One step at a time Jack told himself, though the burden was great. Every forced breath was painful and his knees threatened to buckle with every step. The crate he carried was full of vegetables and Jack knew the pain of beatings to be greater than his current state if he dare drop one, though the king and his friends had enough vegetables to spare already, and they probably just fed them to the dogs.

"Move faster!" A cruel voice filled the room and Jack shuddered inwardly. Master Crane, one of the many slave drivers, cracked a whip. Using all his energy, Jack stumbled across the glossy floor and placed the crate on the counter.

He tasted salt on his tongue and touched a hand to his head. It was warm and sweaty and throbbed with pain at the lightest touch. He would not forget the beating he had received last time, but he knew he had to keep going, lest he be beaten again.

He finished his job faster than normal and tried to appear busy to avoid extra work until it was the time when a few slaves were allowed to stop, and maybe eat a bite before their late evening chores. Jack slipped out into the crowded courtyard. It was full of slaves, some still working and some getting a breath of air. Jack looked up and as the sun set lazily, the moon rose into the sky. Jack cursed the moon for being there; he never wanted to see it. It reminded him too much of his past.

"Stupid knave!" Jack winced at the sound of the yell. He slipped through the constantly moving crowd of slaves and servants that filled the castles courtyard and spotted the source of the noise. An overseer had a young boy's hair in his hands and was prepared to strike the boy across the face. Again, Jack noted by the streak of blood slipping out the boy's mouth and the large bruise on his cheek. The boy was cringing and his breaths were short and terrified. Beside him was a half-eaten fruit.

Stupid move boy, Jack thought, but he nonetheless bolted out of the sea of servants and, without hesitation, struck the overseer in the jaw. A slight cracking sound followed and the man brought his hands to his face to somehow dull the pain.

"Run boy!" Jack pulled the slave up and pushed him off. But before he himself could move, the man was upon him. A heavy fist collided with his jaw and as he fell over, feet kicked him in the shins. The overseer gripped Jack around the neck and aimed a punch for Jack's head.

Jack looked at the moon, and then closed his eyes. He didn't struggle, though he groaned as the fist collided with him again and again, but it barely hurt. For years ago, on that dark night he had watched his friends die, pain no longer mattered; Jack was numbed to the feeling of pain whenever his mind drifted back to his fallen friends.

Jack was pulled out of his thoughts when he realized the beatings had stopped. He opened his eyes and gritted his teeth as his body's pain caught up with him. He felt his face. It felt cool and foreign, like it wasn't his at all but some sort of a mask. A warm drop of blood met his fingertips and Jack looked at it, hardly believing that it was his own.

Slowly, painfully, Jack righted himself and observed his surroundings. The overseer was gone, as were most the slaves, an indication that Jack should get going or he'd be late.

Jack hurried on, though his legs complained sourly, and went on with his chores.

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The night was cool and it was very late before Jack got into bed, if one could call it that. He closed his eyes and saw images of his friends, and then of abstract shapes dancing through his head, so close he felt like he could reach out and touch them. Then the shapes were dissolved by blackness as sleep overtook him.

Jack awoke with a start. There was a hand over his mouth and someone was shaking him awake, but he did not struggle. His mind pondered who would wake him up in such a manner as he sat up and came face-to-face with a young man, not much older than himself.

Tattered rags provided little warmth for the man's bruised body, and he was clearly a slave. Though why a slave would wake another on a bitter night like this Jack could not apprehend.

"I have a name but you need not know it," the man whispered into Jack's ear, "you have spirit, do you wish to help overthrow the yoke of our slavery? If not you are an enemy."

Apart from the small chance of success, and sure chance of pain... Why not? Jack asked himself. He whispered s quietly as he could, hope the man could hear him. He had said "I am not an enemy, I will help."

"Good." The man's tired and almost harsh voice whispered in Jack's ear. "We never met."

Then the man slipped out into the night as quietly as he had come and Jack stared at the shabby ceiling, the visitor's words repeated themselves in Jack's head and he had little sleep that night.