The Great Big Fairy (The Fairies Saga Book 4)

by Dani Haviland

  “Yeah, but who’d be big enough or dumb enough to get his dick close to her?” added Tubby. “You’d have to knock her out first. It doesn’t look like the whips did much good.”

  “Now, now men; she’s a good worker,” the slave trader explained. “She’s just a bit tired from the boat ride over. You know Africa is a long ways away. She just needs a little conditioning, that’s all. Now, you see, I’ll bet I can get her to lift those barrels of pitch and load them into this wagon and do it without the whip. See, she hasn’t eaten in three days or had anything to drink since yesterday morning, so I’ll wager…”

  “What will ye wager?” Benji asked boldly as he walked up from the back of the all-male crowd. He looked over and got a better view of the subject of the gathering. He could tell by the talk that it was a woman, a big female slave, they were discussing. What he hadn’t realized was that a human female could actually be that huge. She was nearly as tall as he was and had a broad, sturdy frame, not reedy or lanky. But she definitely had been deprived of food. He could see her ribs and just about everything else: all she was wearing was a little leather apron and a dirty and frayed rag around her head.

  The squinty-eyed man who Benji had interrupted was apparently the neighborhood slave broker. His hands were full with a small book in one grimy fist and a whip in the other. But, his once overflowing mouth was now empty of words. The first sight of Benji and his height and build had a tendency to do that to everyone.

  Normally the gawking bothered Benji, but this time he was glad of it. It gave him a chance to develop a plan. “I said, what will ye wager?” He scanned the crowd to determine whether he could expect help or resistance if he tried to free the woman. By the lusty leers and jeers of the shameless men, though, this wouldn’t be an easy task. It appeared they wanted entertainment, not a field hand.

  “Now, what would you be needin’ such a big Negress for?” the slave trader sneered as he wiggled his hips obscenely. “The little ones break apart when you poke ‘em, eh?” He put the whip out in front of his crotch and added an even more graphic physical representation of intercourse to the responsive crowd. They were eating it up, and he was feeling the power.

  Benji ignored the crude remark rather than reply to it. He didn’t want to feed the perverted frenzy. “It looks to me like ye need to load those barrels onto the back of the wagons, and this lass here is the only one strong enough to do it. And, by the looks of her back, it doesna look like she’s takin’ to the task,” he added sarcastically. He was going to have to challenge the man…

  “Oh, she’ll do the work, all right,” the slave trader said. “You see, I have this nice big ham bone here that will motivate her just as much as this will,” and brandished the cat o’ nine tails with the metal tips covered in dried blood.

  Benji kept his poker face on, but grimaced on the inside. That was probably her blood. The wounds on her back were still bright red, although blood was not flowing. He knew the look and feel of lash wounds: hers were more than twelve hours old, but less than twenty-four. And, if he didn’t do something for her now, she’d have more soon. The only thing worse than a flogging was another one on top of wounds that hadn’t yet healed.

  “So, I take it yer a bettin’ man,” Benji taunted as he walked closer to the greasy flesh vendor. He snorted with disgust as he looked down his nose at the peddler and his ill-fitting jacket. He’d start the intimidation process right away.

  The trader squared his rounded shoulders, trying to make the most of his petite and portly self as he grandly presented his reply. “Yes, I am, if I feel that there’s money to be made and that it’s a sure thing for me,” he crowed to both Benji and the crowd. The man was high on the support of the mob, and Benji’s size wasn’t bothering him. After all, he still had the whip in his hand.

  “So ye think ye can get the lass to load the barrels if ye offer her the meat…”

  “And a jug of water,” slave trader added.

  “And a jug of water,” Benji agreed. “So, I’ll wager that she willna do it fer either the meat or the water. And, if I’m right, I’ll take her with me. And, if I’m wrong and she loads them, then I’ll load the next three wagons that ye get in here free of charge, no ham bone required.”

  The slave trader shifted his position, moving his whip holding hand down to scratch his balls, unsure of the bet, but not wanting to be called a liar either.

  “I mean, if ye arena sure, I’ll jest load the one wagon and take the lass as payment. I jest think ye’d be gettin’ more work outta me than her.” Benji was stalling. He didn’t know why he was doing this, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

  The slave trader wasn’t sure if he should take the bet so, delayed his decision by changing the topic. “So, what are you going to do with her after you load the barrels?”

  “Now, that really isna yer concern, is it? So then, ye do agree with me: ye dinna think she’ll load them even with the offer of the meat and water?” Benji grinned as if he had won the bet without even having to deal the cards. But, he knew in his gut that it wasn’t going to be this easy. Hopefully, though, the man would take the wager.

  Benji began playing the crowd, stretching out the anticipation of the trader’s decision by walking over to the loading dock, looking at the barrels then back to the onlookers. He knew the trader didn’t want to be embarrassed by losing a bet. He put one hand against the top edge of the barrel and pushed it, testing its weight. It was heavy but doable, even on an empty stomach. He turned back to face the trader. “I can jest load the one wagon and take her then?”

  Benji really didn’t want to load the sticky barrels, but he would do it to spare her another flogging. And, if he left her there, she’d most likely be whipped. He really did believe that she wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want to do, no matter how much whip, food, or drink were involved.

  “I’ll tell you what,” the trader countered. “You can have her—free and clear, bill of sale included—if you load the next five wagons.” Slave trader knew she was stubborn, but he did need to get the wagons loaded. He’d cut his losses, be rid of her, and get the wagons taken care of so he could head to the coast.

  “No, I think yer right,” Benji said with mock remorse, “maybe she will load the wagons fer the meat and water. Sorry to have disturbed yer sale there.” There was absolutely no sincerity in Benji’s apology and it was obvious to everyone. He was gambling without a wager being made. He knew the man was just a ringmaster and would be better off getting rid of the non-performing giantess than to be made out a fool.

  “Okay, you load three wagons and you can have her.” If he sold her today, whoever bought her would probably want his money back, too. She wouldn’t work no matter how he or the other four owners had beat or starved her. She had been in America since she was a babe. Even the ruse that she was ‘new’ to the country hadn’t been enough to keep her sold. She was back in his stable again, and he wanted to be rid of her for good.

  Benji looked over at the sticky barrels, winced, and shook his head. “I dinna think I could do that today. I’m a bit hungry myself and I’ve worked up a mighty thirst with the long walk here. Now, if it’s only the two wagons, and ye want to throw in a big dinner with all the drinks I can handle,” he grinned and started nodding his head with delight at the idea, hoping the trader would be receptive to this arrangement. Yes, he would have loaded the wagons for the food and drink without the woman. But, she needed to be away from the whip more than he needed a full belly.

  “Okay, okay,” he said in exasperation. He looked around and saw the crowd had thinned so his embarrassment was minimal. “You can have her and dinner at the tavern if you get the wagons loaded. Hey, the tavern master’s here.” He signaled for the man to join them. “Here, feed him all he wants after he gets these two wagons loaded, d’ya hear?”

  The apparent tavern master turned to look at the size of Benji and then back to the trader. “All he wants to eat?” he asked. That would be a lot of food
by the size of him.

  “And drink,” Benji added with a smile.

  The trader shook his head in resignation but agreed, “And drinks. Just put it on my bill. I’ll be heading out in the morning…as long as these wagons are loaded properly. And you have to do all the loading before you get your dinner!”

  “Aye, I’ll stand by my word. And I’ll be collectin’ the bill of sale and the lass when I’m done with the task.” Benji didn’t know how slave trading and sales were done in this time era, but he did know that document would be good to have for her safety and for his.

  Ж

  The crowd had dissipated and the tall woman and the tacky barrels were all that were left of the earlier fracas. The wagons pulled up next to the cargo. Two young black boys, one driving each wagon, sat on the seats, sweat pouring off their brows, holding still except to swat at the occasional biting fly.

  “Go ahead and take yer rest under the trees over there,” Benji told them. “Ye can get water to drink down there at the creek. I willna be too long.”

  The two boys looked at each other, but didn’t move. “I willna say anythin’ to anyone. The man willna be back fer a bit. He went to take his food and drink. Ye can wait jest as well in the shade as in the sun; it’s yer choice.”

  The two scrawny and shirtless boys looked at each other again, this time their eyes brightening with excitement. They jumped off their wagons and ran to the creek, looking back every couple of yards. The promise of coolness was stronger than the fear of a beating. Hopefully, he hadn’t done something wrong, and the slave trader wouldn’t find out. He didn’t want to get them in trouble.

  The slave woman was kneeling on the ground, still as a black onyx statue, shackled next to the little wooden grandstand in the center of town. By the looks of her, she still hadn’t had anything to eat or drink. Benji knew of racial prejudice, hated it fervently, but also knew that he was in the eighteenth century and had to live with their customs and mores, no matter how low and wrong they were. Then he saw them: the enticements the slave trader was going to use. The bucket still had water in it, and the ham bone was wrapped in a greasy cloth. He looked around and saw he wasn’t the center of attention anymore. It was high noon and too hot for anyone to be out unless he had to be. Or happened to be a slave or an idiot like himself, he thought.

  Regardless of its state, it was better for her to have the leaf-mattered water and raggedy ham bone than nothing. Before he started into the dirty and heavy task, he’d take care of her needs, at least as best he could. It wasn’t much for refreshment, but if their places were swapped, he’d be glad to have the marginal food and water. He glanced up and saw the boys were now at the creek’s edge, splashing each other and having a good time. He ran his hand through the bucket of water and fished out the leaves, threw them on the ground, then tasted the water. He took a second drink then decided that if it was good enough for him, it would be for her, too.

  “Here, it isna much, but it’s all there is,” he said sincerely, giving her a smile of resignation along with the water and hambone. Now what was he going to do with a six foot four black woman?

  Benji didn’t want to get his shirt sticky and dirty, but loathe taking it off and showing his scarred back even more, so decided to leave it on. The first eight barrels weren’t too hard to load. However, the more he worked, the hotter he got. And the hotter he got, the weaker he became. The woman sat and watched him, silently gnawing on her ham bone, occasionally lifting the wooden bucket to her lips to use as a big mug. Every time she lifted it, he got thirstier. Finally, he couldn’t resist.

  “May I?” he asked as he pointed to the bucket, still half-full of the leaf-enhanced water. All he wanted was a little. He didn’t want to take the time to walk to the creek for a drink and doubted the proprietor of the tavern would let him have ale until the wagons were loaded. That was the deal, and he’d abide by it.

  She didn’t say a word, but put her hands down on her little leather apron. She wouldn’t hand it to him, but wouldn’t deny him of it, either. He picked it up, toasted her with it, smiled, and said “Slante!”

  He hadn’t meant to drink so much, but realized too late that he had nearly drained the bucket. “I’ll get more when I’m done here,” he said apologetically.

  But she didn’t respond. The trader had said she was fresh off the boat. He sighed in resignation. Now what was he going to do with a six foot four black woman who didn’t speak English?

  Ж

  “The task is done. Where’s my bill of sale?” Benji asked the trader who was now seated in the tavern, polishing off his three-plate dinner.

  “Here you go,” the man said with a sly grin, handing him a small sheet of paper.

  Benji looked it over and saw the man had written out that ten dollars was due as payment for the slave. He set it down on the table and pushed it back to him. If the trader could change the terms of the transaction, then so could he. “I think ye have the wrong document. Ye owe me two dollars fer the extra wagon I loaded. The deal was one wagon loaded fer the one slave. I loaded the second fer the two dollars. Now hand it over,” Benji demanded, his huge, sticky and dirty hand outstretched, palm up.

  The man looked up at him and gave him a devious grin. His wagons were loaded, and he still had the slave woman. Maybe he’d get more for her in the next town.

  Benji turned his palm over and slowly curled his fingers together into a fist, brought it up under the sweaty man’s chin, and tapped him gently with the index finger side of his intimidation of muscle and bone. “Ye ken, I can unload those wagons a lot quicker than I loaded them,” he purred and smiled just as deviously.

  The man pulled his neck back, sucked in a lungful of air in shock, and said, “Oh, wrong document. Here, let me make a fresh one.”

  Ж

  Benji folded the new bill of sale and stuck it in his sporran. He remembered when he had made his enhanced tool belt. He had used a store bought fanny pack as a pattern. He had thought briefly about just buying one of them and bringing it with him through The Trees, but he couldn’t find one made without nylon or zippers. And then there was the size. They all looked ridiculously small on his large frame. Between the fabric store and the fur exchange, he had been able to gather all of the materials needed to construct a size proportionate sporran with the added features of separated compartments. Nobody would get into his sporran without him knowing about it, so he had gone ahead and modified the centuries’ old design. The slim pockets built into the lining had coins inserted into them that fit snugly between the seams without rattling. Lightweight plastic envelopes were situated into several of the fabric partitions. He used these to hold fishhooks, sewing needles, and a pair of small scissors so they wouldn’t poke through. The small pistol was beneath the false bottom, and the Leatherman tool had its own place on top and was easily accessible.

  Billy had suggested that he bring antibiotics and pain relievers, too. “Jest in case,” he had said in his very accurate Scots accent. “Ye never ken what evils and horrors are out there in the wilds of 18th century North Carolina.”

  Benji shook his head as he recalled the day that Billy had decided to help him pack. Billy had just returned home from his extended stay at the hospital after the secondary infection he developed from the liver transplant had gone septic. He had nearly died of the infection, and was still weak, but wanted to help. It was the first day that he was really up and about.

  Billy tossed him a three pack of condoms, “Here, jest in case.”

  Benji looked them over and laughed. He tossed them back. Billy’s eyes got wide. “Oops, wrong size?” he asked with embarrassment.

  “I wouldna ken without tryin’ one on, but I really dinna plan on lookin’ for a wife when I go back. And, if I do find one who will have me, I dinna want to stop from makin’ any bairns. I’m not gettin’ any younger, ye ken.”

  “So have you decided on whether you want to come back or not?” Billy asked.

  Benji sighed in frust
ration as he recalled that moment. He didn’t know then, and he still didn’t know now. Billy made it clear that money was no object, that he would help him find a house and a job, in that order. “You’ve been through so much,” he said. “Just stay here and relax for a few years. You missed a big chunk of your life either being a victim of or chasing after bad guys. How about just taking care of you for a change: do you think you can handle that?”

  He snorted. Right. And now he had one more person to look out for: a six foot four black woman who didn’t speak English and was apparently very stubborn. Well, he could be stubborn, too, verra stubborn.

  “Okay, let’s go,” he said as he unlocked the chain on her ankles and threw the key into the bushes. He had told the trader that he didn’t want the lock and chain; that he would leave them for him. He didn’t say that he’d leave the key though.

  The woman kept her eyes low. If she had heard him, she probably didn’t understand him. He sighed in resignation: now what was he in for? He put his hand out to her. “Please,” he said softly, not wanting the gathering crowd to hear him beg.

  The woman’s resolute demeanor was evident by the set of her jaw, but as soon as she heard the word ‘please,’ her eyes widened in shock. She glanced up as high as his shoulders then brought her knees under herself and stood up straight. She hadn’t taken his hand nor looked him in the eye, but had done what he asked. And, done it without a whip or a hambone, he was glad to see.

  “Let’s go then,” he said, his head held high for the gaggle of onlookers to see. The next town should be just a few hours away. He’d get what he needed there. He didn’t want to spend any more time in this town, and he was pretty sure she felt the same way—or might if she had any feelings. By the blank look on her face, she didn’t care much about anything.

  “Weel, it looks like we have a bit of a walk aheid of us, but we should be in the next town before sundown,” he told her. “We can get a place to stay and a bit of food there. I would like to thank ye fer the opportunity to make a bit of money. I mean, I only meant to load the wagons fer the meal and drink, but ye made me two dollars, and I appreciate it.”