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This Week's Writing Challenge: "Hope is a brandished shield, but the loss of hope is a knife to the heart."

Timotay in Trouble.

Caution: while this story is clean for all ages, it contains very inappropriate suggestions by a supervisor.

Timotay was apprenticed to "Brixis & Mordir-Ring: Printers."

"More like 'Brixis is murdering printers,' " thought Timotay, wending his way through the morning's crowds. Every single furrson of them hurrying busily on their way to work.

And Gods, it was tough being apprenticed to such a sour, moth-eaten, old-curmudgeon! Master Brixis had likely never murdered anyone, except through overworking them to death, until they died, then making the corpse work off the cost of hiring a replacement, then charging the corpse rent for taking up space until it leaves.

Fortitude and hope were all he had to shield himself against Mr. Brixis' demands. Hope was the shining shield brandished protecting his heart from, "That mangy, flea-bitten, creepy, perverted, old curmudgeon?"

Master Mordir-Ring, was a great Master for an apprentice; an even temper, and was very generous. Not often, but when he was generous it was very good for all the workers, even the apprentices.

Good things would happen, maybe soon, Tim had it figured out, his position was secure and rising.

Muttering about a shipment of parchment and maybe some paper from France,... was overheard. And that signaled a special printing, and who could do the best job of all the apprentices? Tim. None could compete against him!

The future promised an exciting job and better pay. So questions arose like; "How many pages would the book have? How many copies were needed? What kind of binding?" His hopes got him more excited!

If the cover got real leaf gold, Master Brixis said that Tim could watch them apply it. He would be allowed to watch from the gallery that ran around the building high above the work-floor. The hope in his heart rose further again - things were going very well, that made the handsome fox smile. He was the best type-setter of all the apprentices; that was clear! He was Lead Apprentice, maybe the next Journeyman! He smiled and put some bounce in his step.

Hmmmm. Tim rubbed his chin absently, figuring the political angles while bounding up the steps. Someone had money and Tim was planning to get his share.

"Ooops! Sorry, I crave your pardon, Good Gentle," Tim said nearly colliding with a huge lion coming out of the door. He stepped backwards and bowed low, allowing the well dressed lion to pass by, saying, "Sorry, my fault entirely, my Lord."

Tim, glancing at the passing noble, "Dear Greenman! Such boots! Surely they cost more than two years salary, ...maybe three! That shiny fabric could be silk. Only the Nobility could afford that.

And how odd, the city wasn't open to customers yet, Fourth Hour Bells hadn't rung, yet, not even the Third hour Bells. He couldn't be late, not yet. He leapt to the top step and caught the closing door just before the latch caught. Quickly he slipped in closing the door gently behind him, and started his work.

The next day, again, he tried to be early, and again was rewarded by catching the door as the rich lion exited, just before work commenced. He moved quickly to the workroom floor and started sorting type. Hearing the boards above him creak, he ventured a, 'hallo?' upwards.

"Ah-ah! Hallo, Timotay," shouted Mr. Mordir-Ring. Tim scanned the gallery high above and saw Mr. Mordir-Ring holding a large sheaf of papers, peering over the gallery railing at him. "You are here earlier than just prompt, again! So! Well, good, good! Good morning and well-met to you. Hard at work already!" Mordir-Ring grinned and sketched a dismissive wave 'Bye' in the air, then went back to, going wherever he was going before being interrupted.

Tim looked back at the pile of type to be sorted, and noticed a half empty type stick, clearly someone had been interrupted while setting up a block of type, because as he read the backwards type, it was clearly two lines of ... wo-wo-woah! Two lines of a highly pornographic passage. Printing pornography was a death sentence! With the penalties for porn so severe, no printer would dare to print a book with that text in it.

Quickly pouring the type out making the sentences illegible he continued sorting. No sooner had he turned back to the task, than the bells rang "Third" and the others came in, Journeymen and then apprentices all in a clump, all fighting to be in their place first.

His heart was at peace. Except for those two lines of porn etched -- seared into his mind, suggesting such rude and randy ideas, things he'd never heard of, never dared to imagine; he was often uncomfortable that day.

A week later, Tim coming early, sighted the lion coming from the printer's. Again he slipped inside, almost certainly the first at work. Some printer had left their finished books unshelved. There set upon the work bench was a stack of books, already wrapped up, their sacks tied and sealed. Tim being early to work carried them up to the gallery and shelved them by the same colored tags. Hearing the slam of the door alerted Tim someone had arrived.

He was about to 'Hallo' but stopped when he heard someone say, "With the key, you idiot, ... And if you tell anyone, I -Will Kill- You. You know I have no choice! Right?" Tim sidled silently near the rail, peering over. It was the huge tiger, Bragge, and the stout badger, Stolle, the lordling wannabes. Like Tim, they had huge aspirations, of anyone doing anything illegal, these two were no surprise.

There was some muttering, then, "O.K., then look at this plate. There was a silence, then, "And if that doesn't get you hard, check this plate."

"Greenman's Hairy Balls, you guys are skirting the death penalty," Stolle muttered, "is that? ... is that? ... unnnh, That is totally kinky. Damn, I'd love to do that and -- Oh, Cern's shiny antlers, I've never seen anything this hot in my LIFE!"

"Sshhhhhh! Shut up! What if that pretty little fox is here, already," said Bragge?

Stolle countered, "Tim? He can keep a secret."

"With your life?

"Oh shit, this would sure get us hung. Yeah, you're right. I wouldn't look any better with my neck stretched," muttered Stolle.

Don't joke about it, you idiot, it's your LIFE!"

"Yeah, okay, you are not exaggerating. Getting caught is a death sentence, for sure."

"Well, Brixis surely could, the King will. That's a certainty. If you still want in on this, I'll show you the text later, I bound twenty covers last night, that's fifty. They should be, uhn, right, .. here."

Tim pulled back. He had to wait until others arrived. He certainly couldn't go downstairs, couldn't let them know he'd seen or heard, or even knew about the plates. He'd pretend that he was late arriving, and pray they fell for that. A mere five minutes later Third Hour Bells rang, and the others came tumbling in.

That night sitting on his bed Tim started to calm down, thinking about the day's events. Still worried but not panicked now, he reviewed and saw that he had surely gotten away without Bragge or Stolle suspecting they'd been observed.

The next morning as Tim approached the shop's door, it swung open and he was bowled over by a huge lion coming out of the shop. Falling down the steps, he scrambled back up on his feet, checking himself. The lion leapt down the stairs, grabbed Timotay by the collars and dragged him up the steps, and into the workshop. He shoved Tim roughly to the floor, "You, Mordir-Ring, deal with this! This's the third time he's seen me here. Deal with him!"

Tim cowered where he'd fallen on the floor, Mordir-Ring towering over him, "I will take care of him, Laird Albert." Tim watched as Albert turned quickly and strode out, letting the door slam behind him with a bang!

"Well, Timotay," began Mordir-Ring, gently, "His Lordship will certainly be interested in your health now, but I will intervene and save you! You are the Lead Apprentice so we can't let him hurt you. I'll secure a pardon for you, but safest place for you is out of sight, no? Hmm, would you hide in the basement 'til after dark?" Tim had no idea what was happening, feeling so lost, panicked, he accepted the offer nodding agreement. The Master shuffled off toward the offices, with Tim following. Taking a lamp and lighting it, the Master moved to the office wall. Standing before a blank panel and pulling a key out of his pocket, Mordir-Ring jammed it into a tiny hole and turned. A squeal of rusty metal, then a doorway opened revealing a stairway down.

At the stair's bottom, Mordir-Ring stepped up to a post putting the light into a holder. "Well, it's not as comfortable as an inn, but for you it just might do. Wait here, until dark, hhmmm? I'll be back for you shortly after closing. -- Hmmm, ... I'll have some lunch sent down."

Tim, bowing low, thanked the Master. He turned surveying his surroundings - looking around. He spied lots of cobwebs, some barrels of ink, two old small presses slathered in grease blackening with age.

There was a sudden sharp pain in his head, and the world abandoned his senses.

Stabbing pain, Tim hurt everywhere, a ringing pain in his head, burning pain in his hands and feet, aching pain in his shoulders, jaw, knees, and hips. He found he couldn't move his limbs. Just his fingers and tongue, that was all. It wasn't pitch black, some light filtered in through a few holes in the wall, maybe the ceiling? Something let in so little light that he could barely see shapes, but there was almost nothing he could see to inform him of his location. He could be in a basement or an attic or in between. Certainly he was bound and gagged tied so tightly he couldn't move, or even shift around. He was bound kneeling with his back against some huge beam or post, with his arms pulled behind the post and tied together. That's why his shoulders hurt so badly. He tried to cry out, but his mouth was too dry and the gag so tight that he could only make a weak, "hunh, hunh," as a call for help. The pain wasn't so bad if he could get his shoulders to shift a little, but raising and lowering them was all the movement he could make. They used Tim's ambition as a lure, Tim was well and truly trapped. Kneeling there with these thoughts Tim realized with a sinking feeling there was no hope; the Masters were going to kill him!

And the loss of hope was like a knife stabbing his heart.