Encircled

by Robin Roseau

  “The queen set the rules for this event,” she replied. “You were to have a decided disadvantage. She didn’t say I couldn’t make you mad. Nicely done, Claary. Utter fabrication. Slip grew up a mile east of you. I taught her the accent. She has a good ear for voices. And as you can see, Li-li is right here.”

  “I’m going to see to my new slave.”

  “Good. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Sarala in two weeks. Are you going to play more games?”

  “No. Citizen.”

  Five Years

  It had been five years from the day I met Olivia. A lot had happened. The queen arrived today. In two days, on the five-year anniversary of the day Olivia and her forces stepped through the gates of Charth, Queen Lisdee would officially announce that all of Charthan was now fully integrated into Ressaline. What did that really mean?

  Primarily it meant that the people who were once Ressaline citizens were now completely integrated. More specifically, with the exception of the infirm and young, everyone was either a citizen or a slave. There were no lingering holdouts.

  Queen Lisdee and Olivia were both wrong about a few things. For a while, it looked like Queen Lisdee’s prediction that three quarters of Charthans would be enslaved would hold up, at least within Charth. About one quarter of Charthan women became citizens. Another quarter were holdouts, gamely holding out. The remaining half became enslaved either to fellow Charthans or to the Ressalines.

  Outside Charth, the numbers were more lopsided, and the ratio turned to ninety percent slaves by the end of the third year, nearly all of them enslaved directly by the Ressalines. In the intervening two years, the last few holdouts were enslaved, and those Charthan women who had become citizens were in turn enslaved by a Ressaline woman. Some were taken back to Ressaline, but most remained to work the fields.

  But within Charth itself, it appeared that the Queen’s prediction would hold. A quarter of us became citizens. Half became slaves. The last quarter held out. But then the queen’s dictate to attend the monthly event twice a year began to lead to attrition of free women. By the end of the third year, there wasn’t a single Charthan woman, age 30 or older the day the Ressalines arrived, who wasn’t permanently enslaved. The remaining holdouts fell, nearly all within a year and a half of Queen Lisdee’s visit. Very, very few became citizens. Most fell to the Ressalines. Former Charthan women, now citizens, took a few, but the Ressaline women outnumbered the Charthan citizens, and they were better than we were besides. But it still looked like the Queen’s prediction would hold true.

  It didn’t.

  The queen’s policy that sent older Charthan citizens back into the events began to move the line. The Ressalines focused quite hard on the citizens, and this is why there were no free Charthan women over 33 years old by the end of the third year. They may have become citizens, but they were enslaved in turn.

  And so, in a way, the queen could have declared Charthan fully integrated two years ago. She didn’t. She wasn’t yet completely satisfied.

  Olivia politely requested that Gigi and I, along with a few other citizens near our age, attend the events. We’d already been attending as aggressors, but she asked us to, four times a year, attend on the other side, allowing ourselves to be selected by one of the Ressalines. We were also asked, again, quite politely, to accept additional practice challenges from the Ressalines. Privately she told me the queen had wanted to order it, but Olivia convinced her to let her do it her way. The implication was that if we didn’t agree, it would become a royal order. And so we agreed.

  Those conversations were in private, but there’s private, and then there’s really private.

  And so, we began offering ourselves to be selected, and we took other challenges. Everything we did was done very, very publicly. Olivia managed to make it appear quite fashionable, working in a variety of subtle ways.

  And we even won some percentage of those events, but I’m convinced the women in question let us win. I’ll come back to that.

  But Gigi and I belonged to a Ressaline woman on average every six or seven weeks. Most of those were for two days, but we lost three of four of the large events, and those were for two weeks. The women who won us enjoyed us privately, but they also made a point of parading us about town. We attended events or went on walks around town, wearing bright red and orange resin coating, smiling the entire time, and clearly ecstatic to belong to our owners.

  Upon freeing us again, the women frequently, although not always, also gave us gifts.

  When we won, Olivia hosted lavish affairs, praising our prowess. When we lost, after we were freed, she hosted more modest affairs, but praised our playful, joyous spirits.

  More Charthan citizens began following our lead. Some accepted short duration challenges. They won some, letting them believe they could win. They lost more, but they thoroughly enjoyed the experience. They were lured into joining the events.

  They were then subject to two weeks of intense attention from their owners. And then, not all at once, but here and there, they were quietly invited to real challenges while still half blissed out from their two weeks. Not everyone agreed, but enough did, and they began to fall.

  The ratio climbed to 85 percent by the end of the fourth year. Within Charth, excluding a very small number of criminals, not a single slave was forced into the life. They all accepted their real challenges, some far more gleefully than others, but not a single person was forced. Manipulated, yes, but not forced.

  As the number of free women reduced, the monthly events looked like they would become sparse, but the Ressaline women filled the ranks. And by doing so, they encouraged Charthan citizens to continue to join, as well. And so the process continued.

  We’ve settled down with approximately one in twenty former citizens of Charthan now Ressaline citizens. The rest are enslaved. 95 percent are enslaved, discounting the infirm and those who are just coming of age. Even age didn’t protect someone. Most of the grannies were enslaved, but they’re given easy duties, in keeping with their health, and of course, they’re all happier than they would have been if allowed to remain free.

  Privately Olivia told me this was far kinder than the alternatives. When finally they died, even if it was from the ravages of old age, they could be eased rather than to die miserably. I believed her.

  * * * *

  Speaking more personally, Gigi and I have had it quite good. We shared a house. Olivia gave us the house around the corner from The Baby Blanket Inn. We kept a combined household, both of us still citizens. We were in love, and we were happy.

  We each had multiple slaves. Slip was my first, of course. And it looked like Sarala would become my second. That changed.

  * * * *

  “Claary?”

  I looked up from my desk. Sarala was standing in the doorway. “What can I do for you, Sarala?”

  “Could I talk to you for a few minutes?”

  “Sure. Sit.”

  She came in, closing the door, and took her seat. She smiled, although it was tentative. “You look good in those clothes.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. “I’m still not accustomed.”

  “Slip seems happy.”

  “If I have anything to do about it, she’ll be happy the rest of her life,” I said. “You know that.”

  She inclined her head. Then, not looking at me, she said, “I know I promised we’d go this Saturday.”

  “Sarala,” I said.

  “Just wait.” She looked up. “I want to talk about my sister.” I said nothing, but nodded. “You know we don't get along.”

  “You mentioned that when you said you wanted to work here.”

  “She’s holding her restaurant together, but she has a hard time retaining staff. No one likes working for her. But she was a really, really good barmaid.”

  “And?”

  “I love her. I don’t always like her, but I love her.”

  “All right. And?”

  “And we have dinner no
w and then. We had dinner last night. She told me she did her first, but she hasn’t taken any Practice Challenges.”

  “Ah.” That was a mistake.

  “I want you to do something about it.”

  “You want me to force her to take Practice Challenges?”

  “No. I want you to enslave her.”

  My jaw dropped, then I slowly closed it. I thought about it. “Sarala, I’ll be blunt. I want you. And if I’m not mistaken, that’s what you want, too.”

  “It is.”

  “I don’t do sisters.”

  “You do Dee and Bee.”

  “Fine. I’m not going to do you and your sister.”

  “Then don’t,” she said. “Dress her in blue and let her be a waitress. She’s good at it. You don’t ever have to touch her again. If you want to let her have physical pleasures, you can let Slip have her for a night now and then.”

  “This is rather calculating, Sarala.”

  “What do you think is going to happen, Claary? Think out a year or two. She’s going to have to attend those events, at least twice a year. And someone is going to show her a really good time. Some Ressaline woman is going to get her hooks into her. We’ve all spent time belonging to Mellta or even Lisolte. If Mellta decides to take her, Tivesh will be a goner.”

  “At least I won’t have had something to do with it.”

  “And she’ll be gone from my life,” Sarala said. “Do you remember how you felt when Kathareet was enslaved, and then Lisbon? You can see either of them whenever you want. You can see they’re happy. You know Li-li spends her life ecstatic, and you know Lassa takes good care. But do you think some Ressaline woman is going to care if I ever see my sister again?” She started to cry. “I’m begging you, Claary. I know I don't have anything to offer you. But please do this for me. Please.”

  “I think you and I need to talk to Lady Olivia.”

  * * * *

  Two hours later, we laid it out to Olivia. I’d given her warning of what we wanted to discuss, so she was prepared. She listened to everything and then said, “You’re here, so that indicates you’re at least considering it.”

  “I wanted to hear what you had to say. And I don’t know how to convince her to take a Real Challenge with me.”

  “She’d do it to get me back in the kitchen, if she thought she could win,” Sarala said. “She’s always loved ordering me around. She’d love if I didn’t have a choice, especially if it meant she got me back as a cook.”

  I thought for a minute then said, “Lady Olivia, I have done everything you’ve asked me to do, and I will continue to do so.” She inclined her head. “Sarala, I want to help you.”

  “But you don’t want to do this.”

  “Please let me finish,” I said. “I made a decision some time ago. I decided that unless Lady Olivia asked or ordered me to do so, I was uncomfortable approaching any woman and inviting a Real Challenge. I am more than happy to invite Practice Challenges. And I will consider Real Challenges that come to me.”

  I let that hang out there. Finally Olivia asked, “Do you believe becoming your slave is the best likely outcome for her?”

  “Yes, but I do not believe I have the right to make that decision for her.”

  “Do I?”

  “Legally, probably. Morally? I don’t know.”

  “Sarala asked for your help, Claary. She asked for your help to ensure the best likely life for her sister, and to help keep the two of them together. Indeed, if this were to proceed, they would return to a good relationship as well. Tivesh will be happier twice over. She’ll be happier because she’d return to being a barmaid. It sounds like she was good at it and was happy. Then, of course, there is the pleasure of being a slave to someone who treats her well. It also sounds like the others still at the restaurant would be happier.”

  “They’d be rid of her? What happens to the inn after that?”

  “It reverts to the duchy, and I would immediately look for someone to operate it. And look! I have a successful innkeeper in my pocket, and she happens to own the prior owner.”

  I stared. “You’d give it to me? Or you would expect me to operate it for you?”

  “I would give you 50 percent and have expectations. If you exceed expectations, you would over time increase that percentage to 75. I would retain the remaining quarter.”

  “You personally?”

  “The duchess,” she said. “We don’t charge taxes. We do this instead. I get 25 percent, and half of everything I get goes to Queen Lisdee.”

  “Of profits.”

  “Yes, not that dissimilar than your relationship with Jessla.”

  “You’re just going to give it to me.”

  “I can’t run it,” she said. “I’ve never been an innkeeper, and I have enough to worry about.”

  “Did you just bribe me to do this?”

  “No. I’m explaining why this is better for everyone. You would own the restaurant. You would run it, I presume, similarly to how you run The Baby Blanket. Everyone there loves you and for good reason. You would retain the existing staff but move Tivesh to the front room. You might have to move someone from The Baby Blanket to oversee day-to-day operations. You can make it work.”

  I thought about all that for a while. Finally I said, “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Well, that’s why you are here, isn’t it?” she said. “Do you want to help.”

  “Help? Yes.”

  “Do we agree that we’ve outlined the best plan for everyone?”

  “As far as we believe, it’s the best plan.”

  “Tivesh has done nothing to pursue a different plan,” Olivia said. “Which means she’s not going to remain a subject.” She looked at me pointedly. Someone was going to enslave her. But that didn’t mean it should be me.

  Except I’d be better for her than anyone else, or so I believed. Was I justifying doing this to her? Were we wrong?

  “I don’t want you to do something you feel is immoral, Claary,” she said. “But perhaps we can do some things you will fully agree are perfectly moral.”

  “All right.”

  “I think you should find out if she’s a kind slave owner. She had her first time. She had a chance to learn from it. We don’t know if she did.”

  * * * *

  I entered The Golden Tulip. I could already see they weren’t doing as well as they once had. It showed immediately in little things. The sign outside hadn’t been painted in years. There was peeling paint along the fascia, and I had seen rotting boards along the windowsill exterior.

  Inside, the floor needed to be stripped and refinished. The wait staff was harried, and it wasn’t particularly busy. The Baby Blanket was booming right now, but The Golden Tulip was half full. I had intentionally come late during the dinner hour, intending to stay until after things calmed down.

  Not that The Baby Blanket would calm down, but we were a tavern. The Golden Tulip was a restaurant.

  I seated myself. The table was clean, and there were fresh linens. We didn’t use linens like this at The Baby Blanket. The edges of the linens were frayed. They didn’t need to be replaced, but they needed their edges hemmed.

  I looked around. The interior was clean, what I could see, but I saw more signs of postponed maintenance. I wondered what the kitchen looked like.

  A waitress finally appeared. She looked tired. I listened to her for a moment then asked, “Is Tivesh working tonight?”

  “She works every night,” said the woman.

  I slid a card to the woman. Olivia had told me to do this, and even had the cards printed. Other than the ones I gave to my friends, this was the first one I used. “Can you give her that and tell her I’d love to meet her?” Then I ordered a glass of wine and asked for a light meal. I wanted to try the food.

  The wine came. The meal was slow. Patrons left. The meal arrived. The food was good, but it wasn’t as good as Sarala could make.

  I realized again how lucky I’d been that Sarala had
come to me. I realized how lucky I was that she hadn’t liked her older sister.

  Speaking of her older sister.

  “You have some nerve coming here.”

  I stood. “You must be Tivesh.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Curious?”

  “No.”

  “Good. How about if you sit for a minute? I’ll buy you a glass of wine from your own bar.”

  “You’re a bitch.” But she sat, and when she ordered her wine, I thought it was probably from a particularly expensive bottle. I would discover later it was, and she charged me a patron’s cost, not her own. This would be an expensive meeting.

  “I’m not, actually,” I said. I wasn’t a bitch. “But I understand why you might think so. She came to me. She told me that in order to retain a loving relationship with you, that she had to leave. She loved you as a sister loves a sister, but she would rather cook at a tavern than one of the most respected restaurants in all of Charthan, because it was destroying her relationship with you.”

  She stared for a minute then asked, “What do you want?”

  “Sarala came to me again two days ago. She’s worried about you.”

  “And you’re going to help me. I don’t need your help.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said. “I’m told I can be too blunt. The Ressalines are here to stay. You’ve heard why. Charthan trade policy meant people there were starving. Add that to invading their country, and I can understand their position. Maybe you can’t. I don’t know. But the fact is simple. They are here to stay. We can either go along or we can get trampled.”

  “And you went along, and you did so awfully early.” She looked me up and down. “Nice clothes.”

  “Thank you. Do you know what I did to get them? Like you probably were, I was a slave for two months. I was a pleasure slave. You’re quite attractive. I imagine you were, too.” She didn’t reply. “I accepted my first actual practice challenge with the same woman. I did better than expected, but I think that was only because she let me. I then took any other challenges that came my way. I intentionally offered a challenge to Judge Jessla, a woman two and a half times my age. That was interesting. I joined a group, the same group as your sister.”