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   Chapter 50 No.50

Humanity By EJBowman Characters: 5385

Updated: 2017-12-27 19:03

It was quite obvious that he spent a large amount of time with that particular downtowner, yet he couldn't admit his relationship with Mark to his son. It was too shameful.

"The Olympians do not perform sexual functions so I am considering offering one of the servants, possibly Mark, the chance to remain on this estate simply for that reason."

Princeton nodded even though his eyes told his father that he thought his explanation was bullshit.

"You know firing them is a mistake, don't you? You're going to regret it. They are all going to die downtown. Every last one is going to die within the month because of you."

His statement did not appear to faze his father who simply cocked an eyebrow before serving up breakfast.

"They know downtown better than we do, " Lysander explained. "They know how to survive. Otherwise they wouldn't have made it to eighteen."

Eighteen was the age that downtowners could start becoming servants. Many tried to fake their age to start work early, yet tests could be run to prove their actual age. Most of Lord Jordanis' servants were eighteen or nineteen. Mark was the oldest at twenty-three because he had been the servant for someone else for four years before he applied for a position with his brother, Erik, at Lysander's estate.

"They've been away for too long." Princeton explained. "And they have to readjust to the downtown environment, but they won't have time to readjust to the environment. They will be straight-up killed before that happens."

"Not necessarily."

His son stood up instantly.

"They are going to die. Mark is going to die

already have their own uniform."

"Is tā sayin' what I think he'sa saying?" Erik asked Mark in disbelief. "Are we gonna have to leave?"

His brother didn't reply. He was too dumbfounded to register that his brother was actually talking to him.

"Well, " Lysander said after moment of silent, "any questions?"

One of the servants near the back, Pat, called out something that sounded like utter gibberish to Lysander. He presumed the word was a mixture of Mandarin, English and general downtowner speak. It was obviously an insult rather than a question.

"Okay then, " Lysander mocked. "I'll get on that. Besides that, please return to your normal routines. Your schedules will continue as normal until the morning of the fifth day."

There was not one happy face among the servants. Lysander doubted that any of them would dare to try and attack him, and yet for the next five days he planned to have his handgun tucked into the back of his pants under his robe. Downtowners were mentally unstable and this would be the perfect time for some of them to snap.

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