn't suppress the shudder as the visions ran amok in his mind again.

Raising an eyebrow, the woman gave a snort of amusement. "As I said, it's unlikely you will deal with those. The master himself tends to them or they fend for themselves."

"I am glad to hear it."

The other dogs had paid no heed to the call from behind the wall. It had not been meant for them and, unlike the human warders, they had no fear of them. They were, after all, the bringer of the food they ate and also occasional hunting companions. When bigger prey was required, they lessened the risk of injury and together they made a formidable team that the mortal king himself would envy.

"Their meat is prepared daily and kept in the kitchen," the woman said as she ushered him back inside. "Normally it's already cut but when the servants are busy then you will have to do it yourself. All you need do is debone it; they eat the innards."

Ishaq groaned inwardly. He was no stranger to preparing meat or fish, doing so to help his mother when she was occupied with other chores, but it was never a job he relished. The smell of blood and the cold, viscid feel of the flesh was something he could never get used to and would often wonder how it smelled and tasted so enjoyable after being cooked.

The dogs watched as they left with bright, soulful eyes and Ishaq felt they laughing behind his back, at the nervous behaviour and naivety about them. He just hoped they wouldn't take advantage of it. The livestock his former neighbours owned always seemed to, knowing when one was not used to handling them and were always as awkward as they could be.

The oxen, hefty and hardy, had been the worst. Refusing to budge or taking their new ward off in the wrong direction. With their strength and horns that could run a man through, they were not easy to argue with.

Barking filled his ears as soon as the door closed and the dogs began their play again.

--

Ishaq returned to the kitchen, the room far calmer now the hurry of the evening meals had abated. The clay ovens were cooling down and the smell of baked bread lingered.

Only the cook was there. A matronly woman with a face that seemed constantly flushed, was tidying the jars. She was almost neurotic about them being the in the correct order having learned to reach for them without looking. To pick the wrong spice or legume from the many that were there would ruin her routine and hold her up for the day, even if it were just a few seconds.

The other kitchen staff were loath to touch them, even when requested. If she was pushed into a bad mood then everyone knew about it.

Hands on her hips with a bosom that could crush a man she was a sight to recoil from.

"Get the floors swept," she ordered primly as she heard Ishaq return. "Zuberi was supposed to do this but he's gone off somewhere as usual. Something about mice although I've never seen any in here. If I did," she lifted a meat cleaver "they would not see daylight again."

She flung it down, embedding it in the worksurface, already etched with similar marks of frustration, and Ishaq hurried to retrieve the broom, not wanting to face an eruption if she deemed him to be idling.

"Doesn't help that two of you layabouts are ill, or just feigning it to have a week on your backs. I wouldn't put it past some of these people."

She continued to chunter to herself, whipping the tables viciously with a cloth and sending a shower of flour and yeast onto the floor to add to the collection already gathered.

The dust flew up into his nose, irritating his sinuses, but sheer willpower aided the suppression of a sneeze.

"And what on earth took you so long?" The cook span around as the door opened, her face like thunder.

Zuberi stepped down, carrying a hessian bag. A strange odour flowed from it and the bottom was stained red with what appeared to be blood.

He scowled at her anger, his scars making his expression fiercer than her own.

"I've been busy. If you want mice all over the place then that's your folly. I don't, and I doubt our master would either. Besides," he shook the sack, smattering ruby drops on the stone step. "Extra meat for the dogs."

"You clean that up this minute! And don't you dare feed those rodents to the master's dogs! He'd throw a fit if he found out and then we'd all be for it!"

"Just tell him it was me," Zuberi shrugged with indifference. "All that will happen is I'll get flogged. That's happened so many times I'm used to it." He looked down at the blood staining the floor. "And ask Ishaq to do it, he's the master's pet after all."

Ishaq flushed as Zuberi gave him a glare that would rival Medusa's.

Surprisingly the cook came to his rescue, albeit in her normal terse fashion.

"He's new. The master is normally fairly cordial towards the new ones, mostly because their work ethic hasn't waned." She cast him a sideways glance. "I hope for his sake that doesn't change. The reason we were sent here was to please the Gods, not skive off. As for just being whipped, I wouldn't count on that. You know very well when the Master gets into a rage, he's apt to do a lot more."

Zuberi snorted. His lack of regard and respect was well known to all of the residents but to Ishaq it was disgraceful. Had he exhibited such a shameful attitude in his life before he would have been castigated by every worker there. Not to mention facing the disappointment and anger of his family.

It wasn't for him to say anything though, he was the lowest of the low there.

Leaning the broom against the wall he retrieved a damp cloth from near the wash tub and moved to scrub the bloody stain, managing to smear it further before finally removing most of it.

He shivered as Zuberi watched him, casting his shadow over him like a cold spirit. He scrubbed harder, hard enough to take the roughness from the surface.

Zuberi eyed him for some moments, ignoring the cooks ranting, his mind on other things. He gave a sniff and hoisted the sack back onto his shoulder.

"I won't feed them to the dogs," he said quickly as the cook glowered at him. "I'm just going to throw them out. The birds will probably take them."

"See that you do. And make sure they're out of sight, no one wants to see festering corpses, even the Master."

Zuberi nudged Ishaq with his foot, the insinuations of a few moments ago apparently forgotten, and winked a dark eye.

"It would be easier to feed them to his dogs," he whispered so the woman wouldn't hear. "But I won't. I don't care myself, but others do and I suppose getting everyone else into peril is more selfish than I'd like to be."

He didn't give the younger man time to reply, stepping over him and striding out the door, leaving red droplets in his wake.

"Ignore him." The cook's words cut through the tense atmosphere like a knife. "The Master doesn't favour people, none that I've ever known. If he's been lenient with you then it's your youth and your newness. Don't expect it to last or think yourself one above people because of it." Her eyes narrowed. "You're no better than the weevils in the flour until you've proven yourself."

Ishaq sank into himself, wishing the floor would swallow him whole under her gaze. Even the Gods eyes had not felt so formidable.

"I won't, Madame," he muttered, following the blood stains "you need not worry about that."