Mosana - Part XXIII
EPISODE 23
I waited for the effects of the diary to kick in; nothing happened. Not until the next day, before I earned the returns of my hard work.
Master Wells summoned all the slaves to the parlour. It was the same place Flint and I were summoned and tried. I suppressed the memories as I went with most of the young slaves into the house. Only the elderly ones, Mr. Fisher, Ms. Nan, Cora and Tricia, weren’t summoned. They didn’t work in the house, they worked on the fields, or in the barns or stables.
‘Who, among you vermins, stole my diary?’
I was confused. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I knew precisely where the diary was, and I had expected whom it was with to have acted by now. I sure as hell didn’t speak up though. I was glad Tricia wasn’t here, or she would have easily given me away with a single look. She hadn’t seen me with the diary, but she would have easily guessed I was the culprit. She had been insinuating that I was going to get them all in trouble.
No one spoke. An expected response, given the fact that nobody knew the answer to the question. We (and by we, I mean all the other slaves) all looked at each other incredulously, especially those that couldn’t read. Diary? Them? Even if they could read, none of them had the effrontery to venture into Master Wells’ quarters and pilfer his diary.
No one except me.
Master Wells asked again, ‘Have you all gone deaf? Who entered my quarters, and removed my diary from my table?!’
I had to give it to him; he had excellent memory. He even remembered the exact position. That didn’t get him any answers though.
It got him something else.
‘Are you referring to this diary, Wells?’
Madam Russell stepped into the room and held up a slim, black notebook I was all too familiar with.
So it was still with her… but why was she holding on to it?
At the sight (and hearing) of Madam Russell, Master Wells turned to gasp at his diary in her hands.
‘Madam!’
As an expert reader of facial expressions, a skill I had learned from living in fear with my father, I noticed a set of conflicting emotions play out on Master Wells’ face. He was relieved he had found his diary, but also perplexed at whom he found it with. I imagined that in his mind, he couldn’t come to terms with the Madam stealing his diary. And then the last expression of all, and my favourite, fear. He knew as well as I did, what was in that diary. But what he didn’t know was that it was now augmented, and it was not his diary.
‘Did you find it with one of the slaves, ma’am?’
I was amused at the fact that we both referred to Madam Russell as “ma’am”. We’re all slaves in here, sucker. A shark was still a fish.
‘No. As a matter of fact, I found it amongst your clothes.’ I was glad she didn’t mention who was carrying the clothes when she found it. Master Wells would have been able to put two and two together with that slim piece of information.
‘M-Madam?’ Master Wells stuttered. In all my years of hearing him bark orders, I had never heard him stutter. Or even mince words. But here, in front of the beast, he actually fumbled for words. I wished I had a camera. Or better yet, a recorder. Or even better still, a recording camera. This was a moment to be remembered in detail!
Madam Russell was still talking. ‘Do you mind explaining to me how you intended to overthrow me and run my house?’
‘Wh-what?’
Two times in a row! I almost sniggered. It wasn’t everyday you got to hear the butler, with his starched collar and over-starched voice, stammer.
‘Let me rephrase that. Do you mind telling me just how you intend to get rid of my daughter, marry me and take over my property?!’
Just like that, I knew why she had been hanging on to that diary. This woman was an evil genius. She wanted him to look for it. And she knew how that was going to turn out. She knew he wouldn’t start rummaging through the house in search of it. She knew he would finally assume it was stolen when he couldn’t find it in his room. And finally, she knew he would summon the slaves.
She wanted to make his execution public.
No one knew better than her that the best place to defeat a champion wrestler was on the wrestling ground, during an inter-village wrestling match, where every village was present, along with their chiefs and representatives.
My guess was that what she had read had infuriated her to the point where she had to heap dust in his face in front of the slaves. She knew nothing would shame him more.
When he remained speechless, she thundered, ‘Is this not your diary?’
‘Y-Yes, madam, but-’
‘Then I read correctly.’ Madam Russell offered the same smile a tiger would give to a rabbit.
I almost pitied him as I watched Master Wells trying to defend himself as the rest of us watched. I stomped down violently on that little piece of humanity inside me that wanted to feel sorry for him. This was war! And my first casualty had just licked the dust.
On to the next one.
I waited for the effects of the diary to kick in; nothing happened. Not until the next day, before I earned the returns of my hard work.
Master Wells summoned all the slaves to the parlour. It was the same place Flint and I were summoned and tried. I suppressed the memories as I went with most of the young slaves into the house. Only the elderly ones, Mr. Fisher, Ms. Nan, Cora and Tricia, weren’t summoned. They didn’t work in the house, they worked on the fields, or in the barns or stables.
‘Who, among you vermins, stole my diary?’
I was confused. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I knew precisely where the diary was, and I had expected whom it was with to have acted by now. I sure as hell didn’t speak up though. I was glad Tricia wasn’t here, or she would have easily given me away with a single look. She hadn’t seen me with the diary, but she would have easily guessed I was the culprit. She had been insinuating that I was going to get them all in trouble.
No one spoke. An expected response, given the fact that nobody knew the answer to the question. We (and by we, I mean all the other slaves) all looked at each other incredulously, especially those that couldn’t read. Diary? Them? Even if they could read, none of them had the effrontery to venture into Master Wells’ quarters and pilfer his diary.
No one except me.
Master Wells asked again, ‘Have you all gone deaf? Who entered my quarters, and removed my diary from my table?!’
I had to give it to him; he had excellent memory. He even remembered the exact position. That didn’t get him any answers though.
It got him something else.
‘Are you referring to this diary, Wells?’
Madam Russell stepped into the room and held up a slim, black notebook I was all too familiar with.
So it was still with her… but why was she holding on to it?
At the sight (and hearing) of Madam Russell, Master Wells turned to gasp at his diary in her hands.
‘Madam!’
As an expert reader of facial expressions, a skill I had learned from living in fear with my father, I noticed a set of conflicting emotions play out on Master Wells’ face. He was relieved he had found his diary, but also perplexed at whom he found it with. I imagined that in his mind, he couldn’t come to terms with the Madam stealing his diary. And then the last expression of all, and my favourite, fear. He knew as well as I did, what was in that diary. But what he didn’t know was that it was now augmented, and it was not his diary.
‘Did you find it with one of the slaves, ma’am?’
I was amused at the fact that we both referred to Madam Russell as “ma’am”. We’re all slaves in here, sucker. A shark was still a fish.
‘No. As a matter of fact, I found it amongst your clothes.’ I was glad she didn’t mention who was carrying the clothes when she found it. Master Wells would have been able to put two and two together with that slim piece of information.
‘M-Madam?’ Master Wells stuttered. In all my years of hearing him bark orders, I had never heard him stutter. Or even mince words. But here, in front of the beast, he actually fumbled for words. I wished I had a camera. Or better yet, a recorder. Or even better still, a recording camera. This was a moment to be remembered in detail!
Madam Russell was still talking. ‘Do you mind explaining to me how you intended to overthrow me and run my house?’
‘Wh-what?’
Two times in a row! I almost sniggered. It wasn’t everyday you got to hear the butler, with his starched collar and over-starched voice, stammer.
‘Let me rephrase that. Do you mind telling me just how you intend to get rid of my daughter, marry me and take over my property?!’
Just like that, I knew why she had been hanging on to that diary. This woman was an evil genius. She wanted him to look for it. And she knew how that was going to turn out. She knew he wouldn’t start rummaging through the house in search of it. She knew he would finally assume it was stolen when he couldn’t find it in his room. And finally, she knew he would summon the slaves.
She wanted to make his execution public.
No one knew better than her that the best place to defeat a champion wrestler was on the wrestling ground, during an inter-village wrestling match, where every village was present, along with their chiefs and representatives.
My guess was that what she had read had infuriated her to the point where she had to heap dust in his face in front of the slaves. She knew nothing would shame him more.
When he remained speechless, she thundered, ‘Is this not your diary?’
‘Y-Yes, madam, but-’
‘Then I read correctly.’ Madam Russell offered the same smile a tiger would give to a rabbit.
I almost pitied him as I watched Master Wells trying to defend himself as the rest of us watched. I stomped down violently on that little piece of humanity inside me that wanted to feel sorry for him. This was war! And my first casualty had just licked the dust.
On to the next one.
____________________________________________
Hey you!
I know this chapter is short, but for the love of cliffhangers, I couldn't help it! I promise to post on Sunday, so you won't have to wait too long.
And I felt sorry for Master Wells actually; did you? His only crime was love. Okay, and maybe a bit of cruelty. Remind me never to get on Mosana's bad side.
On to the next one! Till Sunday again, me loves.
xoxo,
Ava.
Xoxo. Amandla
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