Below the Surface

4. Prophecy

Max stared in wonder at the stone basin before him, filled to the brim with steaming, frothy water. A pleasant, herbal scent wafted towards him. He had been astonished when a guard, after leading him from that horrible, dirty cell and down a few more long, twisting tunnels, had taken him into a new set of cave chambers, these ones resembling something more akin to what Max would call a "house," and what the people of the underground colony referred to as a "dwelling." Upon entering, the guard told him rather bluntly that he stank, and it was about time that he took a bath.

"A bath? What's that?" He'd asked.

The guard had gaped at him a moment before shaking his head, a disgusted look on his face.

"Filthy Outsiders, don't even teach their children how to clean themselves."

Max wanted very much to explain to the sour-faced guard that he very well knew how to clean himself, that he washed daily in the river, and was only dirty because he had ran all night and hid all day in a muddy forest, and had then been kept in a grimy cell for hours, but he thought it best to remain as non-confrontational and compliant as possible.

"A bath is where you wash yourself, with hot water and soap. And soap is--"

"I know what soap is," Max interrupted, unable to hold his tongue. He didn't enjoy being treated like a fool.

The guard gave him a mean glare, looking him up and down. "By the amount of filth layered on you, that's hard to believe."

Max pressed his lips together, preventing himself from saying something he may regret. He had learned the hard way, many times, with his father that speaking your mind in front of a self-important, prideful man would only ever get you bruised and bloody, in every way.

He had followed the man then into a chamber with a stone floor, much like the stone on the floor of his cell. But instead of a dirty, old cot and scummy latrine, there was a wide, deep stone basin against one wall, and stone benches placed just in front of it.

Max had stared up in awe at the crisscrossing network of shiny, metal tubes running along the ceiling, ending in cone-shaped spouts above the benches and basin. The guard had gone to the right hand wall, reaching up to tug and twist at a few sets of chains hanging there. Max jumped when a deep, rattling noise came from the metal tubes, and then only moments later, a stream of steaming-hot water came pouring from the spout above the basin, slowly but steadily filling it.

The guard had shoved his hand into a woven sack, sitting with a few others below the hanging chains, and grabbed a handful of dark-green powder, walking to the basin and sprinkling it into the stream of water. The water began to bubble and froth, reminding Max of the white foam that would sometimes collect in stagnate sections on the river. This was a type of medicinal soap, the guard had explained, and the tubes that carried the hot water were called pipes. The water was carried through the pipes from a nearby boiler, heated by hot coals, one of many located throughout the underground city.

He was then showed how to operate the chains that brought the hot water to the spouts above the benches. First, he was to scrub and rinse himself on the bench, the dirty water would drain away through a grate in the floor, and then he was to get in the bath to soak. He was handed a round brush, with impossibly soft bristles.

Alone and scrubbed raw, he finally stepped into the warm basin of water. A huge sigh escaped his lips as he sank into the comforting embrace of the sudsy bath. Never had he felt something so wonderful in his life. He sat at the edge of the basin, where a small ledge provided the perfect seat, and leaned his head back. The scent of the medicinal soap soothed him, his ever-tenses muscles beginning to relax, and his eyelids drooped.