by Victor Poole
Ajalia was portraying her master now. She wore her hair long; a natural dark brown, it had been dyed black many years ago, when she had first been sold into the Eastern lands, and she had learned to keep it always a shining obsidian. Aside from a slash over the front, and subsequent maintenance on her long, diagonal bang, it had not been cut since them. She had become a slave as a child, and her hair now brushed the tips of the saddle of her ugly little horse.
The horse, wiped with water, had become a glistening brown. He was that particular shade of horse that is utterly unmemorable, but Ajalia preferred it that way. His muted color did not distract from the dark leather of the bridle, and the gold ornaments she had hung from his bit and headstall jingled merrily against his muddy hide.
She had been right; he was an excellent mover, and he carried her smoothly over the wide white road. He had a dramatic streak of his own. He had recovered from the day's labor through the sand and heat, and was jostling now against the bit. He was a bubbling volcano of energy; Ajalia kept him on a tight rein, and he turned the slow pace into a showy trot, and then into a ridiculously slow canter. The caravan was moving at a snail's pace into the open gates, and the brown horse sidled and cavorted gracefully, moving rhythmically from one side of the road to the other, and back again.
THE CARAVAN
Ajalia kept her gaze straight forward. Her eyes were hooded under deep black paint, and she had thickened her brows and make exquisite curls of gold over her forehead. The trading paint had been a chore when she was a child, and other slaves had applied it for her, but once she had realized that the trading procession was like a performance, she had taken to the adornment like a duck to water. She had mastered the gradual blending of orange and gold up her cheeks, and the dramatic lines of her lips. Her face looked heavier, more masculine under its paint, and she carried her jaw thrust just a little forward.
All the Eastern chiefs had their own facial pattern; it was a design that was handed down from father to son, and worn from generation to generation. Few of the chiefs traveled outside of the East any longer, and trusted slaves wore the traditional face in lieu of their masters when they entered a city.
Ajalia was a rising star in the house of her master. She was young to be a face-bearing slave, but she had proved to be a formidable performer, and could manage the other slaves more efficiently than even her master could. Her master was not an evil-minded man, and he saw when he had a good thing. He gave Ajalia farther rein in his house than any other slave, and she was discreet and quiet, so that even Lim did not suspect the range of her privilege. Lim thought that she was a pretty face, and a useful slave to have in a caravan, but little more. He would rather have played his master himself in the entrance caravan, but he had been cursed with a wild head of thick, curly brown hair that resisted dye, and could not be straightened. There were wigs for chiefs with unfortunate hair, but not for slaves, and Lim had resigned himself to other spheres of influence.
Ajalia came through the main gate-proper of Slavithe. The walls were thick, and the gate entrance was like an arched tunnel. The sunlight was spilling through the arch, but Ajalia could see a cloud of light from the sun filling the air where the gate ended. She glanced behind her, and saw that the caravan was in order, and then nudged her horse and burst into the light.
She heard the gasp of the onlookers before she saw them. The light was overwhelming; she did not blink, but she had to wait for a moment before her eyes adjusted to the amount of light. Gradually her vision cleared, and she saw rows of people packed into either side of the road, and hanging from windows and roofs of buildings. She was leading the first caravan from the East into the city of Slavithe. She knew they must have heard of the Eastern traders, but a fully ceremonial caravan from the East was a sight that could not be prepared for. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw men and children gawking openly, their eyes wide with disbelief. She sat a little taller, and drew her horse more tautly beneath her. His ugly little neck curved into a proud arch, and he minced his steps, and put his tail up into the air.
Ajalia heard another gasp from the assembled people, and she knew that the yurl had lumbered out of the gate. She was taking in the city without seeming to do so, tabulating the potential of the place for lucrative trades. She did not look around; her eyes remained straight ahead, but she took in the carved stone on the house fronts, and the cloth that the children wore. She took in the plants that clustered on balconies and through windows, and the flags of colored fabric that hung over rooftops and down walls. She was watching for the women, and at last she spotted them out of the corner of her eye; they were just visible within the shadows of the windows. She could see the glint of ornaments, and the slight shimmer of worked hair. She could not find any women in the streets at all.
Suddenly, she realized that she had been wrong. There were women in the streets, but they were dressed just as the men, and had short hair. Ajalia began her examinations anew. There were men everywhere, packed in the sides of the streets, and hanging from rooftops and windows, and even standing on the outside of balconies. Some were hanging from stone pillars that twisted up the sides of the houses. The women in the street were young. She could not tell if they were simply not well endowed, or if they had bound their chests. Now that she looked at the women with short hair, she was not surprised she had not noticed them at first. They carried themselves like men, and were just as dangerous and raucous as the men in seeking a good view of the caravan.
Ajalia turned her attention to the buildings. The city was almost wholly composed of fine white stone. She could see that many of the houses were homes to the poor, and that the people hanging out of them wore ragged and plain clothes, but even these houses were smooth and gorgeous in design, and had intricate carvings up the walls and around the doors.
The carvings were the most beautiful things of all. There were twisting serpents, and bundles of ripened fruit, dancing women, and cavorting beasts. The whole city was a riot of pictures carved into white stone. The doorsills were thick with detailed patterns. Some of the carvings were very deep, and created shadows that drew in the viewer's eye to more pictures created within depressions.
The road stretched on through the city. Ajalia was to ride to the center of the market, and then the caravan would break down for the day. Ajalia knew Lim would insist on finding the most expensive house he could manage, but she had plans of her own.
The crowds of people seemed endless. The majority of the clothing was poor; Ajalia had yet to discover if this was simply because the city's sources of fabric were meager, or if the whole populace was stricken with poverty. The inside of the city, aside from the colorful flags that draped over roofs and down the walls of houses, seemed almost drab when compared to the lush and colorful growth just outside the walls. There were plants in pots and planters along many house walls, and in many windows and balconies, but these were mostly composed of long green ferns, with thick leaves that stood up straight to the sky, and did little to relieve the impression of dry whiteness and dust.
Ajalia had yet to see wealth. A feeling of impatience gathered under her breastbone. They had traveled many months to reach Slavithe, and if the city's exotic wealth turned out to be founded on some pretty plants, she was going to be massively irritated.
The road curved gently ahead. Ajalia wondered if this road wound through the whole city. There were slightly smaller roads that branched off in every direction, but she had yet to come to any kind of impasse or difficult turning. Ajalia had been in caravans before where the leading chief-figure had not known how to reach the marketplace, and had led the caravan up and down the city for hours before stumbling on a marketplace that was almost closed. She had never done so herself; she would not let such a thing happen, simply by force of will.
Ajalia came around the curve and saw a riot of color and shining, glittering metal. She had reached the market. A moment's look, and she sighed. The marketplace was bursting with expensive goods. The caravan's lo
ng trip had not been a waste.
The marketplace extended for nearly half a mile, in a thick, broad strip, beginning from the end of the main road. The center of the market was crowded with people watching for the caravan. Ajalia kept looking straight ahead as she rode her horse into the crush of bodies; they pressed back, and Ajalia felt hundreds of fingers brushing her legs, and fingering the silk of her long robe. Her horse snorted and threw his head, and the crowd fell back from his white-rimmed eyes. Ajalia could hear the crushing steps of the yurl as Lim approached the market. She thought that the yurl was not going to fit. She saw the crowd looking behind her, and felt their wonder as the great blue beast lumbered into the opening. She glanced back, and saw with surprise that the people had melted back around the yurl. The opening into the market seemed to expand almost by magic, and the yurl stepped with inches to spare into the broad strip. She saw more fingers extended to touch the sides of the hairy blue yurl, and heard Lim's stern shout at the touching masses.
Ajalia smiled, and looked forward again. They had almost reached the end of their journey. She rode through the heavy crowds to the end of the marketplace, and then turned, and waited for the rest of the slaves to gather around her. Her horse jostled and tossed his head up and down. She pressed her legs into his sides and held him still. He chewed on the wooden bit. As she looked around the market, she saw masses of polished metal. There were round shields and heavy bowls, hanging trinkets and shining, bristling daggers. The market stall nearest her was awash with glistening spurs and bits made of a shimmering blue metal.
Ajalia's lips twitched a little, and she moved her jaw from side to side. She was staring at a long blue bridle that was draped over the corner of the stall. It was woven from supple blue cords. She did not think it was leather. It looked as though it was made from a shining plant fiber. Thick red beads were wrapped into the cheek pieces, and a sleek bit made from a blue metal was buckled to the headstall. Ajalia wanted that bridle. Her eyes wandered over the stall until she spotted a very fat man leaning against the side of the stall. His skin had a proprietary look about it. He had narrow, beady eyes, and a way of holding his chin up into a scowl that was somehow irritating. He was wearing the same faded brown cloth that most of the Slavithe seemed to favor, but around his waist was a yellow corded belt that held a cluster of keys and a red pouch. She made a note of the pouch, and turned her attention back to the caravan.
Her slaves had bundled around her like a cluster of wild children. Formal processions in a new city were one of the great favorites of Eastern slaves; they were a performance people at heart, and the one time they took pride in their work was in these magnificent shows. It was one of the few times they did not have to be watched closely. An Eastern slave would have stolen in the middle of a caravan procession as soon as he would have cut his own throat. Performance was a matter of personal honor to the slaves. It was part of their slave culture, and perhaps the only time that the slaves truly felt kinship to each other.
Lim struggled through the crowd of slaves and horses towards Ajalia.
"Where's Philas?" he shouted.
"Where are we going to stay?" she called back.
The corners of his eyes pressed together in annoyance. They both knew that Philas had gone off for a drink as soon as he had hit the last stretch of the market.
"Watch the slaves," Lim bellowed over the crush of bodies. "Find me when you've taken care of the horses," he added. It was a put down. Ajalia knew that what he meant was, find a place for the yurl. He did not think she could do it. Throughout the caravan's journey Lim had made clear his lack of expectation for Ajalia's ability to manage business matters. Lim had excluded her as much as possible from plans, and treated her more like an aggressive slave than like the salaried chattel that she was.
Ajalia didn't mind. She did not see Lim as much of a threat, and she knew that he would have bungled the yurl business. She called the slaves' attention to her, and delegated the management of the horses to a few forward-thinking slaves. Most of the slaves in her train were either too old or too young to invest themselves in the pursuit of promotion, but there were three or four young men, and another young woman, who saw the advantages of being trusted.
A slave like Ajalia could not give another slave the promotion they desired, but she was a gateway to opportunity because she had the ear of the master. The caravan slaves did not much like Ajalia, but she had position, and the slaves that desired her position made themselves useful to her.
Ajalia would not leave the slaves. Now that the caravan was over, she wanted to keep a close eye on them until the housing question was settled. Slaves rarely abandoned a caravan upon reaching a new city, but these slaves were restless after their long journey, and they had heard marvelous stories about Slavithe's lack of slaves. She thought some of them might try to vanish in the moments of confusion between arrival and settling in, and she had no interest in pursuing renegade slaves in an unfamiliar city.
Ajalia suspected that Lim rather hoped to lose a few slaves, in order to save housing and feeding costs on this trip, but she knew their master better than he did, and saw the short-sightedness of such a hope.
Ajalia sent her boy through the market to find and bring some horse traders to her. She set the slaves to work, bundling the goods into neat piles and having them braid and wrap the yurl's tail. After a few minutes, a jostling crowd of traders pressed in against her back. She did not turn her eyes away from the slaves. She had a constant running count going through her brain as she watched them, her eyes flicking imperceptibly from slave to slave. They could feel her watching them. She could see resentment rippling along their shoulders; they had hoped for Lim, who would not have watched them so closely, but Lim had vanished into the crowded marketplace.
"Where are you going to keep that blue beast?" one of the traders behind her asked loudly.
Ajalia had studied the language; she had seen firsthand the bilking that occurred between natives and foreigners too many times to trust to the good nature of a bargain conducted through signs and gestures.
She did not reply. Many of the merchants pressed forward in front of her, so that they could see her face. She watched them. She could see from their faces that they did not know who or what she was. She still wore the ceremonial robes and paint of an Eastern chief, and the merchants could not tell that she was a woman.
"Do it again," she said to one of the slaves, who had begun to bundle the yurl's tail untidily into the wraps. The slave grimaced, and his eyes flicked resentfully towards Ajalia. She called out to one of the old women of the caravan.
"Erai, show him how it is done." The old slave did not make a sound, but took the wraps out of the man's hands and began to wind the tail gently. The blue hair of the yurl shone like silk in the column of bright sunlight that fell on the market. Ajalia could feel the traders behind her staring at the tail, coveting the exotic animal. She turned away from the traders that had crowded in front of her, and looked at the traders that were behind her.
"Are any of you cloth merchants?" she asked. She spoke in the Slavithe tongue, and she saw the traders glance uneasily at each other when she spoke. She did not smile at them. The heavy black paint over her eyes made her face grim and fierce-looking.
"I am, respected one," a young man said. He was thinner and smaller than the other merchants, and his clothes were cleaner, though they were made of the same brown cloth as the others wore.
"If you arrange the housing of my beast for a good price as I trade in this city," Ajalia said slowly, and clearly, so the other traders would hear, "I will give you one fifth of her tail when I leave as payment."
Ajalia heard a soft murmur among the other traders. The cloth merchant had a look on his face that was reminiscent of a man who has fallen into a pool of precious metal by mistake.
"Yes, respected one. I accept your offer, and I thank you."
Ajalia called for her particular boy. "Go with him," she said in the Eastern tongue, "and tell
me if he lies." She saw comprehension in the boy's eyes, and he attached himself to the cloth merchant, who was already moving through the crowd of traders. Her eyes followed him to see what he would do. The cloth merchant was looking for a specific trader; she could see that. His eyes were flickering through the crowded market; his brow was feverish. She saw that he knew he had little time.
She turned away from the market and addressed the horse trader nearest her right. Her eyes flicked over her slaves again, counting.
"Honored stranger," she said in Slavithe, "what is your name?"
The trader jolted a little at being spoken to. He looked like a stupid man, but his eyes flickered uneasily to the traders near him when he replied.
"I am Denai, the horse trader," he said. Ajalia had chanced on just the sort of merchant that she wanted. She suppressed a smile, and turned to the trader on her other side.
"Is Denai a trusted trader, honored stranger?" she asked.
The man she had spoken to did not look happy. His mouth was straining down in a frown; he wanted to direct her business to himself, but he did not know how to change her line of questioning. Ajalia kept her face turned toward the crowd of horses and slaves; one of the male slaves was watching her, and she kept him in her sight as the trader spoke.
"Denai is competent, dear friend," the trader said.
"Good," Ajalia said. "I have many horses," she told Denai. "I would sell some of them, for I will stay in this city for many months. Feeding horses is expensive, and I would take some of your own beasts to my home when I depart."