the tower.
True to his word, Bogrevil had the boy fed. It was more food than he’d seen in a single serving ever. After the near starvation on the dragon beam, he couldn’t eat half of it. All the while he watched the other boys sizing him up. They seemed envious of the attention being paid him, though it was no more than had been paid to them upon arriving. He kept his eyes on nothing and focused on the meal. The other boys took this to mean that he was harmless and ignored him.
After the meal, Bogrevil had one of the other boys pick the lock on the cuff and removed the chain from his ankle. Two older boys led him to a steamy chamber, stripped him of his clothing, and dropped him into a large bathing pool. A dozen others swam in it, a few laughing and squealing but most just floating, withdrawn, it seemed to him. He luxuriated in the warmth. He had no memory of anything like it. Finally, to his shock, a woman waded into the pool. She headed straight for him and took hold of him by one biceps. As naked as the boys, she might have been ten years his senior, but she wasn’t much larger than he. However, she proved to be a good deal stronger. She caught hold of him, and then scrubbed him with a brush so hard that he thought she was flaying him, but he couldn’t squirm out of her grip. A couple of the boys hooted at his predicament but stayed beyond the woman’s reach while they did. She poured something into his hair that she worked in. Whatever it was, it burned terribly, and he struggled furiously to get free of her and dunk his head. She must have expected it, for she wrapped her legs around his belly to keep him in place. Finally, when he thought his hair must be sizzling, she shoved his head underwater, then hauled him up again. He spluttered and spat, sure that his scalp had been burned away. Without a word the woman let go of him and stalked one of the jeering boys, who hadn’t been far enough away after all. The other squealers scrambled naked out of the pool for their lives, while the rest watched her and the goings-on in the water as if none of it mattered. The boy patted his head and was surprised to find that he still had hair.
Later, the same woman lifted him out by the arm and wrapped him in a great cloth. She was wearing one, too. He saw that she had an odd, dark birthmark on one shoulder. She said, “I hope you have the sense to bathe yourself, because I’m not going to do this for you every day.”
Bogrevil came in while the other boys were dressing. “How is he, Eskie?” he asked her.
“Clean,” she replied, and pushed the end of the cloth through his hair. “I rid him of his lice, though it peeled the skin from my fingertips.”
“Good.” Again Bogrevil lifted his chin and studied him. “How old you think he is?”
“Old enough, I’m sure. He has hair, hasn’t he? But he’s been underfed so very long, it could be he is seventeen or more and simply looks twelve. He does not know?”
“Not likely. Anyway, doesn’t matter, he’s not on the menu.”
“He has the looks for…the menu. Fill him out a little and an attractive enough body will appear.”
“Don’t need attractive to clean and serve. Can’t sell half-wits anyhow. Most clients are superstitious enough to think it’s contagious—an idiot’s essence will make them the same.”
“Mmmm,” she replied. “I’m not afraid. Or else it’s too late for me.” She fluttered a hand in front of her face as if to cool her fevered brow.
Bogrevil chortled. “You think you can get a rise out of him, my Eskie?”
“Is that a request?” She shook her head. “I am only saying that he’s a pretty one, though starved.” She snatched the drying cloth off him, left him standing naked while she retrieved clothes for him from a table. “Come, then, give us your arm,” she said as she drew a white tunic on him. “Come,” when she wanted him to raise a foot. Her fingers touched him everywhere, but didn’t linger. She buttoned the tunic down his chest. Its stiff collar nearly reached his chin. Her hazel eyes studied him closely. He blushed at the way she looked at him: