Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Book Details

  Cleanly Wrong

  About the Author

  Cleanly Wrong

  The Bestiary

  Mell Eight

  Rung is a half-breed orphan brownie who can't do anything right, much to the worry of his cleanliness teachers. When he runs away, Rung decides that he can resist the need to clean. Only, there is that one office that so desperately needs help...

  Book Details

  Cleanly Wrong

  By Mell Eight

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Remy Maria Ang

  Cover designed by Megan Derr

  Internal Illustration by V. Rios

  This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition November 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Mell Eight

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN 9781620040508

  Cleanly Wrong

  "Wrong! Wrong! Wrong again!" the other kids cheered gleefully. Rung didn't have to fight against a pout; he was used to this happening and could keep his own disappointment and sadness off his face from long practice.

  "Wrong," Teacher Broom said disapprovingly. Rung hated it when the teacher called him Wrong. The other kids at the orphanage had perfectly good shortened names like Thimble or Dustbin. Rung's name was Ladder Rung, Rung for short, but the nickname Wrong had stuck so firmly Rung sometimes wondered if his teachers even knew his real name anymore.

  "This is simply unacceptable," Broom continued, scrunching his nose and smartly groomed whiskers in unhappiness. Rung hung his head as he was supposed to while being chastised. He wished the other kids would stop giggling at his continual misfortune. "The eighth time you've taken this simple test and the room simply isn't clean, Wrong!"

  Rung looked forlornly at the room he had spent the past three hours of the test cleaning. The test bedrooms in this wing of the orphanage were specifically mussed so the students could practice their hands at cleaning. Rung had swept and tidied until the place shone, and he had hidden himself perfectly whenever an instructor came into the room. Yet when it came down to the little things, he was always wrong. The books on the waist-high bookshelf were not in alphabetical order, nor had he color-coded them. Rather, it seemed to Rung that it was more prudent to put the ones with the creased spines, obviously read much more often, on the top shelf within easy reach. The books that still smelled like the press they had recently come off were also put on the top shelf, because clearly the owner would want to find the new reads with ease.

  Rung knew what his instructors wanted: alphabetical organization by author, genre, and, if possible, cover color. Unfortunately, Rung couldn't do it. He tried, test after test, but that bookshelf always ended up his way. He couldn't manage to do it the way the teacher wanted, no matter how much he attempted to organize the damned shelf. He couldn't help it!

  "—and the desk!" Broom went on as Rung picked up on the next bit of the teacher's rant. "How could you leave that stack of papers in such disarray?" Broom sighed to himself. "Wrong, you are to go to your bed and contemplate what you have done wrong. Do not bother coming to dinner."

  "Yes, sir," Rung said softly, knowing that he had already missed lunch for another fault during class that day. Breakfast was a long time away.

  Rung rounded his shoulders and walked through the crowd of students who had gleefully watched his punishment session. He ignored the jeers with long practice and managed not to gasp in pain when Needle shoved him into the wall on his way past.

  The room where he slept housed six of the boys around the age of eighteen, and Rung was relieved none of them were present when he pushed open the door. Rung noticed his blanket was missing again when he walked past his bed on the way to the full-length mirror across the room to look at the new bruise forming on his shoulder. Needle's shoves were never soft, and Rung hadn't been braced this time.

  The bruise was purpling, but it wouldn't be too bad. The mirror gave him an unvarnished image that Rung tried to overlook as he inspected his shoulder.

  Brownies were relatively short creatures, the tallest topping five feet if they were unlucky. Being small meant it was easier to hide when the owner of the home they were cleaning unexpectedly entered the room they were in. Brownies were short and skinny. Rung was skinny, certainly, but he had gained bulk that sat on his shoulders despite always going hungry, and he was around five feet six inches in height.

  Brownies had a layer of short fur covering their entire bodies. The fur was always some sort of shade of brown that would camouflage them well against the wooden walls of the majority of the homes they serviced. Rung's fur was a light tan color, not brown at all. He was human-colored, as Needle had so kindly pointed out when they had first seen pictures of the creatures who owned the houses that someday all good brownies would serve.

  They had all declared that his father must have been human, which was something truly terrible, for it meant the human Rung's mother was serving had seen her—a mother who had died not long after Rung's birth. Parents were supposed to teach their children how to clean properly. When a brownie did not have parents, he or she was sent to the Orphanage for Cleanliness and Deportment, where the teachers would make the orphaned brownies into productive members of society.

  And that, perhaps, was what was so wrong with Rung. He would never be a productive member of society if he couldn't learn to clean correctly.

  Rung sighed and turned away from the mirror. If he went to sleep, he wouldn't think about his growling stomach. Also, if he were asleep by the time the rest of his roommates returned from dinner, they might give him his blanket back when they saw he wasn't available for whatever torture they had thought up this time.

  Rung curled up in his bed around his empty stomach and sighed. He would have to try harder to satisfy his instructors, but that could wait until the morning.

  *~*~*

  Rung woke with an empty stomach and the knowledge that the room was also empty. No one had bothered to wake him for breakfast, but Rung thought there would still be some porridge left if he hurried.

  He made it down to the dining hall without being seen—he had eagerly learned that lesson taught to all the students—and snuck into the dining hall to get his breakfast. That day Rung was lucky: not only was there porridge, but there was still a scone left, too.

  Rung took his bounty to a corner table, keeping his head down as he went. If he were shorter, he could blend in better, but Rung had found that if he pretended not to exist he could still avoid a good deal of trouble.

  "Another one?" someone gasped at a table as Rung passed by. "How horrible! To be thanked!"

  "An edict," Broom was saying as Rung brushed past the teacher's table. "The prince will have no more brownies in his castle."

  "Six of us he's disgraced, the poor thing," Rung's orderliness teacher, Tea Cup, continued. "If he keeps thanking us, there will be no one left to clean for him!"

  "You don't understand, Tea Cup," the first teacher said earnestly. "The edict states that brownies are not allowed to clean the castle ever again. Prince Lionel will thank anyone who comes within his halls as a matter of course."

  "No!" Tea Cup gasped. "That poor boy!"

  Rung moved out of earshot and found a place where he could enjoy his scone and porridge. He had just put his spoon down in his empty bowl when Needle found him.

  "So, Wrong," Needle said with a cruel laugh, "have you heard?"

  "Heard what?" Rung asked quietly.

  "You've failed the test eight times. Once or twice, sure; that's happened before. But eight? You'll be tossed out!" he crowed. "But the teachers here can't send out a brownie who can't properly clean. I bet they'll kill you instead." Needle's cold smile didn't disagree with his words. He had passed every test with flying colors and was still at the school to get preferential training so he could serve someone of importance. Needle would probably replace an aging brownie at a lord's manor when he graduated.

  "How can you know that?" Rung asked, afraid that Needle might have been telling the truth rather than pulling a cruel prank.

  "I asked," Needle said, his tone saying that he thought Rung was stupid for not knowing. Needle put on an innocent face before continuing. "Teacher Broom, what will happen to that poor Wrong? Someone should help him!

  "'I don't know if that is possible at this point,'" Needle continued in a deeper voice that imitated Broom's well. "'Wrong's clearly not teachable. He can't stay here and take up space another orphan needs, but we certainly can't send him out into society.'"

  Needle's voice switched back to his own faux innocent one. "But what will happen to him?"

  "Imprisonment, certainly. He can't be allowed to roam as he is: an embarrassment to brownie society," Teacher Broom's voice came from Needle's malicious smile. "Or worse, if the Council decides it would be too much hassle to care for him indefinitely, he'll face death."

  Needle's evil grin didn't fade as he loomed over Rung.

  "Thanks for the warning," Rung said softly as he looked into his empty bowl sadly. It was all over now. He would never be allowed to clean again.

  "Then what are you still doing here?" Needle asked with what seemed like genuine curio sity in his voice. "Run away before they catch you!"

  Rung looked up at Needle and saw that he looked confused. "I guess," Rung said softly. It might be better to leave now than to be locked up and never allowed to clean again.

  "Your blanket is under my bed. Go get it, and I'll get you some food from the kitchens. Let's meet by the garden door in five minutes," Needle said helpfully.

  "O-okay," Rung agreed, and he stood to return his bowl and go find his blanket.

  Needle was waiting by the garden door with a small bundle in his hands when Rung got there with his blanket, his few personal items, and a change of clothes.

  "Here," Needle said as he thrust the bundle of food into Rung's hands.

  "Thank you," Rung replied. He pushed the door open and stepped out into the world, knowing he had to hide quickly because the instructors would be looking for him when they realized he wasn't in his first lesson.

  *~*~*

  A week in the real world, and Rung was hungry, cold, and tired. He knew he would be found if he settled into a house, so he had been traveling nonstop the entire time. It was frightening, being on his own like this, but it was also somewhat exhilarating. Still, Rung knew he had to keep moving in order to find somewhere properly hidden. His goal was to make it to a city. He had been told often enough how human he looked. If he could blend in with the humans, no one from the orphanage would be able to find him.

  Rung stared up at the huge wall and the open gates that led into the first city he had found on his journey. A brownie's first inclination was to hide from humans, but Rung was about to boldly walk into their city.

  He took a deep breath, steeled his nerve, and took a step forward. That step was followed by another step as his feet took him into the crowd of humans and through the massive gates.

  A guard was stopping people at random while they passed and asking them questions. Rung hunched his shoulders and pretended he didn't exist when he walked past. It didn't work this time.

  "Hey, boy!" the guard called. "I just have to ask you some questions before I can let you in."

  Rung froze and slowly turned towards the guard.

  "You're looking for work, then?" the guard asked, not unkindly.

  Rung nodded.

  "Hng," the guard grunted. "Well, you're not the first one I've seen today. I'll give you the same advice I gave the rest of them, yeah? The castle stable and kitchens are looking to hire some boys about your age. Go on up there for work. And don't be causing a mess in the city, boy," the guard admonished. "Thieves are not welcome in the Capitol, yeah?"

  "Thanks," Rung whispered as he turned away to walk in the direction the guard was pointing.

  The castle, Rung thought. It was perfect! The teachers had been talking about some edict against brownies in the castle. Surely they would think that even Rung wasn't so stupid as to break that edict. If he could stay hidden in the huge building he could see on the horizon on the other side of the city, Rung could stay there forever without worry of the orphanage finding him!

  Rung went towards the giant stone edifice on the top of the hill and, instead of following the humans inside, found his own way into the building.

  *~*~*

  Rung liked the basement he had found and made his home. There were a lot of basements in the castle; it seemed that every time a new addition to the gigantic building had been built, a new basement had been put in, too. Rung's basement was in one of the oldest sections of the castle. When he had found the area, it had been filled with cobwebs and had a rank smell of disuse about it. Rung had fixed that and made himself a comfortable living area. All he had to do was sneak into the kitchens every few days for food.

  Rung was somehow even able to keep his need to clean and organize at bay whenever he was sneaking about. Initially, he had spent days cleaning his new home and doing it in such a way that a human would not notice the changes unless he or she walked all the way into Rung's basement. He then had occupied himself with making new furniture. If his wooden bed and side table were more ornately carved than any other bed in the castle, at least the time spent smoothing the wood into exotic shapes had helped keep Rung from reorganizing the spice rack in the kitchens whenever he ran out of food.

  And the best part was that Rung was never wrong in his own home. His blankets were tucked into his bed based on comfort. The soft wool blanket in which he enjoyed curling up at night was first rather than a top sheet as he had been taught at the orphanage. Rung didn't even need to organize his food stores alphabetically or by color and size.

  It was wonderful and freeing to finally be able to live as he wanted. Rung very firmly ignored the fact that he was lonely, and that the knife rack should really have the bread knives closer to the cutting board and the paring knives closer to the sink so that the poor chef and his assistants would stop blindly grabbing for the wrong knife when they were cooking.

  Rung had escaped to the castle to find a safe haven, not to clean. If he cleaned and was discovered, bringing further shame to his race, he would be tried and executed. So Rung forced himself to ignore the knives. He tried to find something new to dust or carve for his home instead.

  Ultimately, he knew he would fail. He was still a brownie after all, even if he was Wrong.

  The day came when he was sneaking through the kitchens. He walked past the balding chef mixing some sort of marinade for the night's dinner and into the pantry. Rung loaded a day-old piece of bread into his recently woven basket, added some smoked meat, and wished he had a way to keep milk or eggs fresh as he bypassed the cooler.

  Once he had taken all he dared, Rung retraced his path out of the kitchen. One of the assistants was cleaning chicken at the sink; the meat was probably going to be paired with the marinade the chef was finishing up. The assistant cleaned either a leg or thigh in the water flowing from the pump and took a knife to remove fat and excess feathers.

  As Rung watched, the knife the assistant was using fell to the floor. With a curse, the young man tossed the dirtied knife onto a counter and reached for a new one. Only the knives weren't organized the way they should have been.

  The bread knife was sharp and serrated and in the wrong spot. The assistant wouldn't lose his finger, but even stitches and time to heal would not be enough to repair the damage. As blood splattered onto the cleaned bird and the assistant cried out in pain, Rung ran from the room.

  He could keep himself to out-of-the-way places, like the kitchen, unused guest rooms, and other disused basements, Rung thought to himself as he rushed back to his basement. He wouldn't anger anyone if he stayed in those places where he wouldn't be noticed.

  Resolute in what he would be doing in the morning, Rung put away his food and got into bed. That knife rack would be organized, perfectly, so no one else would ever cut themselves by accident again.

  *~*~*

  The Lord Seneschal asked the Lord Steward to stay behind after their weekly organizational meeting. Once the room emptied, the Lord Seneschal pulled the other man into a quiet corner away from where a passerby could overhear.

  "There's a brownie in the castle, Rufus," the seneschal, Gerald, murmured quietly.

  "I've been wondering, Gerald. All the wool and wood going missing, it couldn't be anything else," Rufus, the steward, replied in an equally soft voice. "Weird sort of brownie, though. Within the first day, the last one got into all my papers and began organizing them by date until I couldn't find a single one. The wool went missing weeks ago."

  Gerald nodded. "This one's keeping to itself for some reason. Hasn't caused any ruckus with its cleaning yet. I've had reports that some things have been moved around the kitchen. After that poor boy cut his finger, the knife rack was put to rights. The chef swears by how it's been organized."

  "No!" Rufus gasped. "The last brownie organized them by size and sharpened all the knives that are purposefully kept somewhat dull for different types of cooking. The chef would have killed the creature if he had gotten his hands on it. Maybe it isn't a brownie, especially since the chef actually likes something that's been done."

  Gerald shook his head. "It's a brownie. Go into the green guest wing, and you'll have no doubt."

  "The wing that was put into disuse when we had to fire most of the maid staff for stealing? No one's been in there for over a year!"

 

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