"Blackfriars' Web"

In the bowels of the priory, Roger's world dissolved into a series of disconnected sensations. The motor of the winch whirred, and the tension on his arms vanished. His legs, long unused to bearing his own weight, collapsed under him with a boneless thud. His head fell forward, the muscles in his neck too atrophied to hold it up. His arms and legs were limp, useless appendages. Two large, impassive men entered the cell, unhooked the chains from his collar and cuffs, and dragged his dead weight from the room. 

They didn't carry him; they pulled him across the stone floor, his bare feet scraping a path behind him. They took him to the infirmary, where Beatrice was waiting. She watched as they laid him on a sterile cot, her expression unreadable. She then supervised the staff as they cleaned him, massaged his atrophied limbs, and began the slow process of nursing him back to a state of minimal functionality. He was an asset, after all, and assets were to be maintained.

***

David heard the scrape of the lock and flinched as the cell door swung open. A maid stood there, someone he hadn’t seen before, her expression as blank as she unlocked the heavy padlock on the rusty iron collar and pulled it from his neck. He was led from the cell and into a small, windowless room where a few other people sat on simple benches. They were all dressed in the same rough blue overalls, and a soft, blue light blinked on each of their collars in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. He was the only one still naked, but none seemed to notice that he was part of the herd now.

After he had eaten a tasteless bowl of lukewarm porridge, an older man with a kind face and tired eyes approached him. He introduced himself as Thomas, his voice a gruff whisper.

"I'm to get you for your uniform."

He led David to a small alcove where bundles of clothing were stacked.

"Married to the housekeeper, I am," he confided as he sorted through the pile. "Call her my mistress. That's the way of it." He wouldn't say more on the subject.

The housekeeper herself was a different matter. She was a stern, pinch-faced woman who threw David his uniform without a word: a tight pair of black Lycra shorts that left little to the imagination, a rough, blue one-piece overall, and a pair of simple brown leather sandals. Her sizing was unnervingly accurate; everything fitted perfectly. Thomas nodded thanks to her, and David followed suit.

Thomas picked up a clipboard and scanned the list of tasks. He ticked the first one. "Right. Follow me. You're on exterior lighting."

They went through the vast, stainless-steel kitchen and out a back door. Thomas pointed to a small sensor above the frame. "Look. It turns green as we approach. You've been cleared to go through this door for your job. Don't try any others."

As they stepped into the walled courtyard, David’s eyes darted around, assessing. The walls were high, made of ancient stone, but in several places, the mortar was crumbling, and ivy provided thick, climbable ropes. A mistake could be made. A chance could be taken.

Thomas saw the look in his eyes. "Don't even think about it," he said, his voice losing its friendly edge. "Your collar and your cage have locators. They're tied to the main building's network. If you get too far from the designated work zones, they'll be activated without warning. You won't get ten feet over that wall before you're a convulsing mess on the ground."

David's heart sank, but he kept his face neutral. Thomas showed him where the replacement bulbs and the long-handled grabbing tool were kept, then left him to his work. David was kept busy, his mind a frustrating blend of physical labor and frantic planning, until lunchtime, when he was instructed to go to the library for an announcement.

***

The driver and Isabella had been treated in the infirmary. Their wounds, though vicious, were superficial and were already healing well under the Matron's care. Just before the announcement, the two large male servants came in. They told the driver to come with them. They said nothing to Isabella, who watched them lead her husband away, a knot of dread tightening in her stomach.

A few moments later, she was summoned to the library to attend an announcement. She arrived before the other 'employees', her collar still tight around her neck. Beatrice was standing by the fireplace, looking regal.

"Have you learned your lesson?" Beatrice asked, her voice cool.

Isabella nodded, her eyes downcast.

"Good. I have a new task for you. If you excel at it, there might be some leniency. The added year to your service may not be necessary." Beatrice stepped closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "This is a one-time offer for you alone. And anyway," she added, her voice sharp again, "wasn't your husband the cause of all your troubles?"

Isabella flinched. It was the truth. His stupid schemes, his greed... he was the reason she was here.

Beatrice held out her tablet. "Look."

Isabella looked at the live feed from the screen. She put a hand up to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Her husband, the driver, was hanging in the specially prepared cell where Lord Roger had been. He was naked, his arms and legs bound in the same grotesque, immobile fashion. His head was held in a cage, and a look of pure, abject terror was frozen on his face.

"This is his new home for the foreseeable future," Beatrice said, her tone casual. "He will need a caretaker. Someone to feed him, to clean him, to ensure he doesn't waste away. You can have the job if you follow my instructions completely. Do that, and you earn your clemency. Or," she continued, letting the word hang in the air, "you can refuse, go back to your regular duties, and stay for the extra year."

Isabella stared at the image of her husband. Hate, cold and sharp, crept into her heart. He was the cause of all this. He and his pathetic, get-rich-quick ideas. And then he had tried to kiss her, a moment of weakness that had gotten her a beating she didn't deserve. He was weak. He was pathetic. He was nothing.

She looked from the tablet to Beatrice's cool, calculating eyes and nodded her acceptance.

"Excellent," Beatrice purred. She tapped an icon on her phone, and with a soft click, the collar around Isabella's neck released. Beatrice removed it and set it on a table. "Your right to speech has been restored. Now," she said, a challenge in her voice, "shouldn't you thank me?"

Isabella didn't hesitate. She fell to the floor and pressed her lips to the soft leather of Her Ladyship's shoes. "Thank you, my Lady," she whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse. "Thank you."

Beatrice looked down at the bowed head, a satisfied smile on her lips. "Report to the housekeeper for further instructions.”

***

Thomas found David just outside the kitchen. "Time," he said simply, and led him towards the grand library. As they approached the double doors, Thomas put a firm hand on David's shoulder. "In here, you kneel," he instructed, his voice low and serious. "You stay on your knees, you keep your eyes down. I'll be right behind you." David nodded, his throat tight, and followed the old man into the room, immediately dropping to his knees. Thomas stood guard behind him, a silent, reassuring presence.

The library was filling up. A few other maids and workers appeared, most without collars. They stood respectfully along the walls. At the front of the room, on a slight dais, Lady Beatrice stood, flanked by the Matron on one side and the stern housekeeper on the other. Isabella was also there, standing off to the side, pale but collarless.

"We are gathered today for a momentous occasion," Beatrice began, her voice clear and carrying. "To celebrate the successful completion of service. Two of our staff have fulfilled their agreed terms and are now being released to resume their lives in the world." She paused, letting a thin, polite smattering of applause ripple through the room. "They have learned their lessons, paid their debts, and now earn their freedom."

As she spoke, two other staff members emerged from a side door, leading Mahera and another maid whom David didn't recognize. Both women were naked, their chastity devices removed. They were gagged with simple cloths, their hands bound behind their backs with rough rope. Their handlers held makeshift rope leashes around their necks. They looked terrified, their eyes wide and darting around the room.

Beatrice gestured to them. "These two have served their time. They go now, with our blessing, to start anew." She gave a brief, sharp nod to the handlers, who led the gagged, naked girls from the library. The assembled staff began to applaud, a polite, rhythmic clapping that echoed hollowly through the grand room. David watched, dread settling in his stomach. This wasn't freedom; it was a performance.

Their so-called freedom was short-lived. The two girls were led out the main entrance and down the grand stone steps to a waiting black, windowless van. From his kneeling position, David could see it all through the library's tall windows. The van wasn't just a van; it was unmarked, but the two women who climbed out of the front to open the rear doors wore the small, silver lapel pin of the Sisterhood of Nyx. Mahera and the other maid were bundled inside, the doors slammed shut, and the van drove away without a sound, disappearing down the long, winding driveway. Their release was nothing more than a transfer to a different, and likely far worse, kind of servitude. The round of applause in the library continued, a chilling soundtrack to a silent tragedy.

The Matron looked at Beatrice and smiled; the problem of Mahera was dealt with.