There was a distinct change in atmosphere when we entered the small Terrelan garrison on the third level. The general stench of unwashed inmates gave way to something cleaner. Boot polish and fresh air made me feel out of place. Prig was no different. He might be there on the overseer's business, but he knew he didn't belong. Soldiers were stationed at doorways and they eyed us with savage scrutiny. Just a few months ago, I would have considered these soldiers beneath me. Now I hung my head against their gaze and hoped they wouldn't notice me. Fortunes change so quickly with the fall of empires.
The overseer was always in the same room whenever he interrogated me. It was a small cell carved out of the rock. A single table sat in the centre with a chair on either side. Two lanterns hung on the walls and bathed the little cavern in a light so bright it hurt my eyes until they adjusted.
The overseer looked up as Prig stopped me outside the room. The two soldiers on guard outside watched us both, hands on weapons. I could smell the fear dripping off Prig. It smelled sweet and sour all at once, like meat left to rot.
"Right on time, Overseer," Prig said, bowing his head so low he was staring at his own ragged boots. I missed the feel of boots on my feet. They are one of those things I have always taken for granted in my more affluent times. You don't realise how much you need a good pair of boots until you step on something hard and sharp, and the Pit was littered with such mines.
"How would you know?" the overseer asked.
I glanced up to find Prig looking confused. I had to stop myself from grinning. It was often easy to forget that the foremen were inmates as well, and they themselves had as little concept of time as us scabs.
"Go," the overseer ordered in a flat voice. Prig turned and I turned with him. "Not you."
I stopped, again stifling a smile. Prig stopped as well, looking confused and glancing from the nearby soldiers, to the overseer, to me. It felt good to vex the overseer. I knew once I was in that room with the door closed, the tables would quickly turn.
With a nod from the overseer one of the guards stepped forward, grabbed me by my dirty tunic collar and shoved me inside the room. A moment later the door slammed shut behind me and I was alone with the one man in the Pit who tormented me more than Prig.
Chapter 4
The overseer was a bastard. A short man, he was of a height with me and I was just fifteen, still growing. He was much older than I, with a face pitted with pockmarks and a neatly trimmed grey beard that stuck to his chin and nowhere else. His skin was pale as milk and his voice as cold as the watery grave.
"Sit, Eskara," he said, pointing to the far chair. It was a show of power using my name. He knew that and much more about me. The Orran Academy of Magic kept meticulous records on all their students, and I later learned that all those records ended up in the Pit. Josef and I were not the only Orran Sourcerers locked up in the dark. I, on the other hand, knew nothing about the overseer, not even his name. I still know nothing about him, even so many years after his death. I sometimes think that might be my greatest victory over the man; I buried him without ever even knowing his name. He knew everything about me and never managed to break me. Well, almost never.
I trudged around the table and sank into a chair, letting my eyes fall on the table in front. It was bare grey wood, save for a small red stain close to me. If I looked carefully I could tell it was blood. The table had seen violence, that much was obvious. I wondered how long it would be before the overseer used violence on me.
"Are you thirsty? Hungry?" the overseer asked. He didn't wait for a reply but turned and knocked on the door. A moment later, it opened. "Bring a bottle of wine and a bowl of stew," he said, never taking his eyes from me. "And some fresh clothing. Boots as well."
The door closed and the overseer stepped forward, sitting on the chair across from me. I looked up into his eyes and saw compassion. It looked real, genuine. I don't think he knew how close that look came to breaking me then and there. To see someone care about me and my situation, someone with the power to change it, was surreal. Part of me longed to break down, to be rescued from the Pit. I squashed that traitorous little part of me down and crushed it. The overseer didn't care about me. No one did, except maybe Josef. Back then I think Josef cared about me more than I did myself, but still not enough to do anything about it.
"How is the foreman treating you?" the overseer asked, concern still written on his face.
I placed my hands on the table so the overseer could see the bandages wrapped around my arms. He ignored them and continued to stare at me. "As well as can be expected," I said. "We dig, he whips us, we dig some more."
The overseer nodded. "And the other Sourcerer? Your friend?"
There was an iron rung underneath my chair, no doubt for chaining unruly prisoners to. I kicked my feet against it, struggling to sit still. Anxiety was making me restless. "He digs sometimes too," I said. "We all dig. One day we might just dig ourselves free."
The overseer smiled and nodded. "Hope is important for people in your situation."
I couldn't decide what he meant then, and I'm still not sure now. On the one hand he might have been genuine. Hope was important down in the Pit. I saw inmates lose hope and I saw the wrecks they became. Some got themselves killed, others stopped living and just existed, working away the rest of their lives in obscurity. Then again, the overseer might have wanted to cultivate hope because having hope would make me easier to break. He could be cruel at times and I've always wondered just how cruel. I sometimes think he wanted to make me hope just so he could see my face the moment he took it away. It was fucking maddening trying to comprehend the man's insidious games.
"What would you hope for?" I asked, suddenly desperate to turn the tables. "If you were in my situation."
The overseer seemed to think about that for a moment. "Freedom, of course," he said with a shrug. "An end to my suffering."
I let a slow smile spread across my face and stared at the man. "I hope one day I can give you both."
He frowned then, fidgeting in his chair under the scrutiny of my stare. A knock at the door broke the tension, and when it opened three soldiers filed into the little room. The first brought chains and a bowl of water, the second brought a tray of food and wine, and the third brought a fresh set of prison clothes with a new pair of boots that looked suspiciously like my size. They each deposited their burdens on the table and then the first soldier set about attaching manacles to my wrists and the chain to the iron rung beneath my chair. After I was firmly secured to the floor, the soldier put the key on the table and all three of them left, leaving me alone with the overseer once more.
I waited for the door to shut and rattled my chains, giving the man a real fuck you look.
The overseer smiled and fingered the key on the table, turning it around and around. "It's all part of the process," he said.
When I look back at my time in the Pit now, I see the overseer's plan in its entirety. I see the ingenuity of it. Prig was there to torture me physically, to break me down with pain and exhaustion. The cunt! The overseer was there to torture me psychologically, and he did a better job of it than Prig ever did with his whip. He was also a cunt!
The overseer pushed the bowl of water towards me. I smelled a slight zest, a lemony fragrance. There was a white cloth floating in the liquid.