Sensing that the words were being directed at him, Faris looked up from the heavy leather wallet he had been working on. It was the first time he had moved in a while and his neck cricked sharply as he did so.
As his eyes adjusted from his work, Faris saw Mrs Ladle, the Foundation’s housekeeper and cook, trundling her expansive figure across the workroom towards him. He swallowed nervously.
“Yes, Mrs Ladle?”
She came to rest in front of him, her large belly wobbling for a few moments after her feet had stopped moving, giving her a squishy, jelly-like appearance. But, there was nothing remotely soft or sweet about Mrs Ladle: she was as mean as Mister Grimbaldi and crueller than Gamage, if that were possible.
“I’ve got a job for you,” she grunted, “pigs need feeding and mucking out. You’re a big lad, you need the exercise.”
Faris didn’t even think about arguing.
“At least you like scraps and slops,” Faris muttered to the large, blotchy pink-brown pig as he sloshed to contents of his bucket into the trough. Small flecks of the slightly stinky contents splattered onto his trousers as he did this.
The pig raised its snuffling nose in his direction and gave a disinterested snort.
“Yeah, I know. Why would you understand? You’re just a pig.” Faris shook his head.
I must be crazy talking to animals.
“You boy! Hurry up, these dishes won’t wash themselves!”
Mrs Ladle’s screech split the air of the silent courtyard. His head snapped up as a shiver of fear went sliding down his backbone. Faris dumped the rest of the food into the trough as quickly as he could and ran back towards the Foundation kitchen. No one wanted to be accused of being lazy at Grimbaldi’s – bad things seemed to happen soon after boys stopped being useful any more.