The Legacy of Dirty Birds

Disciplinary Activities and an Intervention

     Calum opened his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. It was still dark outside; the air was still teaming with its midnight moisture. He threw off the blanket, changed into a clean uniform, and shot down the ladder. Calum's feet had just hit the floor when a horn blared across the campus. His hands shot up to his ears, and the other boys began to move and rise. Calum slipped by and out the door before anyone noticed.

     Twenty men to a line, twenty rows before Calum lost count. He wasn't in the front, the only benefit from this position was the not being flecked in Patron Tarif's spittle.

     "Good morning, cadets."

     "Good morning sir!" crowed the chorus.

     "A new day dawns, the Hunt persists." He grunted, "Danehill, don't think I didn't see you slip in last minute, double Border Patrol for you today."

     There was a stifled groan from behind Calum.

     "Harolds, you lead the riding practice, Janus, martials. Calum—"

     Calum winced.

     Once Tarif made eye contact, he scowled. "Come here, boy."

     Calum held his breath as he broke from the line and came to stand next to Patron Tarif.

     "Let this be an example for any young cadets looking to bring souvenirs back from any trips outside camp. Laundry for you, and you alone. Let the maidens know they're getting the day off." He rasped, before dismissing them.

     It could be worse, Calum reminded himself as he walked rather slowly towards the washhouse, it was a good thing he never got assigned to the stables. The Hunt had the privilege of being able to train with the young purebreds that would later become militia stallions. Being the King's horses, only the royally appointed stable hands could tend to them.

     The washhouse was as it sounded, a structure where many a thing were cleaned. The other boys might have been excited to have been assigned there—as it was run entirely by women—but Calum would apparently be handling everything by himself, so, whatever. It was a squat building with paper framed walls. Thin enough so that when he approached, he could smell the soap without having to walk inside. Inside the floor was covered in wooden planks, oiled by thousands of footsteps, and a massive pit of water, suds, and various clothes and sheets belonging to the Hunt. A massive spoked wheel spanned the diameter of the bath, it connected to another wheel, below the water level that churned the soup. Each one of the spokes was pushed by a woman in a smock.

     There was a middle-aged woman sitting off the side who looked up when Calum walked in. She had her smock dress tied up to her pantaloons and her grungy black hair pulled tightly back into a frizzy bun.

     "What are you here for, birdie?"

     Calum blinked, "birdie?"

     She snorted.

     Calum frowned. "I've been assigned to your duties."

     Her face lit up, "Oh really? I'm off for the morning?"

     "Err, the day." Calum interrupted, "And not just you, I believe I'm intended to fill in for everyone."

     Now it was her turn to look confused. "Gods above son! Did you kill someone?"

     "What's the damage cadet?" Another maid yelled over to him.

     Calum cleared his throat, "Everyone has the day off!"