Page 2 of The Glorious Bastard

There are no mothers here.

No. And Neville’s mother wasn’t here either.

She was dead.

“Demons are not the ones you should be afraid of,” the ghost boy said.

“W–Who should I be afraid of?”

The ghost boy threw a look at the closed oak door. Footsteps approached them, the clicking of heels echoing through the halls and reverberating against the bare walls. “The Lords.”

A terrible feeling of foreboding took over Neville, and he instinctively moved back closer to the wall. “What are they going to do to me?”

“Nothing,” the ghost boy said confidently, although a glimmer of something ominous laced his voice. “I am going to make sure of that.”

Neville turned toward the ghost boy, seeing a flicker in his eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. One that terrified him at this moment. Conflicting emotions invaded his soul, throwing him off kilter. He needed something to cut through this air of uncertainty. “What is your name?” Neville asked, hoping that knowing the ghost boy’s name would help him feel less frightened. If he knew his name, perhaps that would make him his ally. A friend.

The lock turned on their door, and Neville was afraid his question would be left unanswered. But before the door even cracked open, the ghost boy’s voice sounded once more. “William.”

* * *

The door opened, and a tall, broad-shouldered guard entered the room, bringing with him the foul smell of unwashed male body, urine, and something else that William had trouble—but no desire—deciphering.

The guard stepped forward, and the new boy stepped back, almost treading on William’s toes. William steadied him with one hand, and the poor fellow jumped in fright.

He was a tiny little thing, not older than five or six years old, slightly younger than William had been when he first set foot in a place like this. He was a bit chubbier than William ever remembered himself being, and his clothing was in finer condition than any William had seen in a while.

Freshly plucked from home, then.

Luckily, he wasn’t going to stay here much longer.

A part of him felt bad that the boy had ended up here, but another part was glad to finally have company. Ever since William was seven or eight—he truly didn’t remember—he had been on his own, and the mere thought of having a friend warmed his heart.

The guard, seeing the boy’s frightened demeanor, took a menacing step toward him. He paused, studying the little boy’s features, and then, “Boo!” came his loud shout, followed by his ugly laughter. It was like the creaking of an old carriage as it moved along a broken country road.

The boy jumped and screamed in fright, prompting William to take him by the shoulders, steadying him once more. The boy’s shoulders shook as he cried, loud sobs coming out of his mouth with every breath.

Still laughing, the guard threw a bowl of porridge onto the dirty floor, then turned around and left the room, shutting the door behind him. He locked it and stalked away, his laughter still audible from behind the thick oak door.

“It’s just the guard,” William tried to soothe the little fellow, but his voice came out rough. He wished he could protect the boy from this horrible place. He tried to be the person he wished he’d met when he had arrived at a place like this the first time, but he had no idea what that entailed. So, he just waved a hand toward the single bowl of porridge. “You can eat if you wish.”

The boy turned toward him, his eyes liquid. “I’ve soiled myself.”

William blinked, surprised at the open admission, but quickly shrugged. “That happens. No need to cry about it.”

The boy wiped his face with his sleeves and walked farther away from William, obviously ashamed. “My mama would have scolded me.”

William winced, and his heart squeezed a little, just as it always had at the mention of the word “mama.” “It’s better to forget your mama, boy,” he said hoarsely. “It’ll be easier to look out for yourself that way.”

The boy didn’t say anything. William could not see what he was doing in the dark corner. Probably crying, huddled up by the cold wall.

“There is nothing to clean up yourself with here. And that’s fine. The filthier you are, the better.”

“Why?” came the shaking voice from the darkness.

“That’s the only way they will leave you alone at the netherplace. Otherwise, they’ll be the ones to clean you up, and it’s… it’s better if they don’t.”

“The netherplace?” His voice sounded confused.