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“There I was standing with baskets of bread,
High in the sky, I saw birds overhead,
Who flew to my basket and ate every slice.
Give me the message. Like his would be nice.”
Joseph felt horror and dread pool in his stomach as he stared into the Baker's round expectant face. The knowledge of what his dream meant had come swiftly as the Egyptian man spoke, so clear it seemed painfully obvious in hindsight. He . . . he wished it had been a nice message, like the Butler's. That he had been more then happy to convey. This one . . .
He reached out and clasped one of the Baker's hands within his own, trying to convey how very very sorry he was to deliver such news. “Sad to say your dream is not the kind of dream I'd like to get.” he said, grimacing. He saw the Butler give him an anxious look at this but forced himself to keep going. “Pharaoh has it in for you. Your execution date is set.”
The Baker reared back with a horrified look, mouth falling open as he clutched at his neck. The Butler sprang forward, catching his arm when it looked like the large man would faint. Joseph kept hold of his other hand, squeezing it in apology for being the bearer of such bad news. “Don't rely on all I said I saw.” he said quickly, trying to offer some hope. “It's just . . . that I . . . have not been wrong before.” he winced. Perhaps he should not have said that last part. He did not have much experience in offering comfort.
The Baker jerked his hand free of Joseph's hold with a snarl and the young man blinked, startled by the harshness of it.
“Shut up, you little-” the man hissed and broke off with a choked sound, features twisting with clear distress. He pressed a hand to his mouth to muffle the sound that tried to escape him, shoulders shaking.
Joseph's heart ached guiltily, staring at the round Egyptian with sympathy. “I am sorry.” he whispered then yelped, falling back against the bars and clutching at his stinging cheek in shock.
“I told you to be silent!” the Baker screamed at him, fear turning to anger and locking upon the most likely target and scapegoat for his rampant emotions. “Why would spew such lies?!” he demanded. “Pharaoh does not want me dead! He loves my cooking! You lie!”
“I didn't-” Joseph started to protest.
“I told you to shut up!” The Baker clutched one pudgy hand into a tight fist and swung.
It connected hard. Joseph fell to the side in a swoon, the punch to the temple making his vision black out. He hit the floor of the cell in a heap, dazed. He came to as the Baker's pudgy fingers locked around his neck. Joseph's eyes widened in panicked fear, the Baker's round jolly features having distorted into something monstrous in his fury. Though his looks suggested nothing but softness his fingers were very strong. No matter how Joseph fought against him, clawing and tugging at the older man's wrists, he could not get free.
“Bakka!” The Butler exclaimed in horror as his friend and fellow prisoner fell upon their young cellmate, gloved hands fluttering in helpless fear in front of him. “Bakka, what are you doing?! Stop!” He hovered uselessly at the other side of the cell, unsure of what to do. What could he do?!
The Baker didn't seem to hear him, determined to strangle the life out of the young man who had dared deliver such a impertinent prophesy.
Joseph's clawed desperately at the hands around his neck, eyes huge and mouth open as he wheezed, body trying to pull air past the Baker's constricting fingers. His legs kicked, bare feet scrambling at the smooth stone floor underneath him, sliding uselessly.
The Baker suddenly lifted him off the ground and then slammed him back down hard. The impact jolted through the young man's body. Joseph reached out to beat against the large man's chest with one hand, tears filling his eyes. His fist thumped uselessly against the crisp white cloth that covered the Baker's chest. The Baker lifted him off the floor by the neck again and slammed him down. He did again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
“Hey! Stop that!”
The Baker was suddenly pulled off of him, manicured nail scratching his neck.
Joseph inhaled sharply and coughed painfully. He rolled over onto his stomach, hands pressed to his aching throat as tremors took hold of him. Sounds caught his attention and he weakly lifted his head, peaking through his hair anxiously.
Two of the prison guards had the Baker pinned to the bars at the far side of the cell.
“Please!” the Butler fussed with frantic little twitches of his fingers. “Please, he didn't mean any harm. Just . . just an overreaction. You see, he heard some bad news.”
“Well, I've got worse news for him.” one of the guards sneered. “Orders just came down from the top. Pharaoh want the big boy here back. Not all of him though. Just his head.” the two guards roared with laughter and dragged the horrified heavyset man out of the cell.
Joseph listened until the sound of the gate slamming shut cut it off, huddled in a frozen ball against the bars.
“You were right.” the Butler breathed from the other side of the cell, refined voice faint with shock. “You were right.”
Joseph did not respond. He did not think there was anything to say. Yes, he had been right. But it was a cold comfort. Shivering and in pain, he laid his head back down and allowed unconsciousness to take him.