The Collar and the Cavvarach

by Annie Douglass Lima

  Steene hadn’t gone running in weeks. Healthy eating was not the only habit he had neglected when life turned upside-down, and it felt great to get back into it now. The morning was warmer than he would have preferred – that’s what you got for not going out first thing, even in January – but a pleasant breeze ruffled their hair as they jogged down sidewalks and then along a grassy path around the neighborhood park.

  Bensin had no problem keeping up, and Steene suspected the boy would even have been comfortable going faster. I’ve got to get myself back in proper shape. This will be a good excuse. They would go running every morning, he decided. He would work it into Bensin’s regular exercise routine.

  After they had downed their smoothie and then both showered in turn, Steene gave the boy instructions about what to wash, chop, bag, and freeze and what to just leave in the fridge. While Bensin worked in the kitchen, Steene dug out his work schedule and class lists from his backpack. At first he couldn’t find the sheet with the names and phone numbers from Cley, but after a few minutes’ search it turned up in the pocket of yesterday’s pants.

  Sitting down with his phone and a fresh sheet of notebook paper, he checked the times of the classes in which it would be most helpful to have an aide. Then he called Cley’s neighbors one by one, explaining that Bensin was under new ownership but would still be able to work for them, though not necessarily at the same times.

  Eventually he had a list of days, times, names, and payment amounts. It fit — more or less — around the times he wanted Bensin at the CSF, and he would plan Bensin’s training schedule around that.

  “All right, this is what your week is going to look like for now,” he told the boy when he had finished, and he explained the new plan. “Monday will be your day off. Think you can keep track of all this in your head?”

  He was joking, but the boy looked worried. “May I write it all out together on another paper, sir?”

  Steene tore out a second sheet from one of his work notebooks and watched as Bensin carefully drew a grid. In a separate column for each day, he filled in who he was supposed to work for at what times and when he would be helping in the CSF. “Shall I add in what chores I’ll do here on what days of the week, sir?”

  “Oh. Yeah, sure, good idea.”

  When they had that sorted out, Steene drove them over to the CSF so he could work on putting together a training regimen for Bensin. One of the benefits of working there was that employees’ own children or slaves were allowed to join their classes and use the equipment for free. He had never taken advantage of that particular perk before, but it would come in handy now.

  There were a few more cars in the parking lot this time; other trainers were in their classrooms getting ready for the start of classes. Work resumed on Monday for most of them. Steene recognized Markus’ black sedan parked right by the entrance. An engraved plaque mounted on the wall in front of the parking spot stated, “Markus Brinks, Employee of the Year”.

  Steene led the way up to the fourth floor and turned on the lights in the gym. Like most of the CSF’s six floors, it had classrooms around the edge and a gym area full of weights and workout equipment in the middle.

  “I need to figure out exactly where you are so I can design the best possible training program for you,” he explained. “I’ll run the same tests that I use for my General Fitness Techniques students at the start of each semester.” He brought out a fresh notebook, a pencil, and his stopwatch. “All right, let’s see what you can do.”

  He had Bensin work his way through the eight-item routine he had created years ago, testing his coordination, balance, aerobic capacity, and the strength of various muscles. Steene jotted notes the whole time, recording how many chin-ups and push-ups his pupil could manage, how long it took him to run a mile on the treadmill, and so on.

  He didn’t have access to the air conditioning controls in this area, and the heat was oppressive, but Bensin didn’t complain. He sweated his way through each exercise, gulping eagerly from the drinking fountain when Steene gave him a break.

  At last Steene had recorded his final set of numbers. “Not bad at all. While you’re hiring out this afternoon, I’ll plan out your training regimen and set specific goals for you in each area. You’ll retake the tests every month, and then we’ll see where you’ve improved and what to work on next.”

  “Sounds good, sir.” Bensin looked drained from the heat but enthusiastic about his new training plan. Only as they left did Steene notice how the boy’s sweat-soaked T-shirt clung to his back and remember those whip welts. That must sting like crazy.

  You said you’d treat him well, his conscience reminded him, and Steene could imagine it frowning disapprovingly.

  It’s not my fault, he protested silently. He didn’t tell me it was hurting. Anyway, Cley did that to him, not me.

  Back at the apartment, Steene temporarily silenced his conscience by letting Bensin take another shower while he prepared lunch. After they had eaten, it was time to drive Bensin over to his old neighborhood for yardwork.

  “Don’t forget to write me a pass, sir,” the boy reminded him.

  “The guy you’re going to work for already knows you have my permission to be there, and I’m going to drop you off right in front of his house. You sure you need a pass for this?” Could Bensin be planning to go off somewhere without Steene’s knowledge?

  The boy looked worried. “But sir, there’s always a chance a City Watch officer might come by when I’m out on the street, like if I get done before you’re back. If I get caught out without a pass and they think I might be trying to escape, I’ll get forty lashes this time.”

  Steene winced. “Forty? Ouch. Okay, fine; I’ll write you one just in case.” But I’ll be there to pick you up a little early just so you don’t get tempted to try anything. He glanced around the unnaturally tidy living room. “Where did I put those passes?”

  “They’re in the top desk drawer, sir.”

  How does he remember that when I don’t? Come to think of it, perhaps Steene ought to hide them in his room somewhere, just in case Bensin ever got the idea of forging his signature and sneaking out.

  He read the little form aloud after he had filled it in:

  “This certifies that my slave Bensin is out with my permission on January 6th between the times of 1:00 and 3:00.”

  He signed his name on the bottom line and showed it to Bensin. “I’ve never filled one of these out before. Did I do it right?”

  “Yes, sir. Although people don’t usually care if you write an exact time or not.”

  Why did he say that? Was he hoping I’d leave it vague so he’d have an excuse to go off and do something else instead of waiting for me to pick him up right away?

  After dropping the boy off, Steene drove back to his classroom, the place where he thought best when it came to practice and workouts. He could already see it was going to be convenient living close enough to work that he could travel back and forth multiple times a day.

  Switching on the a/c in his classroom, he plopped down on one of the floor pads and leaned against the wall to do some planning. Bensin can do his workouts when I’ve got my General Fitness Techniques classes in the gym. When I teach my advanced cavvara shil classes, he’ll join in, he decided. And I may work with him one-on-one in the mornings or on my days off as well. He would have to see how best to develop the boy’s natural talent for the martial art. His abilities were great already, but Steene was going to make sure he got even better. It’ll be easier for him to improve now that he’ll be eating healthy and not getting lashed.

  Steene had been teaching most of the same classes for enough years that he had a pretty good idea of how he wanted to do things with his students. But he spent a few minutes jotting down plans for the first week and for how he would have Bensin help.

  It’s a pity the Springstyle Competition is coming up so soon. He stuffed his notebook and pen into his backpack and turned off the air conditioning again. There would
n’t be much time to prepare, but it was a low-key event, not one of the city’s famous tournaments. Hopefully Bensin’s sore back would have healed enough by then that he could make a good showing. It will give me an idea of how he does in competition, at least.

  There was a Springstyle Sporting Goods store just a few blocks from the CSF, and Steene knew contestants could sign up at any of their locations. He would get Bensin registered for the event and then go pick him up.

  But he had forgotten about the 40-imp registration fee. “I’m sorry, sir,” the enslaved worker at the cash register apologized, handing back his bank card and a computer printout, “but it shows that you don’t have enough money in your account to make this transaction.”

  Steene slid the card back into his wallet and examined the printout, mentally kicking himself for spending so much at the grocery store. Eleven imperials? That’s all I have left in my checking account? His financial situation was even more dire than he had realized.

  Since the competition was only a week away, today was the last day to sign up. “Well, thanks anyway. I’ll be back with more money later.” If I can figure out how to get some. Bensin wasn’t going to earn enough today to make up the difference. Trying to think of a solution, Steene wandered out past aisles of athletic shoes, racks of free weights, displays of multicolored water bottles, and balls of every imaginable variety.

  Crossing the parking lot on his way back to his truck, he noticed that there was a pawn shop at the other end of the little shopping center. Do I have anything valuable that I don’t need? He considered. But no, Serra had made sure she ended up with almost everything of value they had owned. He did have his cavvarach, but there was no way he was giving that up. Apart from his new slave, the truck was the only thing he had that was really worth much, and it was getting old. Not that he could spare it anyway.

  In the driver’s seat, he paused with his hands on the steering wheel and stared at them for a long moment. There was no point in being sentimental. I don’t need it. Really, why should I even want it?

  Did this count as another spur-of-the-moment decision? Probably, but Steene didn’t care. He got out again, slammed the door decisively, and strode toward the pawn shop. A strip of bells on the door jangled as he entered the cool dimness of its interior. Steene addressed the man behind the counter. “How much will you give me for this ring?”

  Bensin wasn’t waiting outside when Steene pulled up in front of the house where the boy was supposed to be working. But he was a couple of minutes early, so he parked by the curb and waited. Five minutes later by the dashboard clock, the boy appeared — but from the house next door. His old owners’ house. Steene frowned. Why would he have gone back there?

  Bensin paused on the porch when he saw the truck out front. Was that alarm on his face? But he smoothed his expression out, jogged over, and got in beside Steene, smelling of sweat and freshly-mown grass. “Sorry to keep you waiting, sir.” He dug a folded twenty-imp bill out of his pocket. “Here’s what I earned for this afternoon’s work.”

  “Thanks.” Steene fought down an unexpected twinge of guilt as he took the money. An owner was entitled to keep his slave’s earnings, so what was there to feel guilty about? “I didn’t expect to see you coming out of Cley’s house.”

  “I finished my work a few minutes early, sir, so I, uh, I went back over to get something I’d forgotten.”

  “Really? What?” Steene tried not to sound suspicious, but the boy was empty-handed and wasn’t looking at him.

  “My, uh, my toothpaste, sir. I had left it in the bathroom, but when I went to get it just now, Mrs. Creghorn said I couldn’t keep it since they were the ones who had paid for it.”

  Well, that could be true. “I have some you can use.” Steene put the truck in gear and pulled out onto the street. He wasn’t sure why a conversation about toothpaste would have taken the boy five minutes or more, but he decided the matter wasn’t worth pursuing.

  When they were nearly home, Bensin spoke up again. “Mr. Mayvins, I was thinking, if you didn’t want to have to drive me back and forth every time, I could always take the bus. When I lived with the Creghorns, they bought a bus card for me to use when I ran errands and went to my lessons at the CSF. It costs 30 imps for the whole month, and you can ride as many times as you like. I know the bus routes in the area pretty well, and I have a map I can use for any I’m not sure about.”

  Is he really trying to make it more convenient for me? Or does he want to be able to go places without my knowing or stay longer than he otherwise could? But once work started, Steene wouldn’t be able to drive him back and forth as easily anyway.

  “That’s not a bad idea,” he agreed. “I actually have money now to buy it, and I’ll have a lot less time to chauffeur you around when the CSF opens again.” He cast a stern glance at Bensin as they pulled into the apartment parking lot. “But that doesn’t mean you get to linger in the neighborhood and hang out with your friends. That’s only on your days off.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand.”

  When Wednesday came, Steene was good and ready to get back to work. He had kept Bensin busy with cavvara shil practice and fitness training, along with the hiring out and the boy’s self-assigned household chores. And when Bensin had been hiring out or taking his day off, Steene had enjoyed the time to relax in front of the TV or with a good book, knowing that the state of his apartment no longer reflected the wreck of his life.

  But returning to work would help him feel that life was getting back to normal, even though things would never really be normal again without Serra. And surely the guilt about owning a slave would pass in time.

  Yes, purchasing Bensin and starting his training had given Steene a new shot of purpose, and things were looking way up from where they had been just a week ago. But working with his students again would make things even better. Steene enjoyed pretty much all his classes, but the youth ones were his favorites. There was just something fulfilling about training young people to do something that they loved and he loved.

  He and Bensin had an early lunch on Wednesday after the boy got back from hiring out, and then they were off to the CSF. The Center was bustling, students and teachers hurrying back and forth to different classrooms, parents waiting to pick up their kids in the now pleasantly air-conditioned lobby, Mr. Drogum waddling around engaging people in start-of-the-new-year conversations and beaming at everyone.

  Steene’s first class was Intro to Kickfighting for adults. After a round of introductions and some warm-up exercises, he started in on basic kicking techniques. Bensin was obviously nervous with all the free adults’ eyes on him, but he demonstrated everything Steene said just the way he had been told to.

  The class, like all the rest, lasted fifty minutes. After the students filed out, Steene had ten minutes to prepare for his second one: Intro to Cavvara Dueling. Intro to Cavvara Shil came next. His last class before a much-needed dinner break was General Fitness Techniques for adults. It was held in the fourth-floor gym, where he began with a tour, introducing his pupils to each piece of equipment and explaining how to use it. For several of the less obvious ones, he had Bensin demonstrate, before he started running the same tests on each of them that he had run a few days earlier on Bensin. The boy hovered nearby, jotting down the numbers as Steene called them out. When Steene took his notebook back at the end, he discovered that Bensin had drawn a chart with each student’s name and their numbers in each fitness category, his system much more organized than Steene’s usual scrawled lists of numbers.

  “Organization is obviously your strong suit,” Steene complimented him after class as the two of them took the stairs down to the break room on the second floor. “I guess you can help make sure I keep all my data straight, both at work and at home.”

  Steene pulled out the dinner he had stashed in the warmer earlier. No one else was at their end of the long table when they sat down, but no sooner had he and Bensin taken their first bites than Markus Brinks strolled i
n on his own dinner break.

  “Evening, Steene. Hey, Bensin, what are you doing here? Your owner called last week to say he was canceling your lessons and selling you.”

  “I work for Mr. Mayvins, now, sir,” Bensin replied around a bite of broccoli.

  “That so?” Markus pulled out his own supper and sat down across from them. He glanced at Steene appraisingly. “Don’t think I would have pegged you for the slave-owning type.”

  Steene shrugged and finished his bite, hoping he wasn’t in for a lecture. “I guess I am now.”

  “Bensin here probably told you he was in my advanced class last year. Kid’s pretty good.” From beside Steene, Bensin grinned modestly. “I assume you’re keeping him to train and compete as well as for the labor?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “It seems we traded students. You heard Jayce is training with me now.”

  Was that smugness in his voice? “Yeah, I heard.” Steene bit into a piece of chicken and took his time chewing. “I guess we’ll see how he does with you and how Bensin does with me.”

  Markus laughed. “That sounds like a challenge if I ever heard one.” There was an edge to his voice.

  It is a challenge. “Is Jayce entering the Springstyle competition this weekend?”

  “You bet he is. Apparently his parents have promised him a car if he can get first place in six competitions in a row this year. The kid is motivated now like no one I’ve ever seen!”

  Maybe, but it takes more than that to win. “I’m entering Bensin too. It’ll be interesting to see how they both do.”

  Markus grinned in that superior way Steene hated. “Yeah. Very interesting.”

  “You’ve got to make me proud this Saturday,” Steene told Bensin later as they headed back upstairs. “Markus thinks he can one-up me in everything just because he got Employee of the Year and my last year’s star student. If you place higher than Jayce on Saturday, it’ll show him I’m still in the game.”