A Rude Awakening

"Lem! Lem! Wake up, boy!"

Lem opened his eyes gradually, a groan catching in his battered throat as he peered up at the pale figure standing over him. The room was as dark as it had been when he'd crawled into his bed and tried to settle on his hard, lumpy mattress. He felt just as awful, too.

"Anders?" he croaked, wondering what the elderly man was doing in his bedroom at such an ungodly hour of the morning. He was supposed to be resting. Master Nassau had even given him a day's leave after that terrible fight with the weapon wielded by Baron Odirus. Not that Lem had actually believed his master's lie, but he was almost certain he hadn't even fallen asleep yet. Surely it was too soon for another battle! He wasn't in any condition to be fighting. Not that Master Nassau bothered himself with facts of that nature when he was seeking entertainment. But he'd seen off the Baron immediately after Lem's battle, so it seemed unlikely for Lem to be called up again so soon.

A cold stone sank in Lem's stomach as another option presented itself to his tired mind. Surely it was not -

"A feeding?" he asked, unconsciously lifting a hand to the scars littering his neck and grimacing. He was already losing his sleep because of this unceremonious wake-up call. Was he now going to be losing his blood, too?

"It's not a feeding," hissed Anders, already tugging on the threadbare blanket Lem was huddled under. "It's murder."

Lem felt his eyes go wide, and he sat bolt upright, instantly awake. "Murder!" he exclaimed, throwing off the blanket, neatly breaking Anders' grip on the thing in the process. "Who was killed? When did it happen? Who did it?"

Anders grimaced. "Master Nassau is dead," he said. "He was killed sometime during the night. The killer is unknown."

Lem felt a grin tug at his lips and he fought not to laugh. This was perfect! His master was dead. Surely he would be free of his enthrallment, now that he had no master. He could finally live a normal human life! "How did it happen?" he asked Anders gleefully. "Beheading? A stake to the heart? Sunlight?" He tossed a look in the direction of the room's only window, noting how the moon, high in the sky, shed its soft light through the worn curtain's moth-eaten holes. "... probably not that last one," he amended, turning back to Anders, barely resisting the urge to shake the fragile man by his bony shoulders. "Well?"

Anders was giving Lem a disapproving look. "Unfortunately for you," he said, with a pompous sniff, "I am not privy to that information. I was simply told to gather all of Master Nassau's thralls in the parlor."

Lem smirked. "How can I still be his thrall if he's dead?" he jeered.

Anders gave Lem a pitying look. "Oh dear. You don't know, do you?"

Lem was getting very tired of Anders' antics. Just because the man was a knowledge thrall didn't give him the right to act so mysterious and aloof about the things he knew! "Obviously not," he growled.

"Thralls are not released from their bonds by the death of a master," Anders said, and then he continued speaking.

Lem didn't hear another word, though, his mind spinning with a rush of sudden disappointment at the news. He had been so excited, ready for his first taste of freedom. He had been waiting his whole life for a chance to escape an existence dictated by the whims of a greedy Blood Lord. He hated his master, the man who had set him on a path of violence from childhood, and celebrated his death without an ounce of shame. And yet somehow, despite the hateful man's death, Lem found himself still bound to service. But… service to whom? He didn't know anything about the binding enchantments that made a thrall. He couldn't begin to guess at what would happen now that his master was dead.

"So what, do I have a new master?" he asked, interrupting Anders' monologue mid-sentence. (The old man hadn't seemed like he'd be winding down anytime soon, and Lem was impatient.)

The old man huffed indignantly, then said, "As I was just saying, thrall mastery is a matter of blood inheritance. As a result, you and I and all other household thralls have been transferred into the ownership of Lady Genevieve Anette Nassau, first daughter of the late Lord Nassau."

Lem took a mild bit of pleasure in the way Anders clearly wanted to say 'may he rest in peace,' but couldn't, because it was well known that those of The Blood were cursed with immortality at the cost of their very souls. There would be no peaceful rest for Lord Nassau, and it was richly deserved, in Lem's opinion. He hoped the devils dragged him to the very deepest pits of hell and set him in a lifetime of endless mortal combat against increasingly powerful enemies. See how he liked being a weapon, for a change.

Shaking his head slightly, Lem refocused on what Anders was saying. "So you're telling me that even if a thrall outlives their master, they still don't get to be free? That doesn't seem fair."

Anders shrugged lightly. "As I said, the only known way for a thrall to free themselves is-"

A loud pounding on the door obscured whatever Anders was about to say.

"Oi, thralls!" Through the door, the heavy growl of Bast spurred both Lem and Anders into action. Both of them knew that it did not bode well for the thrall who angered the household's most powerful (and bad-tempered) weapon. Bast pounded again, fists so heavy that Lem's door popped open, the door escaping one of its hinges to hang crooked in its frame. "Parlor, now!"

"Yessir, thrall Bast," Lem scurried through the now-broken door, ducking his head to avoid making eye contact with the irascible thrall.

Although he was less spry than Lem, old man Anders made good time hurrying from the room as well. With Bast hot on their heels, they made their way through the gloomy halls of Nassau Manor to assemble in the parlor with all the other household thralls of the late Lord Nassau (may he descend swiftly to the lowest hell).

Lem rubbed his forehead in annoyance as he cautiously tucked himself into a narrow corner of the room, feeling the slight ridges there with a mixture of annoyance and disappointment. Anders hadn't been lying. The mark of the thrall still marred his forehead, which meant…

…Lem was still nothing more than a vampire's weapon.