Engines & Demons - The Undestined

Chapter 8ii

Maddock pushed the handcart and its stinking contents with an angry abandon, and its wheels bumped and jumped along the dry track that led from the Enclosures to the lower slopes of the gardens. Two ruts had been worn deep into the track by the relentless passage of the dung carts. With the constant turns of the path, as it wound through the contours of the fortress hill, there was always the possibility of the cart's wheels snagging if the person pushing it was not paying attention.

Maddock was not and they did.

The cart jerked sideways and the top layer of madriel dung slumped over the side.

"Ruteia balls!"

Maddock dropped the handles of the cart angrily which, as the cart was caught at an angle up the slope of the track, had the effect of causing it to tilt the other way and tip more dung out of its other side. Maddock sighed and sat down beside the path, breathing heavily as the sweat poured from his brow after his furious race up the hill. He knew he should not be so angry, but he could not help it. That boy, with his stupid fists and his stupid attitude, typified everything he hated about the Order.

His anger began to subside, but then he realised that he had left his shovel leaning against the trunk of the cherossa tree after his fight with the squire. He swore again and then looked mournfully at the dung that covered the track. It was nothing like the stuff he was used to shovelling back at the farm. The dung of masdon and ghat, though it stank, was at least only the result of a diet of good plains grass and a laborious digestive system. The dung of madriel, however, who lived on a diet of nothing but rich karabok meat, stunk worse than anything Maddock had previously been able to imagine.

"Not sitting down on the job are we, Field-hand?"

Maddock's head flicked around and then up to meet the amused eyes of Master Dramut, who was sitting astride his own pale beast of a madriel. They had somehow approached silently behind him and now stood at the top of the bank beside the track. If the Madriel-master noticed the new bruise on Maddock's face, he did not show it.

"Oh, I was just..." began Maddock.

"I can see what you were doing, Field-hand. So eager were you to complete your duties that, hurrying as you were along the twisting paths to the pits, you have inadvertently upended your load and now you are taking the time to sensibly assess the situation. You have doubtless already come to the conclusion that there is a real possibility you will have to clean up your mistake with your own hands, because you have carelessly left your shovel leaning against a cherossa tree back at the training arenas. Am I right?"

Maddock simply sat and stared up at him.

Master Dramut's steed lowered its head as close to the path as its horns would allow and snorted at Maddock as though his scent had irritated its nostrils.

Master Dramut smiled, unslung something from behind his back, and threw it down onto the sunken track at Maddock's feet. It was his shovel.

"You should count yourself lucky that it was me who found it, and not High Madriel-master Sprak. You would doubtless not like the associated punishment for the loss of a shovel. I, myself, am prepared to be lenient this time, but will not be quite so understanding if you repeat the transgression."

Maddock frowned at the shovel, then stood and picked it up.

"How long am I going to be shovelling dung for?" he asked, not trying to hide his belligerence.

"You will be shovelling dung for as long as I deem it necessary. Now get to it before my patience wears thin."

Maddock looked down at the dung, then began to shovel it back into the cart.