by Ila Mercer
When the fetid urn overturned, those nearby scrambled over each other to escape the filth. The young and the elderly were crushed in the frenzy, but their injured cries were barely heard above the scream of the wind. Water spewed down the shafts, and it was soon ankle deep. Above, they heard the cries of the Dracs.
A few of the younger slaves who had escaped the crush began to wail and Ari eventually managed to gather them into a group.
‘Hold each other by the hand,’ he said. ‘Don’t let go and you will give each other courage.’ It made them quiet, even though they shivered.
At the height of the storm, the golden man appeared. He stood behind the locked gate, holding a couple of lanterns high in the air. ‘How is it?’ he called.
At once, he was assailed by slaves. They reached through the bars of the gate, trying to grab the golden man by his clothes but he dodged their grasping hands. ‘If you harm me,’ he called, ‘what good will it bring? Believe me, your salvation lies best by my hand. Those above care little at the moment whether you live or perish.’ His words came to them in broken snatches. But it did not matter anyway. None understood him, except Ari.
Though shackled in a lurching ship with many injured hindering his path, Ari made his way to the gate. When he got there, the golden man recognised him and drew close again.
‘Unlock the gate,’ Ari said in Drac. He did not care who heard him now.
‘You speak.’
The ship shuddered, and Ari felt the sensation travel from the soles of his feet and up his spine. He toppled towards the gate and grabbed the bars to stop falling.
‘We’ve struck something,’ a voice called from above.
Behind him, Ari heard the anxious cries of his countrymen. In the confusion of voices one thing was repeated. Water was coming. He felt it swill above his ankles.
‘Unlock the gate,’ he repeated. ‘Or you will have no Beasts to sell. The ship is sinking.’
The golden man’s eyes went blank for a moment. ‘But I do not hold the key,’ he said, his voice panicked.
‘Then get it,’ Ari growled. The water was now swirling around his shins.
‘The Captain was washed overboard. He has the key.’
Ari wiped a hand over his forehead. ‘Get a thing to strike the lock then. Say an axe, or something heavy, anything. But act fast.’
The golden man nodded bleakly and retreated up the stair.
While Ari waited, more of his countrymen joined him at the gate. The young ones fought their way to the front and clung to him. The water rose higher and higher, bringing a numbing chill to their bodies.
When the golden man returned at last, he held a large hammer in his hands. He hooked his lanterns on two pegs and told the slaves to stand back and then began pounding the lock and chain, but it was soon evident that he was a man unused to labour, his blows were weak and never struck the same spot twice.
‘Pass it through,’ Ari commanded.
The golden man hesitated for a moment and then did as he was told.
‘Stand back,’ Ari ordered in Bemani, pushing those who clamoured behind him. ‘Unless you want a blow to the head.’
He parted his legs as wide as the shackles would allow and tested the weight of the hammer. Then he held it to the chain, noting a weakness in one of the links. That, he decided, was the best place to strike. He lifted the hammer above his head, studied the spot where he would strike once more and let it fall with the full weight of his body behind it. As he struck the metal, the force jolted his body.
He raised the head and swung again, and then again. After three strikes, the chain broke and rattled against the bars. His countrymen pressed against him and someone fumbled for the chain. The water was now above their shins. The young ones had begun to scramble up the backs of their elders, only to be tossed off as the panic grew.
In the Bemani tongue Ari roared at them. ‘Enough! We must help each other. No-one can leave until the gate is open.’
The golden man slipped the chain off and swung the door of the gate open.
At once, the slaves burst forth, shoving Ari aside. The golden man pressed himself against the wall, as they streamed up the stairwell. Ari bellowed again as he watched someone push a child beneath the water in their haste to scrabble up the stairs. But they would not heed him. He waded through the water, searching for the boy however it was impossible to find him as slave after slave shoved their way past each other. In the end, he had to leave the boy, hoping that he had somehow managed to get up and make his way with the others.
Trailing at the back of the group were the older and weaker slaves. Ari offered his hand and helped a grey beard up the steps until the golden man reached out and took over.
Carrying a lantern above his head, Ari returned to the hold of the ship, calling for any who had not come forth.
On the planks, several slaves lay half conscious, including the Du man with whom Ari had shared his shelf. Though it went against his instincts, Ari hoisted the Du man over his shoulder and lurched back through the water, now level with his waist. Several times his feet snagged against a drowned body.
Four more times he repeated the exercise, passing the unconscious ones to those that had returned to the gate, seeking their kin.
The golden man returned too and urged Ari to cease.
‘There is one more,’ Ari replied, already turning to go back to the shelves.
‘You might drown,’ the golden man said. ‘It’s filling fast.’
‘But if I don’t return, he will surely drown.’
‘Wait.’ And the golden man jumped into the water.
‘How many long boats are there?’ Ari called over his shoulder.
‘One. The crew have already taken the other three.’
‘But there were only twenty-four of them, and yet there are over a hundred of us.’
The golden man shrugged but it was not a callous gesture and explained that he had argued heatedly with the first mate. Even the offer of rich rewards at the end of their journey had not persuaded him.
Ari shook his head in disgust.
When Ari reached the shelf where the last survivor was supposed to be, nobody was there. He swung the lantern left and right. He searched the top and the middle shelves however the man was gone and then suddenly, the ship shuddered again and rolled onto its side. Ari and the golden man were tossed from their feet. Water gushed in through the vents and the golden man flailed in the neck deep water.
‘Can you swim?’ Ari called.
‘Not well.’
‘Climb onto my back.’
In the next moment, the sea ripped through the vessel like a clawing hand and tore the hull in two. They were engulfed by water, shards of splintered wood, and the debris of the hold. The golden man clutched Ari around the waist and held on. Within the blink of an eye, they were surrounded by water from every direction.
For a moment, Ari could not tell which way was up but he began to kick, and he felt the golden man’s grip tighten. Before long, Ari felt as though his lungs would burst. He had not taken a deep breath, and he wondered how long he could hold on however, just as he thought he could go no further, he broke to the surface, bobbing like cork as the wind howled around him and the sea spray stung his eyes. In his mouth, he tasted blood from a cut lip mingling with brine. He could see nothing except cliffs of rising black and on his back, the golden man loosened his grip.
A Bad Deal
MaKiki returned to Grimm’s shop, planning to break the deal and have her ring returned however when she got there the shop was closed and the blinds drawn. In the end, she had little choice but to see where Lita’s actions would lead them.
They waited for midnight to come. In the wagon, it was bright and cosy, while outside tendrils of fog snaked across the bay and heavy clouds hid the face of the moon. Before long, the night was darker than the inside of a sealed pot. Lita dozed a little, mainly to escape MaKiki’s brooding silence.
When the ship’s beacon finally a
ppeared on the horizon, MaKiki shook Lita awake and told her to put on her gloves and hooded cloak. Through a small break in the clouds, the moon could be seen, clinging to the horizon. Though it was not nearly as dangerous as a full, high moon, MaKiki did not want Lita to take any chances.
By the time they stepped from the wagon, the ship had docked. Though it had entered the harbour displaying its lights, all were now doused, except for a few small lamps set beside the gangplank. The crew scuttled up and down, dropping sacks onto waiting wagons. In the gloom, their stretched and spidery shadows wavered up and over the side of the ship. MaKiki and Lita strode towards a short stocky fellow, who seemed to be directing the others.
‘Are you the captain?’ MaKiki asked.
‘What’s it to you?’ he replied, in a gravelly voice.
‘Grimm sent us.’
‘What of it?’
‘See I knew this was a crooked deal,’ MaKiki said, turning to Lita.
‘Wait.’ Lita put her hand on MaKiki’s elbow. ‘Captain Rachard?’ she said, stepping forward. ‘Grimm said you would tell us a riddle.’
The Captain, who had started to turn away from them, halted. He looked over their shoulders and then lowering his voice said, ‘If you utter my name, I disappear. What am I?
Now the word suddenly made sense to Lita. With a smile, she said, ‘Silence, of course.’
‘Wait here,’ the Captain said.
Lita turned to grin at MaKiki. But MaKiki’s lips were pursed and her arms were folded across her chest. It seemed she was still suspicious of the whole deal.
As they waited, the fog curled around their ankles and the moon sank beyond the horizon. Lita loosened her cloak and lifted her hood so that she could see a little better.
Before long the Captain returned with a sealed parchment. He handed it to MaKiki and said, ‘The contract will only be honoured if the seal remains intact.’
‘Can you tell us what manner of document this is? It isn’t a death warrant or-’
The Captain barked a brittle sounding laugh. ‘No. It is nothing that sinister, though it is something the Seafarer’s Guild guards jealously. You are to tell no-one of your mission.’
‘And we will receive fifty silver glems on delivery,’ MaKiki added.
‘Fifty silver glems.’
‘I still feel uneasy about the whole thing,’ MaKiki said as an aside to Lita.
‘Except, we will be rich,’ Lita replied. ‘It’s just a parchment, how bad can it be?’
They were about to leave when one of the crew said, ‘Best you stand aside while we unload the next cargo.’
The ship’s crew arranged themselves into a stiff line from the gangplank to the covered wagons. Their shoulders and jaws tensed, their legs jiggled with restless energy and their fists tightened around long tailed whips. Someone extinguished the lamps. In the sudden darkness, Lita detected a pungent scent like unwashed skin, rancid butter and singed hair all rolled together. The gangplank groaned and creaked as amorphous figures shuffled from the hold of the ship. It was impossible to tell whether they had heads, or arms or legs. Had there been more light, Lita might have realised they too were heavily cloaked. Neither was there any sound to distinguish their identity, except for the clink and drag of metal and the heavy intake of their cowered breath. Lita clutched MaKiki’s elbow. ‘What are they?’ she whispered.
‘Men,’ MaKiki said, at last. Her voice was barbed and tight. ‘I should have guessed. Why else would a ship steal into port in the dead of night? Why else?’ In the darkness, Lita felt MaKiki bristling with anger as men continued to disembark. ‘What a fool I have been, not to see this coming. Captain?’
‘Aye,’ came his reply from nearby.
‘I’ll not do business with Slavers,’ she said, ripping the parchment and letting it flutter to the ground. ‘You must find another to do your dirty work.’
‘No, MaKiki,’ Lita said, dropping to the ground, scooping up the torn parchment. ‘All that money. What about winter? What will we do? Please?’ She couldn’t bear another hungry winter.
Without a word, MaKiki stormed off to the wagon. Lita’s heart thumped with panic. Was MaKiki so angry that she might leave without her, Lita wondered? Should she give up the parchment and follow? But the money offered more than a winter of luxury. Without it who knew where they might end up. For un-bonded women, there were few choices and Lita had no desire to make her living as a painted lady. With a measure of fear but an even deeper measure of bravery, she gripped the parchment against her chest and set off for the wagon.
Silhouetted against a lamplight, MaKiki had become a stiff, wooden cut-out. Her arms extended into taut reigns and her torso fused with the contours of the chassis. Lita approached as one might come at a wild dog, warily, alert to the slightest shift in MaKiki’s posture.
‘Kiki?’
‘Not now, Lita.’ MaKiki snapped the reigns and Hodder jolted forward a little. MaKiki’s silence was more wounding than a barrage of angry words. Lita climbed the steps, shrank against her seat and slid the torn parchment into her lap.
As the slaves passed under the dim light of an oil lamp, Lita noted that they had indeed, the shape of men garbed in hoods and mantles. Something about them was very unsettling. She had not known that men were made into slaves. Beasts – yes, but not men. Several years back, Ella-May, a know-it-all from Peasley, told Lita she had seen a gang of Beast Slaves. That they had large humps like camels, fangs to their chins, claws like the prongs on a rake and blood red eyes. Not that Lita put much store in the things Ella-May had told her. In all her travels, Lita had never yet seen a Beast, and Ella-May was even less likely to come by one.
‘Gee up Hodder,’ MaKiki snarled and the wagon lurched forward.
Lita ran her fingers over the torn parchment noting that the seal still held together by a whisker. With a sinking heart, Lita remembered what the Captain had said. That the contract would only be honoured if the document arrived with its seal intact. She wondered whether it could be repaired. Or whether MaKiki might try to throw it away again. Nothing was turning out as she’d hoped.
Ari’s Challenge
The golden man slipped beneath the surface of the waves and Ari dove after him, feeling his way blindly. At the time, he did not think about the wisdom of his actions. Who would have blamed him for abandoning his captor to the sea? Certainly not his kin and yet something compelled him to save the golden man. His conscience, perhaps? Or just reaction? Later he would wonder what impulse drove him to act for he did not think of himself as altruistic.
Ari grasped the ruff of the golden man’s shirt and then his neck and shoulders and hauled him to the surface. His feet paddled and his spare arm circled through the water in a bid to keep them both afloat. The golden man did not answer when Ari spoke to him, but he still breathed.
For hours, Ari waved his limbs through the water until they ached. Not once did he see another being and his mind began to play tricks on him after a while. Every now and then he would imagine the circling of a fin but if there were sharks, they did not attack. Eventually, when he had grown so exhausted that he felt he would have to give up, a piece of wreckage nudged into him. He grasped at the wood before it could float away and hooked the golden man’s arms over it. Then he hoisted himself onto the ragged raft and pulled his companion by the armpits until they lay side by side. Ari remained like this for a long time until the sky was no longer black. On the horizon, a softening grew with the promise of dawn and the swells no longer towered above them. The storm had passed, and now the rain fell gently on the water: plick, plick, plick. He surrendered to sleep, his body worn and numbed by the cold.
*
He blinked. Sunlight struck the back of his eyes, a crust of salt matted his lashes together, and his lips tasted of brine as his swollen tongue slid over them. He groaned and sat up. The golden man lay curled beside him.
Ari rubbed the salt from his lashes and shaded his eyes. Here and there, broken planks drifted around them, but
there were no long boats and no survivors amongst the wreckage. The sea had grown benevolent, barely rocking the small raft as it bobbed from swell to swell. Water lapped up through the cracks of their craft, keeping their clothes sodden but the sun was high, and the air was warm.
On the horizon, a smudge of dark suggested something. Land, Ari wondered? The more he stared at the smudge, the more convinced he became. It was land. His heart beat rapidly and then another thought occurred to him. Whose land was it? How close were they to Dracodia’s shores? And then he realised it did not matter whose land it was for they were sure to die if they remained at sea.
He used his hand to paddle their raft toward a likely looking plank. A sharp pull in his shoulder reminded him of his scarring. Though it had healed, his left shoulder had been stiffer since the whipping and the muscles and skin that had grown back were knotted and tight.
When he finally reached the plank, he used it as an oar. All the while, the sun beat down on them and Ari’s thirst grew stronger. By the time the sun was directly above them, the golden man groaned and fluttered his eyes. Ari said nothing, even when the golden man sat up and clutched his forehead with both hands and then retched the few contents of his stomach over the side of their craft.
‘Where are we?’ the golden man asked, wiping his mouth.
‘The sea.’
The golden man wrinkled his brow and screwed up his eyes. ‘Are you making a joke?’
‘Why would I joke?’ Ari felt a sudden regret about saving the golden man. He realised now that it would be impossible to slip unnoticed onto the land ahead. The golden man would surely want to make himself known to his people. And where would that leave him? Despite the golden man’s various kindnesses, he was still a slave trader and now he had in his possession his last surviving slave. It was unlikely he would release Ari.