9
ROSARIUS
SARASINIA
THE BASTION
Rosarius made it to the dining hall later than usual, and was unsurprised to find it full of students and the dull roar of chatter. He spotted the regular gang and made a beeline for their table. “It’s a good day to die, brothers,” he said.
“Indeed it is, brother,” came their scattered replies. “May we die with honour.”
Andreas nudged a bowl and spoon toward him. “Oats and water. Again.”
“Thanks,” said Rosarius. He took a seat, cradling the bowl with one arm and spooning its contents into his mouth with the other. “My favourite.” It definitely wasn’t.
Andreas smiled at his sarcasm. “It’s got oil in it, too.”
“Great. Even better.” He grimaced as he swallowed.
Borrego plopped down his gigantic, bald-headed frame with a grunt. “It’s a good day to die, brothers,” he said, looking at each of them in turn.
“Indeed, brother,” said Andreas, shuffling aside to make room for him.
“Indeed it is,” murmured Alanso and Carranza together. “May we die with honour.”
“A good day to die with you, too, brother,” said Rosarius. “You’re late today as well, huh?”
“Mhm,” said Borrego, looking at the bowls on the table with distaste. The glance he gave Rosarius wasn’t much different. “So, you’re deigning to talk to us again, are you?”
Rosarius stared back. “Yeah.” He’d grown bitter since getting out of the Hole, his encounter with Colton, Dannis and Tavaris all he could think about. He’d taken it personally, and that had been a mistake. So had ignoring his closest companions in favour of feeling sorry for himself.
Borrego nodded. “Good. About time you got over yourself. We all went to the Hole, you know. Not just you.”
“Yeah. I know.” To everyone at the table he said, “Look, I actually wanted to say something to all of you. I ignored you guys for a bit, and I, uh...”
“No,” said Borrego. “Don’t finish that sentence, Rosy. Better just to forget it and move on, eh?” The others murmured their agreement.
“All right,” said Rosarius, feeling at once relieved, grateful for such easy friendship, and silly for opening his mouth. Maybe it would have been better to have just sat down with them and not said anything?
Andreas slid a bowl across the table at Borrego. “Gruel?”
“What is this shit?” asked Borrego.
“Gruel,” said Andreas.
“Don’t be a smart arse.” Borrego pinned him with a glare. “I meant, why is this all we ever get now?”
“Ah,” said Alanso. “So as usual, you weren’t paying attention in class. Well then, you are hereby presented with the Bastion’s method of readying us gentlemen for the culinary delights that await us in the field.”
Borrego frowned. “This is what we get in the field?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” said Andreas. “Just be grateful the kitchens are still churning it out. In another week they won’t be.”
“And why’s that?”
“They’re shutting down for a bit so we can all experience the joys of life as an ordinary grunt,” said Carranza.
Borrego made a face. “They’re shutting down the kitchens? What the fuck?”
“It’s not a new thing, brother. Grunts have to grind and cook their own grain on the march, of course, so they’re giving us the opportunity to experience what it’s like first-hand…”
“Well I had no idea!” said Borrego, bashing the table with a fist. “But that’s bullshit, though. We’re officers, not grunts. We won’t have to grind and cook shit, so what’s the point?”
“We’re not officers yet,” said Andreas, “and the point, brother, is what you seem to be missing. You see, this is an exercise in what they call character building.”
“It’s a fuckin’ pain in the arse,” said Borrego.
“Exactly,” said Carranza. “Same difference.”
Everyone chuckled except Borrego, who continued to fume. “Well, fuck that!” he shouted. “You think I’m going to just sit by and take this? Well I’m not, because–”
He was interrupted by a jarring crash a kitchen girl stumbled, upending an entire tray of bowls and spoons onto the floor. The entire hall stopped to jeer her clumsiness, causing her face to turn a deep shade of crimson. Then, as she bent to the task of cleaning up, every eye devoured the sight of her arse straining against the fabric of her long skirt. The jeers turned into wild cheers and catcalling.
“Any moment now,” said Alanso when the cheering went on a little too long. To his evident satisfaction, the peal of a brass bell cut through the racket right after the words left his mouth. The bell sounded a second time, only louder and carrying a distinct note of annoyance.
“Heads up,” said Borrego. “Minten’s pissed.” He wasn’t wrong. The drillmaster sat at the instructors’ table at the head of the hall with his arms folded. When the bell rang a third time, the cheering abruptly ceased and everyone went back to eating.
Rosarius kept his eye on the kitchen girl. He slapped Borrego’s shoulder with the back of his hand when he noticed one of the sub-juniors leaving his place and edging toward her. “Hey,” he said, pointing. “Look.”
As the girl stacked her bowls, the boy approached with a single dirty spoon clutched in both hands. He held it out to her, trembling, his upper lip caught between his teeth. The girl stopped what she was doing and smiled, pushing a stray hair across her brow. The boy opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. His face reddened, and he looked down at the toes of his boots before turning and beating a hasty retreat.
“Haah!” said Alanso. “Found the one guy in this entire place who hasn’t fucked her yet!” Everyone at the table guffawed except Rosarius, who just smiled and crammed another spoonful of oats into his mouth.
“Oh yeah,” said Borrego. “I know that one. I tumbled her last year in the laundry. On a big pile of dirty sheets, if I remember correctly. Clit was so big she could’ve ploughed me!”
“Yikes,” said Rosarius. But even he chortled along with the others.
“How much?” asked Andreas.
Borrego slid his left hand all the way down his right forearm and slapped his bicep. “How much did I serve her? About this much, if you must know.”
“Yeah, right,” said Andreas, rolling his eyes. “I meant how much did she charge you?”
“Charge? Hey, I’ll have you know that when the little slut saw the size of my dong, she hoisted her rump for free!”
“Ah,” said Alanso. “So it was a sympathy fuck, then?”
“Fah!” Borrego gave him the finger.
“She’s not much to look at,” said Carranza. “Got a sort of Dorin look about her, don’t you think?”
“Nah,” said Alanso. “She’s not Dorin. Not wearing an orange dress, is she?”
“Whatever she is,” said Farias, “I’d keep your cock out of her.” He brandished his spoon in a way that said his was the final word on the subject.
“Huh, why’s that?” asked Andreas.
“Since when do you keep your cock out of anything?” That from Carranza.
Farias nodded. “Oh, I freely admit I fucked her a time or two,” he said around a mouthful of food. He pointed his spoon first at the girl and then at his crotch. “Gave me the pants rabbits something fierce. My woman and I passed ‘em back and forth for fuck knows how long. Worst case I ever had.”
“How’d you get rid of them?” asked Andreas.
“Orpiment, of course,” said Farias with a shrug. “Got it from my aunt.”
Borrego stopped chewing. “You showed your dick to your aunt?”
“She’s a fucking doctor!” cried Farias. “She looks at dicks all day long, probably. So what if one of them happened to be mine?”
“He’s right though,” said Alanso. “Those kitchen girls aren’t clean.” He turned to Farias. “On a, uh, completely unrelated matter, I should probably get your aunt’s address...”
The others laughed, and Andreas giggled so hard he almost spat out his oats.
“I know someone who doesn’t fuck the kitchen girls,” said Carranza, slapping Rosarius on the back.
“Maybe he does,” said Farias, “only he doesn’t bleat about it like the rest of us?”
Borrego turned to Rosarius. “You don’t fuck ‘em? Why not?”
Rosarius grinned. “Oh, I dunno… maybe it’s because everyone who does needs a pox doctor? Your cock can’t rot if you don’t get it wet.”
Andreas looked at him as if he’d gone crazy. “That’s no excuse, brother. You’re not… uh? You know? Are you?”
Everyone looked at Rosarius expectantly. He kept them waiting, finishing off his gruel at leisure. “Not what?”
“You know,” said Andreas, his voice a whisper. “Into boys?”
Rosarius shook his head. “No, brother. Can’t say that I am.”
“So,” said Carranza, “when was the last time you got your dick wet, then?”
“I dunno.” Rosarius had to think about it. Months. Many months. “I guess it has been a while.”
“We need to remedy that then, brother,” said Borrego.
“We do,” said Carranza.
“Yeah,” said Rosarius, shrugging. “All right. Why not?”
“It’s settled then,” said Borrego. “Tonight we’re all going out to wet our dicks.” He looked about for something to raise a toast with, and finding nothing better than his bowl of gruel, toasted with that. The others followed his example.
“Oh hey,” said Alanso. “Speaking of dicks, have you heard the news? Word is a couple of new teachers will be joining the Bastion.”
Rosarius wiped off his chin. “New teachers? Who?”
“I believe we all know them,” said Alanso, looking out of the corner of his eye at Rosarius. “They were on that committee thing a couple of months back, after all that shit with Romelo. Those two intimates of Colton’s.”
“Fucking what?” said Rosarius, almost too shocked for words. The idea was preposterous. “Dannis and Tavaris? That had better not be true.”
“Those two pillow biters?” asked Borrego. “Bullshit.”
“I think you’ll find they’re really coming back,” said Alanso, nodding. “Heard they liked it here and were asking to return as instructors.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” said Andreas. “They’re not teachers, are they? Where’d you hear all this, anyway?”
Alanso shrugged. “They weren’t actual members of our disciplinary committee either, and yet that didn’t seem to stop them, eh? And I heard it through the grapevine.”
“Dannis and Tavaris,” said Borrego, his voice rising, “will teach here over my dead fucking body.”
“Hey, look,” said Alanso. “Don’t slay the messenger. I’m just telling you what I heard, all right?”
“Well anyway, let’s go,” said Carranza. “We don’t want to be late for class.”
“Mhm,” said Rosarius, nodding. Concerning news, but maybe Alanso’s source of information was wrong? He was almost on his feet when a hand appeared on his shoulder and shoved him back down onto the bench. Another slapped him around the ear, hard. His mind was still trying to process what was happening when his cousin leaned in to give him a sickly grin.
“Well, well!” said Romelo, his eyes gleaming with spite. “If it isn’t my cousin and my very, very best friend.” He squeezed Rosarius’s shoulder so forcefully it almost popped. “I’d like to have a quiet word with you, if that’s all right. The rest of you can fuck off.”
A cold silence settled over the table. Romelo hadn’t come alone. A handful of his flunkies fanned out behind him, arms crossed or fingers brushing knife hilts.
Romelo leered. “Bye bye, gentlemen,” he said, waving in an exaggerated way at Rosarius’s friends. “Yes, that’s right! Off you go now!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Rosarius saw Borrego set his jaw.
“Did you not hear me?” Romelo was annoyed that no one was doing what he wanted. “I told you all to fuck off. So, all of you, fuck off!”
“Urgh,” said Borrego, surging to his feet. He went for the nearest of Romelo’s companions, grabbing him by the hair and burying his forehead in his face with a sickening crunch. The man hit the floor like a sack of flour.
The mess hall let out a collective gasp, every eye fixed on this new spectacle.
“Holy shit!” said Alanso.
“Fuck!” said Carranza.
“Woo!” screamed Borrego, laughing. “Come on!” He seized another of Romelo’s men and knocked him out with a brutal blow to the side of the head.
“Holy shit!” said Alanso.
“Fuck!” said Carranza.
“Come on!” screamed Borrego again. He howled wordlessly as he went for a third victim, but that man turned and fled in the face of his rage.
Romelo’s gleeful expression disappeared, replaced by one of raw fear. What remained of his bodyguard melted away, and he stood rooted to the spot, oblivious to the fact that there was another danger literally right under his nose.
“Muuurgh!” bellowed Rosarius as he leapt to his feet and drove an elbow into his cousin’s face.
“Holy shitballs!” said Alanso.
“Fuck me!” said Carranza.
Romelo staggered backward, cradling his nose in both hands. Blood dribbled through his fingers and onto the floor. “Aw, fuck!” he said in a muffled voice. “Aw, fuck!” One hand dropped to the knife on his belt.
Rosarius slapped Romelo’s hand away, then slipped around behind him and grabbed a handful of his hair. “Nice plan, cousin,” he said, wrenching his head upward and exposing his neck. “Didn’t quite pan out, though, did it?” He reached down to pull Romelo’s blade from its sheath.
“I’m going to…” said Romelo, grinning even as he snorted blood, “going to… fucking kill you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re dead.”
Rosarius laid the edge of the knife against his cousin’s cheek. “Not if I kill you first.”
Romelo went still, his courage wilting. “Ulch.”
“How’s the steel against your skin, cousin?” Rosarius ground his teeth in fury. “Cold?” He shaved away part of Romelo’s left sideburn. “Ooo, a sharp blade. Colour me impressed.”
“Don’t,” said Romelo, his voice quavering.
“Hush now.”
“J-just lemme go, all right?”
“Sorry cousin,” said Rosarius as he took off Romelo’s left eyebrow. “Too late for that.”
“Kill him,” said Borrego. “We went to the Hole because of that prick.”
“No! Don’t!” cried Romelo. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I-I’ll leave you alone from now on. You’ll never hear from me again! I swear!”
“If only I could believe that,” said Rosarius.
“I swear!”
“Shut the fuck up and hold still.”
“No! Wait! What are you–?”
“Do you want to lose an eye? Quit squirming, or you will.”
Romelo closed his eyes as Rosarius pared away his other eyebrow. He made a mess of it, too, nicking him in several places.
“Agh!” wailed Romelo. “I really am going to fucking kill you!”
Rosarius smiled. “Yeah. See? Now that sounds more like you.”
“Kill him,” said Borrego, insistent. “Open his fucking neck right up.”
“Think I should?”
“Don’t,” said Romelo. “Please don’t.”
Rosarius paused as if seriously pondering the idea. “Yeah. Think I’m gonna do it. So long, Romes.” His cousin’s eyes went wide as he drew the blade across his neck in one quick motion.
Romelo staggered away clutching at his throat, numb with terror. “Aagh!” he squealed. “Aagh! Aagh! Aaaghh!” He bumped into the table a couple of times and did an odd little dance before his knees gave way.
Rosarius grinned as Borrego shoved his cousin face first into the stone floor.
“Aaugh! Aaugh! Aaugh!” screamed Romelo, his legs thrashing. “Augh! Augh!”
The dining hall was in uproar. Hundreds of students were on their feet, some leaving because they didn’t want any part of what was happening, others hastening toward the fracas to get a better look.
Minten left the instructors’ table, sending students careening as he shoved them out of his path. Junior tutors Norval and Onarius followed in his wake.
“Hurgh!” said Romelo, still flailing around on the floor.
“Idiots!” cried Minten. He gave Rosarius an incredulous look. “What have you done?”
“He’s fine, sir,” said Rosarius. He handed his cousin’s blade over, handle first. “I only used the back edge to give him a scratch.”
“You only used the–?” Minten snatched the knife with a scowl and tossed it onto the table. Peering down at Romelo, he said, “Boy! Get your hands away from your throat. Let me have a look at you.”
“Huughh!” said Romelo.
Minten knelt beside him. “I said, get your hands away from your throat!”
“Haaaggh!”
“Fool boy!” yelled Minten, swatting Romelo’s hands aside. “Get your fucking hands away from your throat!”
“Huurgh! Augh!”
“For fuck’s sake, boy! Get your fucking hands away! I can’t see your neck.”
Romelo, apparently oblivious to anything beyond his own torment, ignored him. “Aaaurgh!”
Minten grabbed Romelo’s wrists and wrenched them apart. “Hey! Hey!”
“Aaurggh!”
Minten slapped Romelo hard across the face. “You’re not hurt. He didn’t cut you!”
“Aaurggh!” screamed Romelo. “Aaurggh! Leeuurgh!”
“You fucking idiot!” shouted Minten, slapping him again. “For fuck’s sake, boy! There’s nothing wrong with you! He didn’t cut you!” Heedless of the blood, he took Romelo by the chin and forced him to look directly into his eyes. “Listen to me! Hey! He didn’t cut you. You’re fine. There’s nothing wrong with your neck! You’re fine!”
“Uuungh?” Romelo, it seemed, was finally beginning to understand.
“All the blood’s coming from your nose, cockhead. Rosarius used the back edge of the knife to give you a scare, that’s all.”
Romelo began to relax. “Unnh?” He closed his eyes, and tears cut a path down his bloodied cheeks. Then a dark stain spread across his trousers and he started sobbing.
“Ugh,” said Minten, standing up.
“Oh shit!” shouted someone. “He’s pissed himself!”
Excited chatter spread through the hall. “Romelo pissed himself! He’s pissed himself!”
Minten turned around. “All right!” he shouted. “That’s enough! Get the fuck out, all of you!” He pointed at Rosarius and Borrego. “Not you two. You stay.”
“Sir,” said Rosarius, straightening. No one else moved.
Minten showed his teeth. “You will all clear the fucking mess hall!” he roared. “Fucking move, you bastards!”
Students bolted then, knocking over benches and sending bowls and spoons clattering to the floor.
“Be seeing you,” said Carranza to Rosarius.
“Later,” said Alanso.
“Good job,” said Andreas, and he clapped Borrego on the shoulder. “And good luck.”
“Nice work,” muttered Farias to Rosarius. “Couldn’t have done it better myself. See you around, brother.”
The dining hall emptied within moments. A few instructors remained, still eating at their table as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. One of the students Borrego had hit needed help to walk, but the other lay unresponsive even with people slapping his cheeks and urging him to wake up.
“Fuck him,” muttered Borrego, spitting on the floor. “I hope he’s dead.”
The drillmaster turned to Rosarius. “Why is it,” he asked, “that barely a week goes by without there being some incident involving you and your fucking cousin?”
Rosarius had no answer, so he offered none.
Romelo whimpered. Minten looked down at him, shaking his head with obvious contempt. “So, who started it this time?”
“He did,” said Rosarius.
“I believe you,” said the instructor, turning back to face him. “So why don’t you challenge the fucker and be done with it?”
“Would that I could, sir. But he’s family. And I’d probably be charged with murder.”
Minten nodded. “Yeah, well if the two of you keep this shit up, neither of you can expect to graduate. You do realise this, don’t you?”
Rosarius sniffed. “He will, sir. He’ll graduate no matter what.”
“That’s probably true.” The drillmaster did not look happy about conceding the point. “But where does that leave you?”
“I don’t know.”
Minten nodded again. “All right,” he said, looking at Romelo. “Enough of this, Romelo. Stand up!”
At first Romelo didn’t move. Then he slowly got to his knees, and from there to his feet. With one hand clamped protectively around his throat and his face a bloodstained mess, he cut a pitiable figure indeed. But there was no mistaking the look of utter loathing in his eyes. “I’ll get you,” he whispered to Rosarius.
“Thanks for yet another warning,” said Rosarius. “Next time I’ll open your throat for real.”
Romelo laughed even though it must have pained him. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
Romelo turned on Minten, his eyes flashing. “Right! That’s it!” he screamed. “I demand that he go straight to the Hole!” He indicated Borrego. “Him, too!”
“Done,” said Minten. He turned to Rosarius. “Students Rosarius and Borrego, you’re to go to the Hole pending further action. Instructors Norval and Onarius will escort you there.”
“Sir,” said Norval, taking Rosarius by the elbow. Onarius did the same with Borrego.
Rosarius opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again because he didn’t want to give Romelo the satisfaction. “Sir,” he said. He looked at Borrego, who simply shrugged.
Through bloody lips, Romelo smiled in triumph. “Good. Good. Finally!”
Minten turned to face him. “Oh? Think it’s good, do you?”
“Yes,” said Romelo, too smugly. “I do. And I also think it’s good that you finally know your place, Minten.”
The drillmaster looked him dead in the eyes. “What does that mean, student?”
Romelo’s grin fell as he realised his mistake. “I, uh…”
“In addition to going to the Hole, student Romelo,” said Minten, “you’ll be flogged for insulting a superior. Five lashes.”
“What? But you–? No, you can’t!”
Minten rocked back and forth on his heels, savouring the moment. “It would be remiss of me, I think, not to add that it’s about time you were introduced to the Hole. I’ll even take you there myself, just to make sure you’re installed properly, yes?”
Romelo stamped his feet. “No!” he wailed. “You can’t! I won’t go!”
“Be silent!”
“I will not!”
“So, another five lashes for insubordination, then? Fine. That’s ten lashes all up, student Romelo, unless you want to keep running your fucking mouth and add some more?”
Romelo shook in silent fury.
Minten nodded at the junior instructors. “Walk on.”
Onarius and Norval led Rosarius and Borrego off in the direction of the Hole. “Fucking good job on the eyebrows, Rosy, by the way,” murmured Norval.
“He deserved it,” said Rosarius.
“Fuckin’ oath he did.” Onarius chuckled. “Fuckin’ oath.”
Behind them, shepherded roughly by Minten, Romelo let out his grief. “You can’t do this to me!” he screeched. “I can’t go in the Hole! I can’t! I’ll bribe the guards to let me out!”
“I certainly appreciate you telling me in advance, student,” said Minten.
Romelo let out a long sob. “My father will hear about this. He will! Just you wait and see! You can’t do this to me! Wait! Hey, you need gold, right? How much do you want? I’ll give you twenty if you don’t put me in the Hole. No! Fifty! A hundred! I’ll give you whatever you want!”