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The overseer laughs. "Stimulants. All stimulants," he says, hooking his fat thumbs into his belt. "They're getting them worked up for the tourney."
"Is that safe?" the guard asks.
"Does it matter?" The overseer chuckles again, as if this is all hilarious. "And it depends on what you're worried about. Worried they'll break free and pulp your face? You're right to be concerned. They're going to be so jacked up that they won't come down for weeks. But if you're worried they're going to grab the guards and rape them," he shakes his head. "Lord Sir's already considered that. Most of the stimulants they take are also laced with something that prevents them from getting an erection. That part of their anatomy won't work."
The guard looks unconvinced. "If you think a glad can't hurt you just because their cocks aren't in working order, you're an idiot."
The overseer grunts. "Not my problem."
"You sure this stuff works, though?" The a'ani rubs his hairless chin, frowning. "I've heard Crulden goes after his female every night. Doesn't let her sleep because he's too busy plowing a hole straight through her."
Ew. I bite back a grimace and move a little closer, shoving fruit onto a tray. I'm not sure I want to hear this, and yet I can't leave without hearing it first.
The overseer makes a noise of disbelief. "You think they have Crulden on the same stimulants they have everyone else on? You're a fool. Of course they're pumping him full of as much as they can. Lord Sir doesn't care if he wears a furrow into the girl's cunt as long as he doesn't kill her, and as long as he wins at the tourney. If anything, they're going to give him something to make his cock harder," he continues, all bluster. "You know how the audience loves it when he attacks a prize."
I fight back the urge to puke all over both of them.
"If I had credits, they'd be on him," the guard says. "He…" He trails off, and our eyes meet. He gives me a funny look, half revulsion and half pity. The guard clears his throat.
The overseer turns. If he's surprised to see me, he makes no show of it. Instead he just gestures at the hall. "You need to find the housekeeper, female. She's looking for you."
My scathing response dies in my throat. Wait, what? Why is the housekeeper looking for me? She's the head female slave, and one I rarely ever cross paths with, especially not now that I'm Crulden's plaything. Maybe it's about Crulden? With a frown, I head out of the kitchen. All of me wants to smart off to the overseer and his guard buddy, but I've been a slave long enough to know that's a bad idea.
But slaves have a way of getting back at people. I'm totally going to put a few pubes in their food when I take my place back in the kitchens.
Then, I pause, because hot grief rips through me. If I go back to the kitchens, it's because…nope. Nope. I don't want to think about it. I shove that thought aside and inwardly brace myself, heading through the labyrinthine tunnels of the slave quarters. There's an entire compound under the compound, full of ooli and a'ani, and everyone's rushing around more than usual. There's a heightened sense of urgency in the faces of the slaves that pass by me, and I remember what the cook said—that Lord Sir will have a guest. Is that why everyone's freaking out? Or is it because of the upcoming championship, which is less than a week away and feels like a ticking time bomb?
I find the housekeeper—an older ooli female in a long slave shift with bright white sleeves and an equally bright red choker to make her stand apart from the others. She's in a linen room, instructing slaves on their mending. When I enter, she makes a worried croaking sound at the sight of me, rushing forward. "Good. There you are. Here. Take this and change. Are you clean? Do you need to bathe?" Her nose wriggles and then she shakes her head. "You smell like sex. Go and bathe, quickly now. Put that on and go find Lord Sir. And hurry."
I clutch the soft package to my chest, confused. "I need to get back to Crulden. What's going on?"
The housekeeper shakes her head. "No. None of that. Lord Sir gave me orders that you're to go to him. He's got a guest coming—a lord from Homeworld—and he needs his pet on display. Go now, go bathe." She puts firm, clammy hands on my arms and turns me around. "If you don't hurry, he'll have both of our heads."
The snotty part of me wants to point out that he won't have my head, since I'm his pet to show off, but I don't want to get her into trouble just for doing her job. There's enough worry in her voice to make me hustle into action. I head down to the slave chambers and can't help but notice how the bathing facilities here are vastly different than the ones that the a'ani and the gladiators use. These are very familiar to me—there's no fresh-smelling soaps, no soft towels, not even a bare tile floor. Here, the water runs off on slippery rock, and the spouts for the water are rusty and groan when I turn them on. The water is tepid at best, and I wash as quickly as possible, tossing my slave shift into the laundry container before opening the package that the housekeeper gave me.
