by Victor Poole
"What are you doing?" Ossa demanded.
"Changing," Ajalia said casually. She went into the kitchen and took the tunic from around the leather book. She left the book on the very top of the highest shelf, and wandered back into the front room. The tunic dripped out of her hands like brown earth.
The five girls regarded her silently, as Ajalia pulled the tunic over her head.
"That looks terrible on you," the girl called Clare told Ajalia coldly. Two of the other girls tittered at this.
Under the voluminous piece of fabric, Ajalia took off her outer robe, and dropped it to the floor.
"What are you doing?" one of the girls asked again.
"She's changing," another said impatiently.
"I have a meeting," Ajalia said. "I must look my best."
"You have better clothes than that," Eisle shot out. The other girls looked at her. "It's true," Eisle protested. "Berra told me. She was here sewing the other day, and she said they all have nice clothes. All the slaves do."
"My fine clothes are on their way to Talbos right now," Ajalia said conversationally. She had peeled off the long-sleeved shift that she wore against her skin. Ossa uttered a violent gasp, and pointed at Ajalia's arms, which emerged, white and black and blue, from within the sleeves of the brown tunic.
"What happened to your arms?" Ossa demanded. Ajalia picked up her outer robe from the floor, and began to remove the many things she kept in the inner pockets and clever hiding places in the seams. Coins, small daggers, sewing things, and baubles of glass and diamond clattered to the floor. Ajalia let her goods fall like rain, clattering and rolling over the white stone floor. The house had been scrubbed just the day before; Jenna had cleaned while Ajalia and Philas were out, and the stone showed creamy white, like smooth snow.
The five girls watched the things fall to the ground. Sun was plucking at Nam's sleeve, and pointing to the jewels that Ajalia had pulled out of her robe. Nam shushed the other girl, but her own cheeks were fiery with choking desire.
Ajalia finished emptying her outer robe, and pulled it back on underneath the big brown shirt. The robe had voluminous cupped sleeves that came down only to Ajalia's elbows; her forearms and wrists, which by now had begun to look as though they had been dipped in red and purple paint, were wholly visible. The raised scars had begun to turn red and black, and stood out against Ajalia's slim arms like angry twisting snakes. Ajalia pulled Delmar's tunic up over her head; she threw the brown fabric over the ramshackle couch, and picked up the long sleeved shift that had, until now, concealed her arms.
"Which one of you," Ajalia asked, holding out the creamy fabric, "thinks this could contain more wonderful surprises?"
When she had changed, Ajalia had loosened the sheath and belt that concealed her knife, and pulled her clothes out from under the leather. She had no desire to reveal to the girls the mechanics of her hiding place for the knife. The leather belt shifted now, loose against her skin. She moved her arms and hips, to make the knife lay flat until she could adjust it again.
"Is that gold?" Nam demanded, pointing at a tiny lump on the ground.
"What do you think?" Ajalia asked.
"Slaves can't have their own things," Eisle told Nam. "Their owners keep everything for themselves."
"You know," Ajalia said, picking apart a center seam in the shift, and making narrow pieces of rough-hewn emerald spill, glittering, onto the white floor, "technically, you're right. But in reality," she added, plucking a ready-threaded needle from the floor and closing up the seam with swift stitches, "I keep anything I get on my own. I would be surprised if any one of you had so much as three coins on your persons at any time."
"Berra has one coin," Sun shouted out. Nam and Ossa gave her poisonous glances. "It's true," Sun said defensively. "One of the women here gave it to her, for sewing so fast."
"You mean, a slave gave it to her," Nam said. "So it wasn't even the slave's money."
Clare was watching Ajalia's fingers flick over the seam. Clare's brown eyes were quick and nimble; out of the corner of her eye, Ajalia watched the auburn-haired girl examine the long-sleeved shift for more hiding places.
"I bet I could find things," Clare said.
"Good girl," Ajalia said. She held out the partially-sewn garment, and, after a long moment, Clare sprang to her feet, and took the shift.
"Traitor," Nam hissed.
"She has money," Clare muttered. Ajalia fished a tiny golden knife, and a packet of threaded needles from the floor. She passed them to Clare.
"Go up the stairs and into the first room you see," Ajalia told the girl. "Leave no mark on the fabric."
Clare ducked her head and scrambled up the stairs. Nam watched her go, fire splashing in her eyes.
"That was not fair," Nam told Ajalia.
"Would you like to be a mother?" Ajalia asked Nam. Ossa emitted a brief giggle. Nam slapped at Ossa's hands.
"That isn't funny," Nam said.
"No," Ajalia agreed. "But it is pertinent."
Nam watched Ajalia through narrowed eyes. Ajalia put her hands up beneath her robe and tightened the harness of her knife. Long ago she had sewn a curious covered slit in the back panel of her robes, so that she could wear her knife at all times, snug against her skin.
"Is that where you keep your knife?" Nam asked suddenly.
"Guess how many children I have," Ajalia told Eisle. The thick girl put a hand to her mouth. She glanced from side to side at her companions, and bit her lip.
"Three?" Eisle guessed.
Ajalia settled the knife into the groove of her spine, and straightened her robe.
"Three is the number of men I have killed," Ajalia told her.
The four remaining girls regarded her in silence. Finally, Ossa spoke.
"That's a lie," Ossa said.
"What happened to your arms?" Nam asked boldly.
"Slavery," Ajalia said. "Also murder." Nam blinked.
"That doesn't make any sense," Nam snapped.
"Babies?" Ajalia asked her.
"No!" Nam shouted.
"I want to be on your side," Sun said swiftly. Ajalia looked up at the blond girl. Sun had dirty yellow hair, and a broad, compliant face. Her eyes were cornflower blue, and her lips were thin.
"Pick up my things," Ajalia said. "If you steal from me, I will cut your hair."
"No one cares about their hair being cut," Ossa blurted out. "Everyone would know you made us cut our hair."
"Not if you were living in Chad's room," Ajalia said. A deathly pallor went over the faces of the three girls who were still sitting together in the corner. Sun, who was down on her hands and knees, putting Ajalia's things into a scoop she had made from her skirt, kept her eyes turned carefully down.
"You wouldn't be able to make me do that," Nam said. Her voice had risen a little; her eyes were wild.
"Nam has finally succeeded," Ajalia told Ossa and Eisle, "in making me angry."
Ossa and Eisle shot each other nervous glances. They edged a little closer to Nam, who was sitting between them. Nam jutted out her chin; her eyes were blazing with defiance.
"Would you, Ossa," Ajalia asked, "or you, Eisle, like to share in the terrible fate that is about to befall Nam?"
Ossa shook her head no so violently that Ajalia thought the broad girl's eyes would fly out of her head. Eisle whimpered, and uttered a tiny squeak.
"I did not understand that noise," Ajalia said pleasantly to Eisle. "Should I take that as a yes?"
"No," Eisle whispered hoarsely.
"I will give each of the two of you," Ajalia told Eisle and Ossa, "one more chance to escape my wrath. If you choose wrong, I will do worse to you."
"What are you going to do?" Ossa asked breathlessly. Sun had turned into a quiet statue, her hand outstretched towards a blue gem, her breath stopped in her mouth. Her blue eyes were turned towards the corner, where her friends sat.
"Ossa," Ajalia said. Ajalia slipped her knife out of its sheath. The three girls pushed closer
together. "I want you to hold Nam while I cut her hair."
"No!" Nam shouted. Nam rose from the corner like a spitting wildcat; when her hand reached out towards Ajalia's knife, Ajalia stepped smoothly to one side, and Nam tripped over Sun's legs and went sprawling. Ajalia was crouched, sitting on Nam's shoulders, and pulling her hair back, before the Slavithe girl had a chance to rise.
Ossa rose silently, and crossed to Ajalia and Nam. Eisle sat in the corner, her eyes wide and bright. Ajalia thought that Eisle would have to be a loss.
"Take her arms," Ajalia told Ossa, and the girl pulled Nam's wrists forward. Nam was emitting short barks like a trapped beast.
"Let go of me, you whore," Nam spat, writhing beneath Ajalia. Ajalia deftly untwisted Nam's long dark coil of hair, and put the edge of her knife through the locks. Curtains of thick hair fell to the floor, covering Nam in a layer of long dark hair.
"Should have joined me when you had the chance," Ajalia said shortly, gripping Nam's hair by the roots, and slicing the hair roughly away. Nam tried to throw Ajalia off, and Ajalia snapped the girl in the back of the head with the heavy hilt of her knife. Nam uttered a sharp cry, and lay still.
"You're hurting her," Eisle said breathlessly from the corner.
"You were supposed to help," Ossa rebuked.
"Oh, I couldn't have," Eisle gasped, her eyes following the progress of Ajalia's knife.
"You're next," Ajalia told Eisle. Eisle made a hysterical giggle.
"I haven't done anything," Eisle said confidently.
"Whore!" Nam spat, scrambling to her feet when Ajalia stepped off of her back. Nam's eyes were bloodshot, and her teeth showed through trembling lips.
"You're a filthy foreign whore," Nam repeated, putting shaking hands into her coarsely chopped hair.
"I am foreign," Ajalia agreed, "but I am not a whore."
Ajalia went to the corner, and ripped the bindings out of Eisle's thick hair. Eisle sat like a frightened mouse, her mouth closed up into a white line. Ajalia cut the braid of Eisle's hair off by the roots, and gathered up the long hairs that remained around Eisle's face.
"But I didn't do anything," Eisle whispered, tears pooling quickly into her eyes, her nose reddening.
"Yes," Ajalia agreed, making two final cuts. "Clean up the hair," she told Ossa. "I have to get to market. You," she said, pointing at Nam, "come with me. You," she said, pointing at Eisle, "go back to the row house, and help the other girls clean."
"No," Eisle whimpered, shrinking back into the corner, her fingers curling together.
Ajalia wiped the blade of her knife against her clothes, and replaced it in its sheath. She beat the hair out of her robe.
"When you have finished," Ajalia told Ossa, "take my things and the brown tunic to the attic at the top of the house. You can eat anything you find in the kitchen."
Ossa dipped her head quickly, and began to help Sun gather the gold and tiny tools from the floor.
"And Ossa," Ajalia said, unlocking the front door.
"Yes?" Ossa said at once.
"See to it that Eisle goes back at once." Ajalia glanced at Eisle, whose red-rimmed eyes flicked to Ossa. The look in Eisle's eyes seemed to say, you wouldn't, but the hardness in Ossa's mouth clearly said, I most certainly will.
"Come," Ajalia said imperiously to Nam. The shorn girl shook her head stubbornly. Her face was wet with tears, and a purple glow was in her cheeks.
"Get out," Ossa hissed at Nam.
"No!" Nam hissed back.
"Do you want her to beat you?" Ossa asked harshly. Nam glared at her friend, and then at Ajalia. Nam edged towards the door.
"Come on, get out," Ossa shouted at Eisle. Ajalia heard the two girls fighting as she held the door for Nam, and went out of the little house.
THE ARRIVAL OF THE THIEF LORD
"You shouldn't have cut my hair," Nam growled at Ajalia, as soon as they had gone into the street. Nam's eyes moved busily over the street, which was bustling with Slavithe men and women, trying to see if anyone was staring at her roughly cut hair.
"You should never have cut it," Nam repeated in a stronger voice. "You don't know what it means here."
"It means you are sharing a room with Chad," Ajalia said shortly. Nam stopped in the street.
"You can't make me," Nam said viciously. "I will run away."
"And if you run," Ajalia asked, "where will you go?"
"Away," Nam said.
"Into the desert?" Ajalia asked.
"To the sea," Nam said.
"They have slaves across the sea," Ajalia said. "You know," she added, "I think they even have slaves in Talbos. Would you like to be a slave?"
"Never," Nam spat.
"Chad is not so bad," Ajalia told her. "If you are firm, he will sleep on the floor."
"I am not sleeping with Chad," Nam shouted. People in the street looked around and stared. Nam's face grew hot with shame; she lowered her voice. "I will not sleep with him," she said.
"I never said you would sleep with Chad," Ajalia said. "Everyone will think that you're sleeping with Chad, though. That's the part of the punishment that is actually a punishment."
"You're horrible," Nam said.
"I try to be horrible," Ajalia agreed. They were passing swiftly down the streets towards the market.
"I could run away," Nam said.
"You could," Ajalia said, "and I have no doubt you would be pregnant within a year."
"You're filthy," Nam said angrily.
"You're stupid," Ajalia said bluntly. Nam looked as though she'd been slapped.
"I am not stupid," she retorted. "You're stupid."
"Who has been protecting you?" Ajalia asked. Nam said nothing. They had reached the market; Ajalia went straight to the fabric merchant's stall where she and Lim had displayed their Eastern goods. The fabric merchant's wife was behind the counter; her eyes lit up when she saw Ajalia.
"I have been waiting for you to come!" the fabric merchant's wife cried. "Come, come, let me show you what I have." The merchant's wife had black hair that came down past her ears; the black locks curled in the back over her neck. Ajalia looked to one side; she saw that Nam had noticed the woman's growing hair.
The fabric merchant's wife led Ajalia behind the counter, and into the room that lay just within the stall. She unfolded a length of light green fabric that had been sewn up and down with large flying birds. The birds had extravagant foliage; they had been sewn with dark red and brown thread.
"They are beautiful," Ajalia said, touching the embroidered cloth.
"And this I have been selling faster than I can make it," the fabric merchant's wife said, unfolding another piece of cloth. This cloth was a warm yellow, and had pale white dots and flowers sewn in regular clusters over the edges.
"This is Nam," Ajalia told the fabric merchant's wife. "I never learned your name," she added. "What are you called?"
"My name is Calles," the woman said. "I know who you are," she added with a smile. "It is because of Ajalia that I am an honorable wife," Calles told Nam. Nam's face was puckered into an angry snarl.
"Nam has just had her hair cut," Ajalia told Calles, who tutted disapprovingly with her lips.
"Have no children, young one," Calles warned Nam. "Love does not last without dignity."
"I am not in love," Nam said tartly. Ajalia laughed at the expression on the young woman's face, and put her fingers into the soft yellow fabric.
"Please pardon the rudeness of Nam," Ajalia said, "I have not yet broken her of the coarse ways of her youth."
I wish you well in training her," Calles told Ajalia heartily. "Bad servants are a torment."
"I have a meeting with the Thief Lord," Ajalia told Calles. "I am in the market for some cloth."
Calles nodded at once.
"Wait here," Calles said, and vanished into the living quarters that extended behind and above the shop.
"You are foolish to offend needlessly," Ajalia told Nam. Nam snarled at her. "Perhaps bearing a child
will help you learn," Ajalia said thoughtfully.
"You're a monster," Nam said. "A dirty, evil monster."
"All right," Ajalia said. "If I cannot get you to agree, I will sell you when you are no longer useful."
"You can't sell me," Nam spat. "I'm a servant, remember?"
"Yes, and your debt can be sold, as it was sold to me."
"How did you get my debt?" Nam asked suddenly. "You have no money."
"I have money, and you have no debt," Ajalia said.
"You said I had debt," Nam argued.
"You think you have debt, which is the same thing," Ajalia said. "Perhaps one day, when your mind starts to work, you will understand."
"You speak nothing but nonsense," Nam said.
"What were you girls doing to my boys?" Ajalia asked. Nam's mouth clammed up instantly; the hardness came back into her eyes, and she looked fiercely out at the door.
"That woman should not leave her shop alone," Nam said finally. "She'll be stolen from."
"By you?" Ajalia asked.
"No," Nam said angrily, "by thieves, like you."
Calles came hurrying back through the door at the back of the room. A vivid orange garment was in her hands.
"I have been sewing this," Calles said breathlessly. "I did not know where I was going to sell it, for no one here would wear it. But I can give it to you," Calles said, her cheeks glowing. "You would look fine in such a thing."
Calles handed the cloth to Ajalia, who laid it out against one of the tables. Calles went out into the open stall, and spoke to a customer who had been idling there.
"This is very beautiful," Ajalia told Nam. Nam grunted. The orange cloth had been shaped into a simple gown; it was sleeveless, and pieces of round black rock had been sewn into bits of netting at the hem of the gown. The neck of the orange gown was high and narrow. Red and golden flowers had been stitched in long lines around the neck, and in scallops down the side seams.
"I copied the shape of some of your Eastern gowns," Calles told Ajalia, coming back into the back room.
"I want it," Ajalia said. "Count out the money she asks for," Ajalia told Nam, and handed over her purse. Nam's breath caught in her throat at the weight of the money in her hand. Her eyes widened. Ajalia thought she could see Nam's desire for the money growing up and out until it dwarfed the young woman's broad body.