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Authors: Denise Hall
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studied her with hard eyes. "Yeah," he seethed, exhaling the word as though it were a sigh of sheer annoyance. "I can see right now you're going to get the full twelve."
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67
Judgment II: Mercy
by Denise Hall
Chapter Four
Shipe kicked open the dining room doors and swung into the hall, his customary gait, that of an avenging fury. Mercy's bare feet softly slapped the floor as she hurried along behind him, sometimes walking, sometimes jogging just to keep up.
His stamina was amazing. As they walked down the center aisle between the rows of tables, benches, and the Lessers standing at silent attention while they awaited the command to sit, Mercy couldn't help but admire the bunching, flexing muscles playing along his shoulders, arms and back. He was a powerful man, despite his partial limb. But also humorless and very quick to temper.
It was also plain to see that the other women were afraid of him. Now and then, she thought she caught a sly sideways glance from a Lesser here or there, but not one of them—not one—turned her head to look at them directly.
Far to the front of the room was the dais upon which the masters sat to eat their meals. The food at the high table was of considerably better quality than that served to the Lessers, and made Mercy's poor fare all the more unpalatable. And worse, she was segregated from the rest as though she were diseased. Being alone had been easier to ignore in Boyden's barracks, when she hadn't seen the others, but in public it was much harder. When Shipe led her around the dais to the small table, set up in the corner with only a single place setting, she could feel the eyes of the Lessers on her back.
She felt very conspicuous.
68
Judgment II: Mercy
by Denise Hall
"You've been whipped once today," he said. "And you've got another one coming later tonight, so don't think you're entitled to the privilege of sitting down during supper."
Mercy wasn't about to complain. She was still very, very tender along the tops of her thighs, and the wooden stool had no cushion. Just the thought of having to settle her weight upon its flat, unyielding surface stirred up echoes of pain.
They were the last to arrive in the dining hall. As Shipe hopped up onto the dais to take his seat, Tane's command,
"Be seated," echoed throughout the cavernous room.
Very little in the way of conversation took place, and what talking did occur was mostly done in respectful whispers.
"Face the wall!" Shipe barked at her, the one time she dared to glance behind her at the others.
And Deaton's harshly called out, "A Demerit to Comfort for looking at the Drone," must have kept the others from making the same mistake, because that particular sentence was only passed out once.
Drone? Was that what they'd chosen to call her? It was a name as unappealing as her tunic. As unappealing as her food: plain mashed potatoes, boiled chicken ground into a paste-like substance, and a leafy green salad without dressing. But having already received from Boyden one lesson on the sin of wastefulness, she ate all of it anyway.
The task of cleaning one's plate while standing up was significantly more difficult than Mercy would otherwise have thought. She ate slowly, although more to keep from spilling food sloppily about her plate, as she negotiated the fork to and from her mouth, than from any desire to savor the 69
Judgment II: Mercy
by Denise Hall
unappetizing fare. Of course, knowing that she faced another beating as soon as she was done gave her plenty of motivation to chew her food as thoroughly as possible.
Mercy took so long that she was just consuming the final bite of potato when a loud bell rang the completion of the dinner hour. Knowing better than to turn around, she listened as the Lessers noisily stood up. She heard them file from the dining hall, some laughing and talking, until the shuffling of their many feet was muffled by the closing of the doors and the only sound to
[Back to Table of Contents]
67
Judgment II: Mercy
by Denise Hall
Chapter Four
Shipe kicked open the dining room doors and swung into the hall, his customary gait, that of an avenging fury. Mercy's bare feet softly slapped the floor as she hurried along behind him, sometimes walking, sometimes jogging just to keep up.
His stamina was amazing. As they walked down the center aisle between the rows of tables, benches, and the Lessers standing at silent attention while they awaited the command to sit, Mercy couldn't help but admire the bunching, flexing muscles playing along his shoulders, arms and back. He was a powerful man, despite his partial limb. But also humorless and very quick to temper.
It was also plain to see that the other women were afraid of him. Now and then, she thought she caught a sly sideways glance from a Lesser here or there, but not one of them—not one—turned her head to look at them directly.
Far to the front of the room was the dais upon which the masters sat to eat their meals. The food at the high table was of considerably better quality than that served to the Lessers, and made Mercy's poor fare all the more unpalatable. And worse, she was segregated from the rest as though she were diseased. Being alone had been easier to ignore in Boyden's barracks, when she hadn't seen the others, but in public it was much harder. When Shipe led her around the dais to the small table, set up in the corner with only a single place setting, she could feel the eyes of the Lessers on her back.
She felt very conspicuous.
68
Judgment II: Mercy
by Denise Hall
"You've been whipped once today," he said. "And you've got another one coming later tonight, so don't think you're entitled to the privilege of sitting down during supper."
Mercy wasn't about to complain. She was still very, very tender along the tops of her thighs, and the wooden stool had no cushion. Just the thought of having to settle her weight upon its flat, unyielding surface stirred up echoes of pain.
They were the last to arrive in the dining hall. As Shipe hopped up onto the dais to take his seat, Tane's command,
"Be seated," echoed throughout the cavernous room.
Very little in the way of conversation took place, and what talking did occur was mostly done in respectful whispers.
"Face the wall!" Shipe barked at her, the one time she dared to glance behind her at the others.
And Deaton's harshly called out, "A Demerit to Comfort for looking at the Drone," must have kept the others from making the same mistake, because that particular sentence was only passed out once.
Drone? Was that what they'd chosen to call her? It was a name as unappealing as her tunic. As unappealing as her food: plain mashed potatoes, boiled chicken ground into a paste-like substance, and a leafy green salad without dressing. But having already received from Boyden one lesson on the sin of wastefulness, she ate all of it anyway.
The task of cleaning one's plate while standing up was significantly more difficult than Mercy would otherwise have thought. She ate slowly, although more to keep from spilling food sloppily about her plate, as she negotiated the fork to and from her mouth, than from any desire to savor the 69
Judgment II: Mercy
by Denise Hall
unappetizing fare. Of course, knowing that she faced another beating as soon as she was done gave her plenty of motivation to chew her food as thoroughly as possible.
Mercy took so long that she was just consuming the final bite of potato when a loud bell rang the completion of the dinner hour. Knowing better than to turn around, she listened as the Lessers noisily stood up. She heard them file from the dining hall, some laughing and talking, until the shuffling of their many feet was muffled by the closing of the doors and the only sound to
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