by Victor Poole
"Your arms are better," Clare said, when Ajalia came close to her. The plump girl stopped walking, and stepped uneasily from side to side, her eyes trawling over the faces of the people who passed by.
"Are you meeting a man here?" Ajalia asked her. Clare's eyes jumped, terrorized, to Ajalia's face.
"Don't tell!" she pleaded. "It isn't what you think!"
"I'll bring you with me," Ajalia said easily. "I'm going to visit Nam." All the blood drained immediately from Clare's face; she looked as though she were about to die.
"No," Clare said.
"Yes," Ajalia said with an even smile.
"No!" Clare repeated.
"No," Ajalia said, and laughed. "Let us go and see your mistress," she suggested. Clare followed in Ajalia's wake as she turned out of the long row of stables and went into the street that led into the market.
"It isn't what you think," Clare said again, but her voice lacked conviction. After a time, they came to the place where Calles lived, and Ajalia knocked on the door that led to the interior of the shop. The market had closed down; the sun was just setting, and the lights had been lit.
Sun answered the door. Her eyes widened when she saw Ajalia, and when she saw Clare standing behind her, a look of despair in Clare's eyes.
"Your arms are better," Sun whispered. She moved aside, but Ajalia did not come in.
"I've come to see Calles," Ajalia said. "Tell her that I bring trouble." Sun ducked her head, and vanished within. In a few moments, Calles came to the door. Her hair was growing well; she had a twisting braid, and a flower holding back the hair from her cheeks. She smiled when she saw Ajalia at the door.
"Your arms are better," Calles said, reaching out and touching Ajalia's wrist.
"Does Clare have your permission to be kissing men in the stables?" Ajalia asked Calles. Calles's eyes changed; she looked behind Ajalia, and her mouth folded up into a deep frown.
"Clare," Calles said sternly.
"I am going to the farms in the mountains," Ajalia told her, "where my other servants now work. With your goodwill, I would take Clare there, for the improvement of her character, and her understanding of appropriate leisure activities."
A wicked smile came over Calles's cheeks. Her eyes twinkled.
"An excellent plan," she admitted. A softening tugged at her eyes, but she pushed it back; Ajalia watched Calles struggle with a sympathetic nudging. She could see the desire to be kind, to help, in the Slavithe woman's eyes. "Marriage first," Calles told Clare.
"I'm not stupid," Clare blurted out. Calles blushed; Ajalia twisted Clare's ear until the girl dropped, with a shriek, to the ground.
"You are a greater fool than I thought," Ajalia told her. "I apologize for the rudeness of Clare," Ajalia told Calles soberly. "She will be properly rebuked. Apologize now," Ajalia commanded the girl.
"I didn't mean anything," Clare gasped, her eyes watering, her mouth turned in a stubborn pout. Ajalia twisted harder, and Clare screamed. The few merchants still in their stalls nearby turned and stared.
"I apologize," Ajalia told Calles, who was beginning to show signs of tears herself. "The servant shames me deeply. I will repay your kindness for housing the serpent in your home, and teaching her with such patience."
"Oh," Calles said huskily, waving her hand, and wiping her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and hot. Ajalia could see one of Calles's children in the room behind her. Ajalia was holding Clare sharply; a clump of the girl's hair was gripped hard in her fist, and Clare's face was turned down towards the ground.
"You have seen the beautiful stone house," Ajalia told Calles, "where my master and his caravan stayed when they first arrived in Slavithe. I will give you this house," Ajalia said, "to amend for the terrible wrong my servant has done you."
"You don't need to do that," Calles whispered. The fabric merchant's wife's eyes were turned down with embarrassment.
"I insist," Ajalia said. "Nothing less could clear me of the shame this female has brought upon my name. I will bring you a contract transferring the house," Ajalia said, "as soon as I have punished this worm."
"Oh, don't," Calles murmured. She was crying still, and her whole body was shivering with tremors of emotion.
"You are an honorable wife, Calles," Ajalia said. "Those who are mine will treat you as such."
Calles sniffed, and scrubbed at her eyes.
"I can take the girl back," Calles said. "I can handle her."
"She is my problem," Ajalia said. "You have more than repaid whatever debt you felt you owed to me. I will take the other girls," she added, beginning to turn away, "when I bring you the contract." Ajalia yanked at Clare's ear; the thickset young woman stumbled after Ajalia with a sharp whimper.
The saddle still held against her hip, and the headstall over her shoulder, Ajalia drove the now-blubbering Clare back towards the stable district.
"You have made me late," Ajalia told the girl, "and you have lost your city privileges. Congratulations. I hope the kissing was worthwhile."
Clare drew several struggling breaths, and stood up straighter.
"You can't make me ashamed," Clare said. Ajalia had released the girl's ear, but she watched her, ready to pounce if Clare tried to run.
"To be shameless is to live without honor," Ajalia told her. "I would not change places with you for all the world."
"He loves me," Clare snapped.
"You know nothing of love," Ajalia said. They walked in silence towards the stable district. When Ajalia turned into the long road that lay alongside the low barns, she twisted the end of the bridle's reins around Clare's wrists.
"What are you doing?" Clare demanded, her face flushing red.
"Securing my property," Ajalia said. She held the twist of leather close against Clare's skin, and lifted the saddle a little higher. "Hold this," she said, dumping the saddle into Clare's bound arms.
"I'm not going to cooperate," Clare said loudly. Ajalia was watching, waiting to see if an heroic lover would dash suddenly from within the stables to assist the plump girl.
They walked without incident to the nicer stables, where the expensive harness horses lived. Ajalia let Clare into the stall where the black horse waited, and went in herself.
"Saddle the horse," Ajalia said, untwisting the reins from Clare's wrists, and slipping the headstall over the black horse's ears. Clare stood for a moment, holding the saddle and staring blankly at the horse. She lifted the goatskin saddle.
"That's backwards," Ajalia said, buckling the throatlatch. Clare glanced at her with a frown, and turned the saddle around. "Higher," Ajalia said, looking down the body of the horse. "Up here," she said, patting the black horse's withers. The black horse stood with one ear tipped back towards Clare, his tail swishing lazily back and forth. Clare set down the saddle on the horse's back, and stared at it.
Ajalia took up the girth, and tightened it swiftly.
"We're late now," Ajalia said. She saw Clare looking surreptitiously out over the stall door. "Are you expecting someone?" she asked.
"No!" Clare said quickly, but her eyes still flicked out into the road. Ajalia adjusted the stirrups, and then took a rope from where it hung on a post outside the stall.
"Hold out your arms," Ajalia said to the girl. Clare glanced down at the rope, and then at Ajalia.
"No," she said.
"All right," Ajalia said. She stepped quickly behind the girl, and threw her down into the straw. The horse stepped back a little, his ears pricked at the two women. He sniffed curiously. Ajalia tugged Clare to her feet; the Slavithe girl stood up clumsily, her arms tied together in front of her.
"You're disgusting," Clare said mutinously. "You're a barbarian."
"No," Ajalia said, "but I am stronger than you." She opened the stall door again, and led the black horse and Clare out into the street. The horse's hooves clopped briskly on the stones of the road. Ajalia closed the stall, and latched it. She swung aboard the black horse, and looped the rope through a metal ring that was
sewn into a leather loop in the pommel.
"I'm not walking through the city like this," Clare protested. Her cheeks were fiery red, and tears of hot anger were gathering in her eyes. Ajalia rode the horse towards the little house; the streets were dim in twilight, and the flames of the torches at the ends of the buildings made grotesque shadows of orange against the white stone streets. After a slight tug at the rope, Clare walked along beside the horse. Ajalia could see, out of the corner of her eye, the young woman watching the space within the walls of the low barns that ran on both sides of the street. Ajalia was sure that Clare was watching for her young man. They passed out of the street without incident; when they turned back into the main street that wound towards the houses, Ajalia looked back. In the orange light of the torches, she saw the dark shape of a man walking out into the street, his eyes fixed on Clare's back. Clare was no longer looking behind. Ajalia looked down at the young woman, and grimaced. A finger of cold and slimy disdain wormed its way stealthily around Ajalia's heart. She thought that Clare was very silly, or very stupid, or both, to risk the position she had held in Calles's house, and to act as she had acted. Ajalia could not understand how a person could be surrounded by goodness, and honesty, and turn from it for a few torrid kisses. She recognized the posture of the dark shape of the man in the stable street; she had watched female slaves sneak around to meet such men, and she had seen the way such men proved their lack of inner substance in the end.
No one in the street saw the rope in the darkness; the light had fallen, and Clare hugged close to Ajalia's leg, her arms turned inward towards the horse's flank. They walked on this way, Clare twisting to hide the rope, and Ajalia rocking on the smooth-moving black horse, until they reached the little house.
"Knock," Ajalia told Clare. Clare looked up at her. She walked forward, and banged her tied-together fists on the front door. Chad came to the door. He looked at Clare, and at Clare's bonds.
"Hello," Chad said to Ajalia, smiling.
"I've sold the little house," Ajalia said. "I need some paper," she told Chad, "and a pen, and ink."
Chad vanished into the house; a little boy dashed out with the things she had requested, and held them up towards her. Ajalia took the paper and pen. She balanced the ink in one hand, and began to write, the paper propped against her thigh. Chad appeared. He sauntered out and leaned against the sill of the door, his arms folded. He waited until Ajalia had finished writing; she blew gently on the ink to dry it.
"Take this," Chad told the boy, taking the pen and ink from Ajalia and handing it to him. Chad looked up at her, and smiled. He was vaguely proprietary in his attitude towards her. "Are you going somewhere?" he asked.
"You and the boys go and stay in the big oblong house, up the corner from the Thief Lord," Ajalia told him. "Be out of here in two hours. The new owner expects an empty house early in the morning. And make sure it's clean," she added. Chad nodded. He went back into the house, and shouted a little. Ajalia heard scuffling, and the bang of cleaning vessels. She waited until he reappeared, and then smiled at him.
"Chad," she said.
"Yes?" Chad asked expectantly. Ajalia thought that she could hear an unstated "dear," at the end of his response.
"What are your thoughts on marriage?" she asked him. His eyes brightened. He stood up straighter.
"Are you getting married?" he asked.
"Answer the question," she said.
"Um," he said. He glanced at Clare. Clare scowled at him. "Why is she tied up?" Chad asked.
"Well," Ajalia said, "thanks." She turned the horse away.
"Wait!" Chad shouted. He scrambled over to where he could see her face again. "Well, what did you mean?" he asked.
"I have women's bodies to dispose of," she explained. "I'll see you when I come back."
"You mean her?" Chad asked, walking along with the horse, and gesturing to Clare, who had turned her face resolutely away.
"Not her," Ajalia said.
"You?" Chad asked hesitantly.
"No," Ajalia said. Chad glanced back at the little house, and then up at Ajalia's face.
"Who?" he asked. She looked down at him.
"Forget I mentioned it," she said. He looked at her, a frown of concentration in his eyes.
"I'll see you later," he said finally, and stopped walking along with the horse. He watched her ride away; a furrow of thought between his eyebrows.
Ajalia led the bound Clare along the street until they came to the place where the Thief Lord lived. She passed the Thief Lord's house, and rode to the large oblong house around the corner. Ajalia swung off the horse, and knocked on the door. She was not sure if Card would be in; he often stayed late in the quarries, or camped with the men in the long caves near the gravel pits.
A young woman answered the door, Card's daughter. She had a sleeping child in her arms.
"Oh, it's you," she said, smiling when she saw Ajalia.
"Is Card in?" Ajalia asked. Card's daughter nodded, and went into the house. "Do not speak," Ajalia told Clare. Clare made a face, but kept her eyes on the ground.
Card came out, and shut the door behind him.
"We can build," Ajalia told Card. Card studied her face.
"What's wrong?" he asked. She glanced at Clare, whose eyes turned still downwards. Card nodded, and took the horse's reins from Ajalia. He walked beside her as she went towards the Thief Lord's house.
"Stay here," Ajalia told Card, when they came to the corner. She pressed Card's arm, and, unlooping the rope from the ring on the saddle, she led Clare around the edge of the building, and towards the Thief Lord's front door.
She spoke first to a servant, and then to a son, and finally, she found herself in a quiet room in the front of the house, waiting to see the Thief Lord.
"He doesn't see people," the servant had told her confidentially. She had nodded, and said she would wait. When the message had been borne indoors, and the servant had returned, interrupting the youngest son of the Thief Lord, who was questioning Ajalia on the customs of the East, she had been conducted into the quiet room, Clare in tow.
"The Thief Lord won't side with a foreigner," Clare said. She had stopped crying; her nose was splotchy, but she held her head high, and her eyes were proud.
"What do you want?" the Thief Lord asked, when he came into the room. He lounged against the wall, and looked down at Ajalia with a half-smile on his face. He was a handsome man, but somehow alien. Ajalia thought that his eyes were like those of some great cunning reptile.
"I have seen your man," Ajalia said, "Ocher, about the quarries."
"Yes, I know," the Thief Lord said. "He tells me you think you can heal my son's stupidity." Ajalia shrugged. The Thief Lord watched her closely. "And that you have hidden ambitions," the Thief Lord added. His eyes were on her.
"Has Yelin improved upon acquaintance?" Ajalia asked him. The Thief Lord grinned, like a toothsome wolf. Ajalia returned his smile. "I have here," she said, lifting the rope that tied Clare's wrists, "a servant who fancies herself in love."
The Thief Lord turned his gaze onto Clare; the girl blushed.
"Are you in love?" the Thief Lord asked Clare. Clare stared at her feet, the tips of her ears a brilliant shade of red.
"In the East," Ajalia lied, "when a slave showed ambition, and a willingness to endanger her honor, she was educated. I find myself at a loss," she said, "to find such arrangements in your city." She watched the Thief Lord, and the Thief Lord watched her.
"What do you want from me?" the Thief Lord asked.
"What shall I do with this young woman?" Ajalia asked. The Thief Lord watched Ajalia. She thought that he was waiting for her to break into anxiety, or to show embarrassment. She stared straight into his eyes, her face calm, and waited.
"What manner of education?" the Thief Lord asked. Ajalia maintained her steady gaze, her eyes unflinching and unruffled. "Is your Eastern master so bloodless as you?" the Thief Lord asked her. She blinked lazily, and continued to wait. The Thie
f Lord stepped into the room, and looked over Clare. "Stand up," he said to her. Clare flinched, and stared up at him. After looking at Ajalia with reddened eyes rimmed with fear, the Slavithe girl stood awkwardly.
"Tell the Thief Lord how old you are, and your name," Ajalia said. Clare glanced at her again, and swallowed.
"I'm Clare," she said, her voice tense and rough. "I'm fifteen."
"Mm," the Thief Lord said. His eyes moved carefully over Clare, from her plain shod feet to her plump neck. "This is one of your women, from before," he said. Ajalia knew he meant the first time he had come to the little house, when she had put rims of red and black over the Slavithe girls' eyes and foreheads. She nodded.
"Unfortunately," the Thief Lord said, "she has grown ugly. I have no use for her."
Ajalia stood. With a twisting motion, she untied Clare's hair, and roughed it until it dripped loosely over the Slavithe girl's smooth cheeks. Ajalia put her hands against the girl's ribs, and straightened her back. She pushed Clare's buttocks under her spine, and pulled her shoulders back. Ajalia put a hand under Clare's chin, and tilted her face up.
"She will be a wonder," Ajalia said, her hand still on the Slavithe girl's jaw, "when she is cleaned up a little."
The Thief Lord had followed this transformation with his eyes; Ajalia saw the blood mount a little into his cheeks. She knew he found the suddenly voluptuous Clare tempting.
"Not bad," he admitted, and Ajalia heard in the gravel of his voice that this was an understatement. "She's a little young for a house maid," he added.
"Well," Ajalia told Clare, "I tried." She began to lead the girl from the room.
"What do you mean?" the Thief Lord asked quickly. Ajalia met his eyes.
"I haven't time to invest only in a prospect," she said. "As you will not help me, I will dispose of her at a loss."
"Wait," the Thief Lord said. His eyes were trawling still over Clare's loose and waving hair. "Perhaps we can come to some arrangement," he said.
"What sort of arrangement?" Ajalia asked.