Capítulo 8: filthy scums
"A bath?!" Garmond asked, raising a brow in disbelief. The request had come so suddenly, and at such a time. He never expected something like this from her, especially not now.
He valued his sleep too much to entertain the idea of a late-night bath. Not today.
"But it's already late. Can't you wait till morning?" Garmond groaned, his body unwilling to obey. The thought of dragging himself out into the cold for a bath now was unbearable.
Devine flashed him a teasing smile, patting his neatly cut, bowl-shaped black hair. "Now, that's bad behavior, little boy. You can't sleep with that stench." Her words danced on the edge of mockery.
"I'm not a little boy! You know we're nearly the same age," Garmond muttered, furrowing his brows in irritation. Despite her youthful face, he could sense they were not so different in age.
"Huh, how do you know that?" Devine asked, tilting her head with curiosity.
"Just a guess. I only look younger because I've been malnourished," Garmond replied, shrugging as if it were a simple fact.
"Then that settles it," she said, her lips curling into a playful grin. "I look older, so I am older." She puffed out her chest with pride. "Now, no more excuses. Go take your bath."
Garmond stared at her, speechless. Once again, her attitude reminded him of his late wife, and for a moment, the memories crept back in. But he refused to dwell on the past. He was living in a new reality now—one filled with different opportunities, new faces, and fresh possibilities.
Suddenly, he caught a whiff of the foul stench clinging to his skin, a reminder of his weariness. How had he not noticed it before? He had been so lost in thought, consumed by the turmoil in his mind, that the smell seemed irrelevant.
"Alright," he sighed, defeated. "But where?"
"We don't have a bathroom in the house. We go to the village stream nearby," Devine said, her eyes wandering in thought for a moment. "I'll show you where it is."
Before Garmond could protest, she grabbed his arm, pulling him up with surprising strength and leading him to the door.
From the parlor, Trevor listened intently to their exchange. A twinge of pain stabbed his heart, the weight of unspoken words crushing him. He lay there, pretending to be asleep as the door creaked open. His mind was flooded with memories—old ones, bitter ones. He heard them leave and whispered, "Uncle Garmond... what a way to abandon us." Tears welled in his eyes, the cold night air amplifying the ache inside him.
The chilly breeze greeted Garmond and Devine as they stepped outside, shivering slightly as they left the warmth of the house behind. The night was quiet, save for the distant echoes of laughter and drunken revelry coming from some of the Malians camped nearby.
"They're always drinking and laughing," Devine muttered, her envy barely hidden. "That's what you get for working for the Empire."
Garmond's gaze remained fixed on the road ahead. "It's dangerous to envy evil people," he said quietly, his tone deep with unspoken wisdom. "It only encourages them."
Devine laughed, though the sound was a little hollow. "Easy for you to say. It's harder when they rub it in your face every day."
"Then fight back," Garmond replied, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. "Don't get tempted. It's just what they want."
Devine chuckled, a real laugh this time, the sound lighter. "You're quite the philosopher for someone your age. You make it sound so simple."
Garmond's smirk widened, pleased with himself. He knew the effect his words had on her.
They walked in silence for a while, the path growing darker as they neared the stream. It was split into two by a large hill—one side for the men, the other for the women. Garmond's memory stirred as they approached, vague recollections of this place coming to the surface. It felt familiar, yet distant, like a dream he could barely remember.
Devine stopped abruptly at the foot of the hill. "I'm not following you any further," she said with a teasing tone. "We're the same age, remember? You can bathe yourself."
Garmond smirked, knowing full well why she wouldn't cross that boundary. He turned to her, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Don't worry. If I don't come out in time, just assume I've drowned."
The joke hit its mark. Devine's face paled, her fear immediate. "Wha—no! Don't say that!" She stammered, clearly flustered.
Garmond chuckled inwardly. His little prank had worked. He enjoyed the way she squirmed, knowing he had gotten under her skin.
As he made his way towards the stream, something rustled in the nearby brush. Devine's playful mood shifted instantly, her senses on high alert. From the shadows, five figures emerged, their leathery brown armor marking them as Malians.
A sickening sense of dread pooled in her stomach.
"So you're not joining him in the bath, huh?" one of them sneered, his eyes crawling over her with vile intent.
Another stepped forward, his voice thick with mockery. "You're a pretty thing, aren't you? Why not spend the night with us? We'll make it worth your while."
The others laughed, their crude remarks hanging in the air like poison. Devine straightened, her spine stiff with defiance. "Thanks, but no thanks."
Her rejection silenced them for a moment, their laughter quickly replaced by a sharp edge of malice.
"You're getting cocky," one of them growled, pulling a whip from his belt. "I think you need to learn some respect."
The whip cracked through the air toward her, and Devine instinctively raised her arms to shield herself. She braced for the sting, for the pain she knew was coming—but it never came.
When she looked up, a shadow loomed over her.
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