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hands pressed into his back. 
Every part of his body hurt, except for his arms.  They were numb.  And the
pile seemed no bigger than when he started.
    A scream of "Get him" turned him halfway around. 
    Hands grabbed his arms and legs and lifted him off the
ground.  He was in the air, then in the manure pile before he could begin to
struggle. 
    He was too tired to fight back, anyway.  The air he sucked
in trying to scream filled his mouth with fresh manure.  His first thought was,
"I'm going to die." 
    He sat up, coughed, and wiped his eyes. 
    The five boys from the meal room stood next to his
wheelbarrow.
    "Feral freak!" screamed one.
    "We'll teach you your place," yelled another.
    From beyond the boys came the voice of the second Jack. 
"Why aren't you working?  What're you doing?"
    The boys scattered, and Tommy saw the second Jack looking
down at him.
    "You won't finish sitting," Jack said.  "Get
up.  Get back to work."
    Tommy put his head between his knees and sobbed.  Brown
tears dropped from his chin and nose onto his ankles.  How was he ever going to
get home?
     
     

The First Jack
     
    The first Jack watched from behind the corner of the barn. 
Tears streaked the manure on the boy's face, and he looked as if someone had
slapped him.  Maybe someone should slap him to stop his whining.
    The old men told a story about the lords bringing in some
feral human adults during Jack's great-grandfather's time.  No one below the
commons had ever found out why.  According to the story, the ferals had killed
twenty warriors before they were killed. 
    What a fool's business this is , thought Jack.  Ferals
can't learn proper respect, and this child is close enough to adult, even if
he's just a twig of a thing.
    The lords had told him to put the boy to work in his stable
for a while.  They had plans for him after.  Don't pay to call the lords
fools.  Don't hurt to think it, though, and it has to be lunacy to mess with
the way things are.  Farming and stable work are for farmers.  That's the way
it's always been, and that's the way it'll always be.   He reflexively bowed
his head and clasped his hands at his waist.  Until He comes to take us
Home.
    He looked up at the boy.  It's plain that this child
don't have the makings of a farmer.  Looks like he never did a day's work in
his life.  He'll need a babysitter, and we've no time for that.  If a horse
don't kick him, working in the stable will wear him to death before anyone gets
any real use out of him, whatever the lords want. 
    That almost brought a smile to his stiff face. 
    Things are running smooth since I took over, and I don't
need this trouble.  Maybe I should encourage those boys a bit.  Shouldn't take
much to push this child over the edge .  The smile faded.   But if
something does happen, I don't want anyone to think it was my fault.
     
     

Chapter Three:  Discovery
     
    The next weeks were the most painful of Tommy's life.  He
was up for breakfast before the lights came on in the Commons, shoveling manure
until lunch, shoveling more manure until dinner, and falling into his bunk at
night with Potter asleep between his legs. 
    His meals duplicated his first: he ate gruel, and no one
would talk with him as he sat alone.  At night, his bunkmates walked and talked
around him as if he didn't exist--a situation Potter didn't share: after a day
of hissing and posturing, Potter and the other cats in the room became the best
of friends.
    He didn’t have the energy to think about home, or his
parents, or escaping.  He wasn’t alone in mucking the stalls, and someone took
the horses out each day for exercise, but none of that seemed real.  Only the
pain in his arms, shoulders, legs, and back, and the tricks the other boys
continued to play on him had any meaning.  He lost track of how many days and
weeks had passed. 
    Just when the work seemed easier, the first Jack added more
to Tommy's day.  Before beginning his usual tasks, Tommy