by Victor Poole
Lim's voice was growing agitated above her. He repeated, sternly, "Too much, you ask too much."
Lasa seemed to follow his meaning well enough, but she was not budging on price.
"How much has he offered?" Ajalia called up to Lasa.
"Ah! The man wants to rob me, honored friend," Lasa said. Her voice floated down from the balcony like honey sifting through a warm breeze. She sounded happy and serene, but Ajalia thought she heard steel in her voice.
"Ajalia, tell the woman she's insane," Lim shouted down.
"How much?" Ajalia asked.
"Two thousand pieces for a month," Lim bellowed. His voice was aggravated and raw. It sounded as though he had been chewing on his own tongue in anger.
"I will give you one thousand," Ajalia called up to Lasa.
"Done," Lasa said at once, and scurried out of the balcony.
"What did you say?" Lim shouted to Ajalia. "What happened?"
"We have taken the house," Ajalia replied. She heard Philas snort gently beside her. She elbowed him. "Shh," she said.
"He'll never forgive you," Philas murmured. His voice was low and warm. He liked Ajalia better than ever. She was oblivious. He thought she was quite the cleverest woman he had ever met.
"Who's going to tell him, though?" Ajalia countered, and her voice was warm as well. Philas was a much nicer man that she gave him credit for, because she had no idea what it cost him at times not to throw his arms around her.
Lasa came pouring out of the front door like a volcano of joy. She rushed to Ajalia, and gripped her hand with an outpouring of friendly feeling. Ajalia could see Lim rushing to follow the Slavithe woman.
"Do you cheat the men of your country often?" Ajalia murmured to Lasa. Lasa's eyes were quick; she nodded briefly. "I will pay you two hundred extra if you wait to receive payment," Ajalia said in a low voice. She could see Lasa weighing her briefly, judging her, seeing if she was a woman she wanted to trust.
"Three days," Lasa agreed. Ajalia nodded.
"You're a devil," Philas remarked.
"Hush," Ajalia said, and Lim came pouring out of the doorway like a legion of angry winds.
"What have you agreed to?" he blustered at Ajalia. Lasa was taking keys from her belt, and unclasping the ones she wanted. She handed them to Lim, who took them calmly, and then Lasa turned and walked away.
"Where's the woman going?" Lim said angrily. "I haven't paid her."
"Ajalia has agreed to a better price," Philas said in the Eastern tongue. "She saves you some money, but the amount isn't firm. She'll meet the woman tomorrow, or the next day, and settle up."
Ajalia held out her hand for the money Lim had gotten from the sale of the horses, and Lim hesitated.
"Why are you on her side?" he barked at Philas, and Philas shrugged.
"She's pretty," he said easily.
"You scum," Lim said, without violence, and gave Ajalia the pouch of money. It was heavy in her hand, and she felt the familiar rush of warmth that came into her heart every time she handled money. Money was freedom. Money was power. Money, and her ability to get it and handle it well, was what set her apart from the slaves that were bowing uneasily under heavy burdens, and under the extra burden of anonymity in the street beside her.
"The house is furnished, a little," Lim told Philas, as he led the way into the house. "We'll have to do a little. Take care of food," he snapped at Ajalia, who was waiting in the street to see that the slaves all made it in with their goods. She knew it was too late to find food at the marketplace, which had been closing up as they had left, but she was not worried. She went into the house and pulled the door to behind her.
AJALIA PROCURES A CHEAP ROOM
The interior of the house had been whitewashed, and there was a delicate blue trim painted along the edge of the upper walls where they met the ceiling. There were simple black sconces at intervals along the walls, and a few of them still had wax drippings in them that could be lit. The wax was thick and oily; Ajalia presumed that it had been made from some kind of animal fat. Someone had lit the remaining wicks already, and the house was lit with a dim, ruddy glow. Bundles and bags lined the walls of the first room, and were stacked along the rim of the stairs that lay along the very back of the room. Ajalia lay down the bag she was carrying, and hoisted her saddle up to her shoulder.
She walked through the rooms of the house, looking over the furnishings and windows. There were several large rooms, and the storage spaces were airy and well-built. It was a good house, as Lasa had said. The upper floors were more intimate and well-appointed, and Ajalia felt already at home. She was surprised at how soft the floors seemed, and how soothing the white walls actually were. She had expected more of a cramped hovel, and felt as though she were walking through a spacious, miniature palace.
"It is a good house," she said to the slaves in the last room, and they nodded. The slaves in the house were chattering to each other, filling the rooms with life and joy. The words were welcome to her, and the sounds in the house felt like home. Ajalia loved the Eastern language. It was bubbling and smooth. She could tell where Lim and Philas were by the quiet in the house; the slaves did not expose themselves so loudly when they were right near the employed male slaves.
Ajalia and Lim were special; they had salaries, and were sure to progress higher in their master's esteem unless they made egregious errors financially while acting for their master. Philas was not going to progress, but he was wealthy for a slave, and he had privilege. No one wanted to cross Philas, and his independence made the other slaves nervous. He did not act like a slave. Even Lim and Ajalia had the grace to act as though they were owned, but Philas somehow bypassed all the normal courtesy and social mores of slavery as though he were a free man. He was not all that much older than Lim, but he seemed to be decades beyond the ambitious manager.
Lim bustled in after Ajalia. He had been directing the slaves to organize the goods into neat piles by type and shape. Lim lived for organizing. He loved giving directions, and he loved to shape a place into a suitable form of neatness. Ajalia had heard him bellowing directions downstairs, adjusting the shape of the piles and the quantities of things put into closets.
"Where is the food?" he demanded. His eyes looked frightfully happy, but his mouth was attempting to scowl.
"Do you need any furniture?" Ajalia asked drily.
"Yes, I need two long couches and at least three beds," Lim said at once. "And I need some small tables. But you won't be able to find anything like that. I will arrange the furniture."
Ajalia walked out of the room and began to look through the slaves. She found the three she was looking for in the bottom floor; they had been moving things around for Lim. They all welcomed the change in direction, and scurried out of the house after Ajalia, who was still carrying her saddle.
She had learned not to put her saddle down until she had settled into her own place. Mysterious things seemed to happen to her personal things, and she had stopped trying to understand why. She led the three slaves down the quiet, dark street until they came to another cross street that was more brightly lit. She was looking for a few houses that were more brightly lit, and in a few minutes she found them. There were a few houses in a row that had shining lights, and one of the house doors was partially ajar. Ajalia shushed her slaves, and went to the open door. She knocked on the side of the door, and waited.
After a few moments, a harried-looking woman appeared, carrying a tray of fussy foods. Her expression changed from annoyed to pleased as she took in Ajalia's exotic robes and startling makeup. Ajalia bowed solemnly before she spoke.
"Most kind stranger," she said in Slavithe, and she saw the woman's eyes light up with interest, and wander to the three slaves that stood in a line behind her, their eyes downcast and their robes hanging elegantly from their wiry frames. All slaves were thin in the East. It was a thing.
"I have only just arrived in your fair city," Ajalia went on, "and I have not had time to purchase food.
I have only these poor silks to offer in exchange for nourishment." She held out her hand to indicate the robes of one of the slaves. On cue, the slave she had gestured to opened his arms and spun slowly around, making the wiped down silks swirl in the quiet night.
Eastern silks were very robust; they were treated with a special ointment extracted from tree worms that sealed in the color of the silk, and made a smooth barrier against dirt and liquids. The fabric, if washed gently with clear water wiped over the surface, would last for years.
The silks were dyed with the ochre traded from the west, and sometimes they were painted in cool blue tones or patterned over with black. In any case, the fabric was lush, and shiny and very, very desirable.
"Can you think of anyone," Ajalia asked earnestly, the robes of her slave still swishing gently in the glow from the houses, "who could spare some plain food in exchange for such a gift?"
The Slavithe woman's was hanging slightly open, and it closed now with a snap.
"I have plenty of food," she said briskly. "Where do you live?"
Ajalia told her, and by this time the doors of the houses on either side opposite had swung open, and more Slavithe had begun to trickle into the street. Before very long, Ajalia had traded all three slaves' robes for a veritable feast, and had collected a pair of decorative side tables, and a couch into the bargain. She led a progression of the happy citizens in a stream towards the little house, her own slaves in their plain white fitted garments bearing great baskets of food.
The sounds of the Slavithe language filled up the narrow streets, and bounced against the walls of the houses, reverberating down again over Ajalia's ears. The language was strangely resonant, especially in such close quarters. Ajalia thought it was rather louder than it needed to be, but it wasn't as though any of the Slavithe people were shouting. The language merely struck roots deep into their bodies, and each word fell out of them like a hammer blow.
She had learned to speak the language, but here in the street, with so many of the people speaking so loudly to each other, and the words overlapping each other, and making a jumble of sounds, she could not follow most of what was said. She began to get a sense of the shape of the language, and the way that it flowed. Her mind began to take notes of the variation and pitch of the sounds, so that she could alter her own accent and vocal production. Her throat was murmuring amidst the sound, imitating the cacophony of words that was filling the street.
She felt curiously fond of the language, now that she was hearing it in a closer setting. The words had rioted in the marketplace, but the open space had absorbed much of the sound, and made it muffled. The sounds of animals, and the smell of hot sun had mixed into the Slavithe words, and made them less distinct than they were here, in the still, cool night. The parade of Slavithe people reached the door of the little house, and poured inside, bearing the side tables, the couch, and platters of food, and ewers of drink. Ajalia could smell the fruity mash from the vessels that passed her as she held the door open.
The little house was turning into a riotous house warming. The Slavithe people were joyously welcoming, and almost sickeningly kind to every exotic thing they encountered in the house. They babbled at the slaves, and touched the furniture. The furniture had come with the house, but even it seemed to sparkle with specialness to the excited native people. Lim appeared, and bounced to and fro between the groups of people. He did not speak any Slavithe, but Ajalia felt she was watching a totally different man. He was smiling and gracious, and anyone could see the geniality that rolled off of him in waves. She understood now how he had gained the position he had. She had never seen Lim out of their master's estate, but his abilities as a trader were now becoming clear. She would not have recognized him, if she had not seen him transform before her eyes. She wanted to like him, but could not. He was not honest.
Lim exclaimed over the food, and had paroxysms of glee over the new furniture. He made a show of placing it attractively in the central room of the house, and Ajalia saw that Lim had a gift for arranging things. The room transformed under her eyes into a kind of exotic salon. Slavithe people were passing up and down the stairs, stroking the bundles, and looking at all the slaves. A few of the slaves had picked up some of the language by practicing with Ajalia on the journey, and these slaves now became popular individuals with the Slavithe people.
The Slavithe people seemed to take it for granted that Ajalia would speak the language; she looked important, and acted as though she owned everything in the house, and all the native people assumed that she was well-traveled and educated. None of the Slavithe seemed to be put off by Lim's pantomiming and exaggerated rants in the Eastern tongue, and the slaves who spoke any Slavithe at all were surrounded and cooed over as though they were so many magical specimens of impossible genius. Ajalia didn't mind this disparity. She saw that she had power, and she didn't mind using the perceptions of the people to her advantage.
The little house was full of color and life. Ajalia saw that the Slavithe people did not need colorful clothes to be vivid and memorable. They were exuberant, and full of things to say to each other. The owners of the houses that had furnished the food and pieces of furniture showed their beautiful silk treasures to the other Slavithe, and the consensus of all was that the silk robes were quite the finest goods in the house. Ajalia saw that the Slavithe people wanted to be pleased, and that they saw what they wanted to see.
The language that streamed through the house was as vivid and dynamic as the people who filled the corners of the house. More strangers had come to the door, attracted by the noise and light, and some of them brought lamps, and food. Ajalia began to sense chaos, and she lightly ushered the Slavithe to the door, muttering solemn things about important trades in the morning. The people left slowly, but they left, and Lim looked as relieved as Ajalia felt when the last Slavithe crept enthusiastically from the stoop. She shut the door, and saw that the latch was good.
"Three valuable robes," Lim lamented dramatically. Ajalia ignored him. Baskets of food and vessels of drink covered every surface of the house, and the slaves had begun to munch on the things around them. Ajalia saw that Lim was about to notice, and that he was going to be a bull-headed man and save the food needlessly out of a misguided sense of frugality. She drew him into a corner, and kept his back to the rest of the house. A part of her vision monitored the slaves, who noticed what she was doing, and ate faster, and the rest of her gaze was fixed on Lim. An earnest expression was in her eyes, and she asked a string of worried questions about the market, about the trade customs Lim had encountered, and about the likelihood that they would encounter pressure from the ruling families to free their slaves.
Lim answered her seriously. His jaw puffed out genially, and his tongue made gentle flicks as he thoughtfully responded to her questions. He felt manly. He felt secure. He felt leader-like and serene. When Ajalia saw that everyone had eaten, she began to move Lim towards the food. She kept him talking, and guided him imperceptibly from table to chair, as she gathered the leftovers, and sorted out the baskets and trays. Lim began to munch absentmindedly through his speeches, and Ajalia saw that he was growing too contented. She broke off the conversation, and disappeared tactfully up the stairs, bearing a heavily-laden tray of delicious items.
She began to inspect the windows, eating as she did so. She had almost stopped eating food when she had first become a slave, because she had felt so guilty for eating food that she didn't own, but after she had been nearly run over in the street by a careless vendor in a foreign city, she had learned to eat again. It was in her own best interests to be strong and functional, and she saw food as a sort of necessary theft. She still disliked eating on principle, but she had stopped not eating since then. She had processed, somehow, that no one cared if she died, and she had made herself valuable to protect herself. Her parents had never cared for her, but her master thought highly of her now, and she knew for a fact that she had been bargained for at least twice at record numbers, and
her owner had refused to part with her. It was an odd sort of comfort, to be valued highly as chattel, but to be valued was still better than not to be counted at all by anyone ever.
She had hoped to find a way to exit the house through the windows, but had no luck. She went down a back set of stairs that led to the house's small kitchen, and found a back door. It was not what she wanted, but it was better than nothing. She hid her tray of food under a cabinet and covered it with a sheet of long paper that she found lying over the table. She was sure no one would go poking around in the bottom cabinets. Philas was the only one who dug into corners, and this time around he hadn't found any liquor to hide, so she thought there was a good chance her food would go unstolen. She slipped out the narrow back door, and closed it gently behind her. The pouch of money hung significantly in her robes, and she patted it as she walked down the dark streets.
Some of the Slavithe that had visited the little house from the places next door had brought lamps with them, and she had found the sliver lights to be nothing more than plain white candles beneath sheer silver sheeting. The sheeting gave the lights their peculiar silver gleam. She saw these small silver glows emitting from many of the windows on the streets around her. They created the effect of walking through clouds of stars in the night. She didn't feel as though she were in a city at all. She thought the beauty of their buildings and lights must contribute to the overwhelming niceness of the Slavithe people. She liked them, on the whole. They seemed of average intelligence, but of more than common kindness and sensitivity to the experiences of others. She thought they were nice people.
Her own people were nothing if not the opposite of nice, but she spent most of her time alone trying not to think of her people. She had adopted the Eastern trading chiefs as her people, and had done her best to erase whatever other beginnings she had had as a human being. Her parents she thought of the least of all.