Crow, poisoned

“Crow I want you to test that new bottle of wine that the Lord Cor sent me. It’s a wonderful gift, he knows my tastes, but I don’t trust him”, the Collector says one afternoon, nodding to a bottle of wine on his desk. “Drink some and then go about your duties. Report to me later if anything happens.”

Crow nods dutifully and carefully pours a small amount into the glass. He’s not overly fond of the taste, he prefers tea with milk. Not like he gets what he wants. But the wine seems like ordinary wine, so he sets the glass down and goes to complete his work. There’s a new item to have marked and numbered and various other things to attend to.

It’s not until late afternoon that he starts feeling queasy. He doesn’t think about the wine at first. Was it something he ate? No- he hasn’t eaten anything all day. Maybe that was it. He continues to work through his tasks.

His limbs feel tingly and his stomach craps so hard he has to slide down a wall and tuck his knees to his chest, praying it goes away.

Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths. You’re fine Crow. Just a stomach ache. You need to finish your work.

But now there’s a burning sensation in his chest, and he feels like his heart is going to beat out of his rib cage. The wine... the poison. He has to warn the Collector. He uses the wall to pull himself up, one arm clutching his stomach tightly to try and relieve some of the pain. Staggering, swaying steps as he makes his way to the Collector’s office.

A sweat breaks out on his forehead, and his whole body is trembling. What kind of poison was that? Was he going to die? No- he can’t die here. He doesn’t want to die here. He doesn’t want to die as Crow.

He makes it to the office, clinging to the door handle for support. He has to warn him about the poison. But the room is empty. The Collector isn’t here. Crow wants to cry in pain and frustration. Now he can’t even warn him.

He sinks down next to the desk and leans against it, sweating and shaking uncontrollably. Maybe at least his Master will find him here and know the wine was poisoned.

It’s usually at this point in the evening when the Collector dismisses Crow. But tonight something seems... off. Crow doesn’t have the ability to ask what’s wrong, nor is he sure he would if he had the chance. 

The Collector is well into his bottle of wine when he looks up at Crow. “Things have been running very smoothly around here, haven't they? Almost too smoothly.” 

Crow doesn’t want to know what his Master is implying, but from past experience it can be nothing good. He goes to refill the Collector’s glass but he waves him off. “No more. Are you sure you’re not hiding anything from me?”

Never Master, he thinks, and shakes his head. Of course he wouldn’t hide anything from him.

“Then why am I suspicious?” The Collector gets up out of his chair and towers over Crow. “I shouldn’t have to be suspicious of you. I’ve been nothing but kind to a miserable thief like you. Is that what you're doing? Stealing from me?” He’s advancing, making Crow stumble back like a scared novice, still clutching the mostly empty wine bottle. He shakes his head again. No- no I would never do that I swear! But it’s not like his master can see into his head. Crow wishes his master could. So he could see that he wasn’t lying, wasn't doing anything wrong.

His back hits the wall roughly and the Collector is right there, scowling down at him, caging him in, keeping him trapped. “What do you have to say for yourself?” 

Crow just shakes his head, pleading with his eyes, begging. What a cruel thing to say. He can’t say anything, otherwise he would be begging ceaselessly.

The Collector doesn’t seem satisfied with the non-verbal pleading from Crow. He wraps his hands around his assistant’s pretty throat and lifts, pressing him against the wall, high enough so that his toes barely scrape the ground. “You wouldn’t steal from me, would you? You must really want a number again to try that.”

Crow dares not try to pull his master’s hands away, still holding the wine bottle and scared to spill a drop. He gasps and writhes, trying to push up on his toes, but the Collector just squeezes tighter. “Maybe you’ll learn you lesson, yes?” He  says, a wild gleam in his eye. “Or maybe I’ll need to find a new assistant when your air runs out.”

Tears leak out of the corners of Crow’s eyes as he struggles for air. He doesn’t want to die. He just wants to stay by his master’s side. Please, his blueing lips forms the word. Please.

And when the dancing spots in his vision threaten to completely black out his sight, he’s released and dropped to the floor to heave and gasp for air, head pounding behind eyes. His master crouches down on one knee and stokes his hair back. “My precious Crow, I can see now that you are innocent.” He smiles and Crow feels like all is right in his world again. “You are dismissed.”

Crow knows that mean’s he's to leave, so he staggers to his feet, smoothing out his clothes. The Collector likes him to look neat. He has to look neat. Then he sets the wine bottle on the table, still wheezing with short, broken gasps and bows before leaving his master alone and closes the door behind him. 

His room is only a few doorways down, void of an actual door and he collapses against the wall as soon as he gets inside, sobs forming, making it harder for him to catch his breath. His throat aches. Bruising already he knows from past experience. But it’s okay. His master isn’t angry with him anymore.