The Doll

Chapter 2: The Jester

The Jester bounced, careful not to drop his burden as he followed his new Master. Master Negaduck's home was on the outskirts of town, a huge castle made of dark stone, spiky and decorated with statues bearing the Master's own likeness. It was intimidating, but at least it wasn't the Box.

The Jester was a little excited, actually. A place like this was sure to have dungeons, with separate cells. Maybe he'd get his own cell! Or at least some straw to rest on when he wasn't needed. It would be nice. And maybe, just maybe, he could steal some cloth and--

No! He couldn't think things like that. A slave did not steal things, except at their Master's command, no matter how desperate they were. All he would do was focus on his Master's orders, which right now meant transporting his new things.

He nearly dropped everything when they entered the main hall. Sitting around a table were two monsters and the strangest rat he'd ever seen, playing a card game he didn't recognized. But he was used to monsters, and the shock left quickly enough that he yearned to stay and watch them play, the idea of a game he didn't know awakening a long-buried part of him.

"Hey, Boss." The rat waved to Master Negaduck. He scratched his head, and the Jester could've sworn he'd seen lightning for a second. He pointed a hand, covered in a blue material, at the Jester. "Is that new?"

"Shaddup." Master grumbled, walking through a small wooden door.

Liquidator, Bushroot, and Megavolt shrugged at each other, continuing their poker game. If their Lord wanted to tell them why he was pulling a clown by a brown rope through the castle, he would. If not, they'd still find out sooner or later.

The Jester had started trembling as he followed his Master. The man was a wizard! Oh, how unlucky was he, to fall into the hands of a mage lord? His hallways were lit without torches, several doors opened of their own accord, sections of the wall changed to show images from outside.

It explained why the True Master had given in to him so easily, the duck must be frighteningly powerful, he was even served by sorcerers and monsters.

What could he possibly want with a regular old duck? Maybe as an entertainer, though surely the Jester's flips were nothing compared to what his Master's magic could conjure.

He didn't really get to think too much about that, as they reached their destination. It looked like a small storeroom, with boxes and such pushed against the walls, rather than a cell.

His Master had him put the new boxes with the old ones, then started organizing them himself. With no instructions, the Jester kneeled in a clear area of the floor. His Master must know of the quality of the True Master's training, to plan to store him amongst so many other belongings.

Any other slave might've tried to steal something, or fashion a weapon, but not him. He knew how to be good.

"Alright, I-" Master Negaduck turned from the boxes, eyes going wide when he saw the other kneeling. The Jester's heart froze, wondering what he had done wrong. His Master groaned, running a hand over his own face, before speaking. "I have to get a space ready for you, so you'll have to stay here until then. Don't leave, alright?"

"Yes, Master." He nodded immediately, head slightly bowed, not looking his Master in the eye. "Of course, Master."

"Yeah, about that whole 'Master' thing..." Master Negaduck paused, thinking, then roughly said, "I am the Lord of St Canard, and the way you address me will reflect my proper title. Don't call me Master."

"Um, y-yes, of course," his Master wanted a different title? Why? "Milord."

"Better, I guess." Mas- Lord Negaduck rolled his eyes. Something seemed to occur to him. "Speaking of names, you got one?"

"My old Master called me Doll. My owners before that usually addressed me as Slave." The Jester replied slowly. Memories he'd carefully buried started to bubble up, and he actually fought against the Binding, trying not to finish answering. "B-before that, I was, I was called-"

No, no nonononono-

"Nevermind, I don't care." His Lord thankfully interrupted him, allowing the painful recollections to fade once more. "From now on, you're Quackerjack, got it?"

"Yes Milord." The Jes- Quackerjack nodded. "I am Quackerjack."

"Good. I'll be back soon, do whatever you want, just don't leave." And with that, Lord Negaduck left.

"Quackerjack." Quackerjack repeated, trying out the sound of it. It was almost familiar, though he couldn't remember where he'd ever heard it. He said it slowly, drawing the syllables out. "Quaacker-jaaack... Hello, my name's Quackerjack."

It was an unusual name, to be sure, but he found he actually kinda liked it. Maybe, if he was very good, his True Master would let him keep it after he was reclaimed. He hadn't said that he was going to reclaim him, of course, but Quackerjack knew how he thought.

Quackerjack. Why was that so familiar? It didn't matter, of course, his mostly-forgotten past had no bearing on how well he obeyed. Better not to think of it.

Instead, he looked down at his clothes. Lord had changed his name, would he change his outfit too? Quackerjack hoped not, those were a part of him by now, torn and dirty as they were.

He'd had such a brief period of time, between his last mortal owner and the True Master, where he was free. When he'd made the patchy outfit, he'd felt like he'd had an identity for the first time. It felt right, though he wished he could make it better quality.

He nawed on his lower beak, wondering whether he'd be allowed to keep the precious clothing, hands twisting around his- his hat! He'd been pulling on his hat!

His hands shot down as if burned, remembering how much his Master -- his True Master -- hated any self-soothing. At least his new Master hadn't been there to see it. He had to be more careful.

Quackerjack looked around the room, trying to distract himself with something productive, something to impress his Lord. He'd been told to do whatever he wanted, so long as he didn't leave, but he wasn't quite sure what to do...

One of the new boxes had fallen over, spilling its contents behind some others. Quackerjack decided to clean it up, hoping his Master would like tidiness and unprompted service.

He crawled over to the box, kneeling as he righted it, then reached to pick an item off the floor. It was yellow cloth. In fact, the whole box was nothing but cloth and sewing supplies. A familiar itch scratched at his brain, which he tried to ignore, but...

Wanna have some fun, Hun?

Quackerjack jumped backwards, dropping the cloth. "G-go away. You know I can't, I'll be punished."

It's been so long, Ron.

Quackerjack stared at the box, fingers twitching to just- no, he couldn't. Maybe he could convince Lord Negaduck to let him make money for him through sewing, like previous owners had. Then, if he did well enough, maybe he could ask to be allowed to keep a creation.

But who knows if he'll say yes, Bess? Dontcha wanna play ?

"Of course I do." Quackerjack muttered. Who knew when he'd get another opportunity like this? He'd be punished, he'd lose him all over again, but they'd have a few minutes (maybe even hours, though he didn't dare hope) before it happened. It had been years...

He couldn't. He had to. But he couldn't.

But you're going to, Lou.

He couldn't...