Linen on the Line

Musty damp hung in the corridor corner. Found my spare cloth wraps stiff with dungeon grime, piled by the drainage rut. Bad rot if left wet. Hauled a bucket of cold seepage water and dropped the coarse rags in. Planted feet wide, cleaver propped nearby against stone. Knuckled the wet rags against a ribbed scrubbing slate. Harsh sloshing echoed in the vault. Rung them dry with both fists until grey water stopped dripping. Hauled each damp cloth over the iron drying hooks. Neat rows. Clean gear stays ready.