Somewhat to his surprise, food arrived the next morning, lowered in a small metal box at the bottom of a chain. Looking up, Caracas saw that the chain was ringed with spikes at various points along its length, likely to discourage any attempt to climb out. He opened the box and removed the tray, finding a bowl of gruel and a chunk of slightly-stale bread.
"Ah," said a voice overhead. "So you live. After Nimod and Valkas pushed you in last night, I wasn't sure."
Caracas squinted at the silhouette of the guard above, then nodded and stepped back out of the circle of light. The box and its chain were pulled back up, and when that was done this new guard spoke again. "Next shift'll lower the chain again just before sunset. Take the food, and put the morning's tray and bowl in the box. If you don't, they'll stop sending down food until you do."
"I understand," called Caracas, "and I thank you."
Then another voice called, "What're you doing, boy? We just feed 'em. We don't chat with 'em."
"Yes, sergeant," the guard replied immediately, and his shadow vanished from the circle of light on the floor.
At least he didn't have to worry about how to dispose of his waste; that had been apparent immediately, from the smell alone. There was a hole in the floor, leading down to some sort of carved pipe that angled down until it came out somewhere beyond the fortress; he hadn't bothered tracing it any farther. It was still better then the conditions in the town, where sewage was dumped into the open gutters with no attempt at even basic sanitation.
It didn't have to be this way, Caracas thought again. We could have made this world so much better.
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