The Slave from the East (The Eastern Slave Series Book 1)

by Victor Poole

  Gevad unlocked a door in an airy building that had apparently been empty for some time. The door creaked, and the floors were unswept. Ajalia did not step into the house. She had hoped for an opening to bargain, but now that she had seen Gevad's initial offering, she was not in the mood to waste any more time. Lim would be getting restless, and he was expensive when he was restless.

  "My dear friend," Ajalia said to Lasa, "I believe you understand my needs."

  "Well, I don't know about that," Lasa said, but she was blushing with pleasure.

  Gevad stood impatiently in the doorway, his arm extended to Ajalia. His mouth was drawn straight across in a stiff line. Ajalia did not look at him. He looked at Lasa. Lasa looked down the street.

  "That little one is for sale," Lasa told Ajalia.

  "Strangers do not buy," Gevad snapped at Lasa. His voice was sharp and thin. He sounded like a string that had been drawn too tight, and was about to snap. Ajalia did not look at him. The lack of her attention seemed to irk him more than the direction the encounter was heading. He seemed to take it very personally. Ajalia could feel his face growing more purple by the minute.

  "Are the rooms good?" Ajalia asked Lasa.

  "It is a plain house," Lasa told her, "but the work is very fine. It is a good set of rooms. They are not high in the ceilings." Lasa looked briefly at Gevad, and smiled. Gevad growled, and turned away from the two of them. He forgot to lock the house he had opened, and Lasa stepped into the door and fiddled with the handle. She pulled the door closed, and Ajalia watched her narrowly.

  "High ceilings are difficult to clean," Ajalia remarked.

  "They are that," Lasa said carelessly. Her blue eyes had gained a glint of hardness around the edges. Ajalia hid a smile.

  "I will take that house," Ajalia said.

  "Good," Lasa said.

  "You are what your servant said," Ajalia told Lasa. Lasa shrugged. "And if I had been stupid?" Ajalia asked. Lasa met her eyes for a brief moment. She liked what she saw in Ajalia's face.

  "I would have let him charge you triple, and he would have paid me for the business," Lasa said.

  "You are a woman after mine own heart," Ajalia murmured, and Lasa cackled.

  "You tell me a fair price," Lasa said, and her voice was brisk again.

  "I will not," Ajalia said simply.

  Lasa giggled. "I like you," she said frankly.

  Ajalia turned and began to walk back to the marketplace. Lasa trotted along beside her, talking rapidly. Ajalia took note of the houses and streets she passed. She was making a mental picture of the route to the house she was going to buy.

  Lasa was narrating again, breathing out reams of words that tumbled against Ajalia like a rush of water. Lasa wanted to know how much Ajalia was willing to pay, and when she would pay, and if she was going to give some kind of security. She told Ajalia a long and involved history of the house, of tenants that had not paid and that had squatted for many weeks before being evicted by the city fathers. She told of the three times the house had been on the verge of being sold, and of the three families that were looking at it now. She let Ajalia know again that it was a very nice house, not too big, but not too small. Ajalia heard Lasa's words transform the house from the "little one" that was for sale to the choicest gem of the city, a paradise of domestic pleasure that was buried in the streets of Slavithe.

  Ajalia reached the edge of the market, and Lasa grabbed her hand.

  "Honored stranger from a distant land," Lasa said loudly, "I am overcome with despair."

  "No, you're not," Ajalia said quietly, and grinned at Lasa. Lasa frowned, and narrowed her eyes.

  "You do not play fair," Lasa whispered.

  "Says you," Ajalia replied, and she dove into the crush of people.

  Ajalia was not sure if Lasa would play another kind of trick while she was gathering the slaves, and convincing Lim to follow her into the city, but she had at any rate made a first move, and that was better than nothing.

  PHILAS'S FONDNESS

  She found Lim counting a pile of money in a sack. The bags and bundles had been stacked together in a pile, and the horses were all gone.

  "How many did you sell?" Ajalia asked.

  "House?" Lim snapped.

  Ajalia rounded up the slaves, and apportioned out the goods. She was not going to arrange for security in the marketplace at this early stage in the game, or possibly ever. She had been in one city where the marketplace was guarded by city-appointed enforcers, but that had been her only secure experience in a public market. Wise merchants locked their goods into their houses at the end of the day. She saw that many of the shops in the marketplace had folding screens made of elaborately worked stone that could be drawn over the entrances to the stalls, and locked into place. The carved stone looked flimsy, but when she touched one of them on another day, she found that they were hard as steel, and formidable barriers.

  Ajalia shouldered a bag of colored silks, and took her saddle up under her arm.

  Ajalia was the only slave who kept her own harness. The bridle stayed with the ugly little horse, which she hoped had not been sold with some of the others, but the saddle was to be left behind for her. The slaves who managed the horses knew her particular desires, and let her alone with her ways. She was a peculiar slave in this respect, but she was irked by ill-fitting tack, and had kept her own saddle ever since she had earned the money to pay for her own.

  Ajalia's saddle was a plain affair of black goatskin. It looked plain and inexpensive, but she had had it custom made to her seat, and it had an ingenious system of buckles on the girth that she had designed herself. Saddlery was one of the few areas in Ajalia's life that was somewhat excessive; it was her one weak spot as an economist. She was an easy mark when it came to fine leather for horses. She was more particular about the leather that was going to be put on a horse, than she was about the horse itself.

  "How many?" she asked Philas, who had reappeared during her absence, and was pulling the slaves into line.

  "Only five, and not the best," he told her. She nodded. Five was not bad. She would find out the price Lim had gotten later. She hoped he had not embarrassed the caravan with his bargaining skills. She knew he had a reputation for being a skilled bargainer, but she had yet to see him in action, and she withheld admiration until it was earned. None of the slaves seemed upset, which she supposed they would have been if Lim had been bilked.

  The slaves were easier to handle now. They were buzzing with a quiet interest in the city, and in the deal that had just gone down. They were growing tired and hungry; Ajalia could see that they were ready to settle into the city for some time. Ajalia suspected that some of the slaves' contentment with the city lay in the fact that even the most meanly dressed slave outshone the best-dressed among the Slavithe. The rich silks and comfortable robes of the East were vivid and eye-catching in the market, where the crowds were beginning now to thin. The sun was sinking behind the clear white of the city heights, and painting the marble a misty golden red. The city was a thing of beauty; it had a personality and a complexion that emerged at different times of the day. The city at sunset was like a gentle lover. Every marble surface glistened with reddened carvings that blushed coyly in the light of the sinking sun. It was almost too beautiful. Ajalia felt herself bridle a little at the superlative shine of the buildings, which cast a reflected glow on the faces of the citizens. Even the slaves in their line, which had begun now to wind their way through the streets to the edge of the market, had a special light in their eyes that Ajalia had never seen there before.

  Ajalia carried her saddle to the head of the line, and walked beside Lim. Lim was not carrying any bundles, even though each of the slaves was heavily burdened with massive piles of goods. Philas was carrying nearly twice as much as anyone, his massive form buried under lumpy bags of heavy goods.

  "Did you get a house?" Lim asked again. Ajalia did not answer. She was eyeing the pouch of Slavithe money that Lim had tucked into his belt. It m
ade a lump under the fabric, and Ajalia was trying to guess the rough amount of such a sum.

  "How much did you get?" she asked.

  Lim tried not to answer, but he was too pleased with himself. "Too much," he said, a look of satiated pleasure filling up his cheeks.

  "How much is that?" Ajalia asked. She saw Lasa hovering near the edge of the market, and smiled. Lasa's face was busy rearranging itself into a look of blasé unconcern. Ajalia suspected that Lasa had been worried that she would not reappear, and she greeted the Slavithe woman calmly when they drew near.

  "Nearly four hundred each," Lim told Ajalia, "and almost double for the stallion."

  "That is very good," Ajalia admitted. She was impressed. She was relieved that Lim was not as incompetent as he had appeared to her so far.

  "Who is this?" Lim said gruffly to Ajalia as Lasa launched herself at them. Lim had not learned the Slavithe language, which Ajalia supposed meant that he had better bargaining skills than she had suspected. He glared at Lasa now with open dislike, and Ajalia did not bother to explain the bubbling blonde woman just yet. She replied quietly to Lasa's questions, and followed her lead through the streets.

  "Is there a house?" Lim muttered under his breath. They were nearing the street where the little house was sandwiched in on either side by tall marble edifices. The little house itself was a little smaller than the others around it, but it was not less beautiful, and Ajalia thought the proportions were a little better suited to the shapes of the carvings and the windows. The house had a balcony, as all the houses appeared to have, and the balcony was well-appointed and spacious. Ajalia suspected that there would be a movement on the part of Lim to secure any balcony space to himself. He felt the meaning of his role deeply; as leader of the caravan, he saw himself as one holding a prestigious position, and he meant to keep up with his own importance as adequately as he could.

  When they reached the little house, the slaves clustered in the street, milling around the entrances to the houses, and Ajalia stepped away from Lim. Lasa peppered Ajalia with questions, but Ajalia stood still and silent, and finally Lasa turned to Lim.

  "Will you take the house?" she demanded.

  Lim began a pantomime, and Lasa repeated her query, gesturing vehemently at the little house. Lim asked to be let indoors, and he and Lasa disappeared into the doorway. Ajalia set her burden down in the street, and waited. Philas wandered over to where she stood, and shifted his bags and bundles.

  "He's a fool for not speaking the language," Ajalia said to Philas. Philas murmured incoherently.

  Ajalia asked him how the liquor was, and he snorted.

  "Don't have any," he replied. Ajalia looked at him in surprise. She had never visited a country that did not have sharp drinks.

  "Are you sure?" she asked.

  "Went to three bars," Philas said stoutly. "They serve mashed fruit, but there's nothing there." He sniffed. "Tried five of them. Not bad."

  "Huh," Ajalia said. She was surprised. She knew Philas was something of a booze-hound, and it suddenly occurred to her that he may exhibit something of a personality change on this journey.

  "What are you going to do about it?" she asked him.

  He shrugged. "Don't know yet."

  "Huh," Ajalia said again.

  "What are the odd buildings?" he asked her. She followed his gesturing nod, and saw that he meant the bathing houses. She told him what Lasa had said.

  "Didn't sell your ugly little horse," Philas added, after a pause. Ajalia nodded. They stood together for a few minutes, watching the slaves wander around the street, some setting down their bags and sitting down.

  "Fancy sharing?" Philas asked nonchalantly. He nodded at the house. He meant, did she want to sleep with him, finally, seeing as they were such good friends.

  "Mm," Ajalia said noncommittally. Philas often tried to talk her into sex, but she had never said yes, and he had never been rude about it. She rather thought he enjoyed this state of affairs, never having her, but never feeling as though he wouldn't get her someday. She liked Philas. He was honest.

  "Did you meet any women for sale?" she asked. She meant, had he found prostitutes. They both knew Slavithe was notorious for banning slavery. No one visited Slavithe, but everyone knew Slavithe was the only place in Leopath that didn't openly endorse slavery.

  "Don't know if they have any of those, either," he said.

  "Odd," Ajalia said. Philas murmured agreement. If Philas had any talents for foreign culture, they were an uncanny ability to lay hold of liquor and quality prostitutes almost immediately upon setting foot in a new place. If he had not been able to find either, when actually trying to look, it rather seemed as though they may not exist here at all.

  "Think they're religious fanatics?" Ajalia asked.

  "Haven't seen any churches," Philas replied. "Or priests."

  Ajalia nodded. She shifted her black goatskin saddle under her arm, and stretched her calves against the curb. Philas's eyes followed her thighs unobtrusively. Ajalia thought Philas was an odd duck. He was very fond of sex, but he never annoyed her. She rather enjoyed his looking, though there was little to see under the heavy robes she wore.

  "When are you going to buy a wife?" Ajalia asked him.

  "Don't like women," Philas said, but his eyes were coasting restlessly up and down the street. The sun was finished setting, and the brief blue twilight was drawing to a close. "I like you," he added half-heartedly.

  "You can't afford me," Ajalia said. He didn't reply, but it was true. Ajalia was perhaps the most expensive slave in the caravan. They were all slaves, herself, Lim, and Philas included, but the three of them were privileged, and almost counted as people in their own right. Ajalia was young, and she was good-looking enough to play her master. She would get more prestige as she got older, and as her face matured. She could learn languages quickly, and she had never cheated her master. Lim was ambitious, and rude, and proud, but he could bargain well, and he was a respectable man in many ways. Philas was worth his weight in gold because of his loyalty, and his lack of avarice, but his bad habits kept him from being as useful as he could have been. Their master relied on Philas, but Philas was never in charge. Ajalia was fairly certain that Philas did not want to be in charge, and that his penchant for boozing and frequenting brothels had more to do with his desire to remain moderately untrustworthy than out of any actual weakness of character. Ajalia liked Philas. She thought his problems were charming.

  Philas could have bought a female slave as a wife, but a wife required work, and Philas was not one to chase down work unnecessarily. What Ajalia didn't realize was that Philas really was fond of her, and that a man who is fond of one woman is not apt to marry another woman without the incentive of affection or desire.

  Ajalia was unique. She was aware of her capabilities as a slave, as a trader, and as a manager to other slaves, but she was at times quite oblivious to her charms as a female. Lim suspected her of being deliberately ingenuous, which is part of why he disliked her, but Philas saw into her heart more clearly, and understood that she was young.

  The Eastern slaves were not used as sexual commodities. Their sexual identities were not parceled with their bodies, and they were not violated in that way any more frequently than any other vulnerable party in the East. There was a serious taboo against exploiting slaves and dependents sexually in Eastern trading circles, and any master that developed the reputation for sexualizing his slaves was shunned by the other traders. Slaves were seen as laborers, and as status symbols, but never as breeders or sexual objects. If slaves got hold of sufficient money, they could buy each other in marriage, and though they never were freed, they were, in this way, free enough. This aspect of Eastern culture was mostly why Ajalia had chosen to be sold to the Eastern lands, when she had been a child. She had known she was going to be sold, and she controlled her fate as much as she could. She had no desire to be put into the farming mills of the northern lands, or to be a child bride in the far west.


  She had never met a slave she would have consented to marry, and to be perfectly honest she did not see herself as a woman at all. She had built up an identity of usefulness, of efficiency, and a picture of herself as something soft or desirable was not part of her inner vision of her true self. She could not afford to be tender, or to think of love. Her past was a series of jagged cuts made with broken glass, and she kept herself from feeling the hurt of what she had been, and what she had lost, by denying the part of her that was soft.

  Ajalia did not mind the men of the East, but, excepting her master, she found them to be weak and unkempt. She thought they had no pride, no sense of honor or dignity, and she despised them in her heart. She made an exception for Philas, because he was tall, and broad, and charming, but even he she did not view as perfectly male.

  Ajalia's master was a kind man, as masters went, but aside from his money, there was very little to remark about him. He managed what he had very well, and he was an honorable man in his business. He respected and valued Ajalia, and for that, she respected him.

  Lim and Lasa appeared on the balcony. A small light had been lit inside the house, and a flickering golden glow spilled out onto the street. Ajalia could see their two faces dimly above her. The other houses in the street had begun to shimmer a little with silvery lights. There was not a brilliant burst of light over the street, but it was as if little stars had begun to shine from within the windows and doors of the houses up and down the street. Ajalia did not think the lights were from fire, and she wondered what strange devices would create such a particular effect.