Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
I wait for him to knock.
To apologize.
Neither happens, and I go back to my book. Another night out in the barn won't kill him.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
ZHUR
The only thing that smells worse than the livestock in this barn is...me. And the realization is a horrifying one. I don't think I've ever gone this long without bathing. Without a real lavatory. Without a real bed to sleep in.
I don't know how much more I can take. This isn't living. This is a slow torture. This is squalor.
I've been out here for almost twenty-four hours now and frankly, that is twenty-four too many. The floors have been trod upon by animal hooves, making them filthy and unhygienic. There's hay scattered around. There's animal dung in spots that the bots have missed. There's food particles and animal hair and I have no shoes. Nor do I have a bed. Or anything else, come to think of it.
The scope of my worldly possessions consists of the uniforms Meev has left outside for me, and a blanket. That's it. That is all that Heir Zhurrrvas has been reduced to, the crudest of lifestyles. It is not to be borne, and yet I have no choice. My trunks of valuables, my clothing and supplies and (most importantly of all) credits that will get me through this disastrous exile have vanished. My contacts have departed, and my staff of one very surly servant has revolted.
I don't blame her. I am quite revolting at the moment. I am wearing a one-piece uniform of some kind that fits loose in the wrong spots and tight in the others. It is not even a fabric that is comfortable against my skin. Rather, it is rough and hard and will probably rub my fur off if I wear it for longer than a day. I pluck a piece of hay out of my tangled mane and try not to shudder. Another wafting smell reaches my sensitive, overwhelmed nose and I think it's me. I lift one arm and sniff delicately and sure enough, the stench of my body could topple kingdoms. I cough at the appalling smell and look around my “new home” for something to fix this.
As I glance around from my spot atop one of the bales of (highly, highly unsanitary) hay, I see one of the bots shutting off what looks like a water spout. A four-legged meat creature wanders over to it and shoves his muzzle in, drinking.
Water. A sink full of water. That's perfect for my immediate needs.
I approach the water trough and as I do, the animal drinking from it raises his head. Grassy green gunk is crusted in the corners of his mouth, and as I watch, he looks placidly at me and a long string of drool drips from his lip...
...and plops back into the water.
I...I can't do it.
No matter how filthy I get, no matter how dirty I smell, I can't bathe in animal spittle. The urge to run from the barn, screaming, strikes me hard. It's an urge I've had every hour, but I've nowhere to go.
This time, however, I decide I'm going to let Meev know of my displeasure. She's been leaving food for me on the porch, which shows she's not entirely hard-hearted, but surely she has to realize that I deserve better. That literally anyone deserves better than grass-and-spit-filled water. I march over to Meev's tiny shack, the knees of my jumpsuit getting tight and then loosening with each step because the fit is all wrong. I go to the porch but there's no food or fresh clothes out, nothing. It must be too early.
Well, if I can't sleep, she can't sleep either.
I bang on the door and wait. No answer. This is not surprising, as she has refused to answer each time I have demanded entrance. Today, however, I will not be thwarted. I move to the side of the house, and there is a square window that I believe was in her bedroom. I pound on it with the side of my fist. It's made of plas instead of glass, and makes a woob woob noise as I smack it, which doesn't properly convey my frustrations.
"Meev!" Woob woob.
"Meev! Quit ignoring me!" Woob woob.
Still nothing.
Woob. "Meev, I am not leaving until you talk to me. I will stay here and pound—woob— on this door—woob—until you do!"
There's a muffled growl of feminine rage on the other side and then Meev jerks back the window coverings, glaring at me. She's wearing a strange short tunic that cuts off at her ribs and shows her belly, along with a pair of low-slung trou that look several sizes too large. Her mane is disheveled and she rubs her eyes, clearly not a morning person. "Hey, how about you fuck off, Lord Hairball? It's six in the morning!"