“Don’t you raise your voice to me. I’m a shareholder.” Mr. Fulton’s face was turning red again.

  “Yet you need us to survive out here. You have almost gotten us killed three times and you have no combat skills in the least. I have no idea where your money is coming from, but we want none of it anymore.” Simon was not impressed by Mr. Fulton’s tantrum.

  “You have both gotten at least three levels and those monster drops which you would never get if you had stayed in Bent Spoon. Those should be factored into the price of your services.” Mr. Fulton jabbed Simon’s chest with his finger.

  “We have both used three health potions and those are forty gold each. Were you planning on covering those? And there is no way you’re carrying this much money from Bent Spoon. No one has this much money after paying mercenaries for four days. Whatever creepy thing you’ve got going on, we don’t want anything to do with it.” Ethan put a large hand on Mr. Fulton’s chest and firmly pushed him away from Simon.

  “My money is my own business. It isn’t my fault you didn’t arrange for proper funds before those exile techs tucked you in for the night. And if you leave us now, you’ll be dead within a day.” Mr. Fulton pushed against Ethan’s hand with no visible effect.

  “That sounds like the quick road home. And if you think we won’t tell anyone where you went when we get home, you’re crazy.” Simon said threateningly. “No one just leaves that nice house and good jobs to risk death in the wild for nothing. Someone is looking for you and when you die without a babysitter, they’re going to catch you.”

  “I will turn you all into rats!” Mr. Fulton stumbled backward just from those words and dug in his satchel.

  “Is there seriously anything in there that will actually turn us into rats?” Ethan asked doubtfully.

  “As soon as I’m a wizard, I’m going to find both of you.” Mr. Fulton had a pen and notebook out and furiously scribbled in his book.

  “That’s great. Nigel, you don’t have to stay with this guy. I don’t know why you’ve stayed this long. We can get you back to Bent Spoon safely.” Ethan looked over at the silent Nigel.

  “Don’t you address him! He is my bonded servant and he would never be so disloyal as you monsters. If you’re going to leave, leave me my property and go.” Mr. Fulton stepped in front of Nigel.

  “Nigel, say the word and we’ll cut this guy in half.” Ethan offered. He raised a battle ax and looked ready to put action to his promise.

  Nigel trembled at the intense pain he expected if he actually agreed. Do not betray me had been Mr. Fulton’s first order and Nigel’s skin had felt warm when he heard it.

  “No, I’ll stay.” Nigel managed to get out. Ethan and Simon stomped out of the grove. The sound of their footsteps made the silence after seem as heavy as stone.

  “We don’t need those imbeciles. We are so close now, I can almost smell the gnolls.” Mr. Fulton waved off the two men in armor and adjusted his robes.

  “Gnolls? Are we looking for gnolls?” Nigel asked and Mr. Fulton stared at him.

  “Are we looking for gnolls, what?” Mr. Fulton’s scowl could have turned leaves brown if he’d pointed it at a tree.

  “Are we looking for gnolls like absolute idiots?” Nigel snapped at his boss. He had no intention of adding sir to his question again.

  “No, we’re looking for gnolls like a god. I will turn their tribe into a city with an actual name and when the Prime Minister realizes what I’ve done, she will come begging me for food. If you thought this was such a bad idea, why didn’t you leave with the imbeciles?” Mr. Fulton shouted and swung his fists.

  “Because it would have killed me with the pain to abandon you. You made me a slave! You petulant little child!” Nigel shouted back. He had never shouted back during one of Mr. Fulton’s tantrums. Ten years he had watched Mr. Fulton throw coffee, berate waitstaff, fire numerous employees, break windows, and threaten a girlfriend with a kitchen knife. Every time Nigel had tried to calm Mr. Fulton and talk him through better reactions. None of it had seemed to impact Mr. Fulton’s attitude.

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  “And you should never forget it. Crossing me won’t kill you, but you will wish you were dead. I cannot abide by any disloyalty and if you have forgotten that then you need to be punished.” Mr. Fulton sputtered, his face fully red with a vein throbbing on his forehead.

  Mr. Fulton kicked at the bushes bordering the grove until he came across a branch he liked. Nigel froze. His thoughts leaped back to the first punishment Mr. Fulton had administered. He had only been working with the Fulton family for a few months, assigned to the younger Mr. Fulton as a butler. Another staff member, a junior member, had burned the Senior Mr. Fulton’s shirt with an iron. Nigel had intervened when the staff member had been caned rather fiercely.

  Then the Senior Mr. Fulton had brought in the Junior Mr. Fulton to correct his employee. Being caned by a fourteen year old boy who was shouting obscenities about Nigel being incompetent and uppy had been the most humiliating event of Nigel’s life. When it was over and Nigel had made his way to his apartment, he had immediately begun searching for new employment.

  The computer interrupted him no more than five minutes into the search. Skilled and trained butlers were in demand and the search shouldn’t have taken much longer than that. The web browser had locked up and opened another tab. It showed his contract, highlighting the separation clause. It showed a disciplinary section he hadn’t fully read at first.

  He would lose everything, be unable to hire on as a butler for six years, and lose his apartment in the Fulton Compound if he turned in his resignation. The Fultons were allowed to cane him according to the contract. Up to anything requiring less than two days in the hospital.

  Nigel had never been caned since and had shielded four other staff from that fate. When the Senior Mr. Fulton died shortly after the incident, Nigel did not cry. He did not cheer, but had no tears for a Fulton.

  “Stand against this tree!” Mr. Fulton’s words dragged Nigel back to the present. He had a thin branch, he hadn’t even broken the twigs off it.

  “No.” Nigel said. It hurt, he hurt when he said it. But he struggled not to let it show.

  “You don’t get to say no!” Mr. Fulton spluttered.

  “I do today.” Nigel drew his knife and Mr. Fulton staggered back. It felt like his head was on fire, but Nigel stepped forward. Mr. Fulton swung his stick at Nigel’s face, but Nigel’s knife blocked it. The knife cut into the stick, nearly through it, and jerked it out of Mr. Fulton’s hand.

  Mr Fulton ran.

  Nigel pursued.

  The pain in his head increased and Nigel’s vision blurred. It spread down his neck and to his shoulders. Worried he would drop his knife, Nigel put it away and grabbed his head. He staggered to where he thought Mr. Fulton went and then he was falling.

  He stepped off a ledge and tumbled down the steep slope of a ravine. He felt the poles of the tent snap. Gravel came loose and followed him down to the creekbed. The pain subsided and he was able to see clearer.

  The rocks shifted near Nigel and he struggled to sit upright. Another bunch of rocks were upset and Nigel moved away from the moving stones. His vision cleared enough that he saw a stone fall and hit the stony ravine floor. Mr. Fulton was throwing them down at Nigel. Poorly aimed, but it still surprised Nigel.

  “You run off and abandon me too! You should have gone with the imbeciles. I will have my gnolls and drag you to my palace in chains. You will spend our seventeen years dying from torture over and over.” Mr. Fulton yelled as he struggled to lift a larger stone. It was partially buried and much larger than Mr. Fulton expected. From five meters away at the bottom of the ravine, Nigel could see it would really mess him up if Mr. Fulton managed to actually connect with it.

  Nigel staggered to his feet and ran downstream away from Mr. Fulton.

  The pain was making it hard to walk a straight line, but the creek wasn’t exactly a straight line either. It was a match made in drunk heaven.

  The creek left the ravine and ran into a larger stream. Crossing it was no big challenge and the cool water around Nigel’s ankles was a relief. The forest was thick here and the light was muted more like a cloudy dusk. Nigel only realized he had staggered into ruins when he leaned against the remains of a wall made of stone blocks.

  The leftovers of this town center smelled of rotten wood and sprouting fungus. Squirrel droppings and wide leaves made the ground a little slippery, but the pain was fading and let Nigel walk with a much steadier pace.

  In the middle of the ruins, immune to the same decay that had eaten away mortar and granite, stood a bell. A stone pedestal held it aloft on stone pillars and it was unmistakably the bronze bell that made a bell square.

  Nigel ran to it with a fresh wave of pain down his spine. He grabbed the mallet and a notification appeared before his eyes.

  Ringing this bell will move your respawn point from Bent Spoon to Dusty Codpiece. This is expressly against Gregory Fulton’s orders.

  Nigel rang the bell lightly, hoping that Mr. Fulton wasn’t close enough to hear it. The pain vanished and the ruined town snapped into focus. He could hide here. Some of these walls were enough to support a crude shelter and there were signs of more than just squirrels living here. He could hide from Mr. Fulton’s gnolls and be free for the first time in ten years.

  At the bottom of his vision, in one corner, Nigel was too busy to notice his profession changed.

  Runaway Slave 1, Vagrant 3