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

by Victor Poole

  Ajalia's hand was working the knife free from the back ribbing of her robes. Lasa was upset. Lasa was not paying attention. Ajalia thought that she would not have to use the knife. It was a longer one than the sharp instrument she had used on the threads in the market. Ajalia almost never used this knife, but it looked deadly and efficient, which was what she wanted it for.

  "I will give you one chance," Ajalia said. Her back was to the house, and the knife was still tucked into the folds of fabric over her waist.

  Ajalia could see that Lasa was not very good at this game; she pretended not to know what Ajalia meant.

  "What do you mean?" Lasa asked, but her voice wobbled.

  "All right," Ajalia said, and before Lasa knew what had happened, Ajalia had scooped the coins for the rental of the little house back out of Lasa's pocket.

  "Wait!" Lasa shrieked softly, and Ajalia showed her the knife. Lasa turned the cry at once into a shrill giggle, and no one on the street stopped.

  "You wouldn't hurt me," Lasa whispered.

  "No," Ajalia agreed. "Don't bother me again," she added, and turned away. She felt for a moment that Lasa was going to follow her, but the blonde woman stayed where she was. Ajalia went around the corner of the street, and waited for a moment before poking her head around the wall. Lasa was staring down the street in the direction Ajalia had gone. Lasa's eyes were wide, and her mouth was angry. After a few moments, Lasa spun around, and sped down the street in the opposite direction. Ajalia leapt out from behind the corner and followed her.

  GEVAD AGAINST THE WALL

  Ajalia could not stay in the shadows, because there weren't any shadows in the streets, but Lasa did not suspect her, and she followed the blonde woman easily until they came to the house of Gevad, the house agent. Ajalia ducked into the open door of a bath house, and waited until Lasa had gone inside the house. Then she walked slowly to Gevad's door, and knocked loudly.

  No one came to the door for several minutes. Ajalia was confident that no one would attempt to escape out of the back, but she was not averse to nocturnal adventures in a strange city. She thought that chasing scoundrels through a foreign political structure sounded kind of fun.

  Finally, the door opened a crack, and Gevad's annoyed face appeared.

  "What?" he said. He did not recognize Ajalia at all.

  "Hello," Ajalia said.

  "Are you from those new people?" Gevad asked.

  "Yes," Ajalia said.

  "What do you want?" Gevad demanded. He kept the agitated look on his face, but Ajalia saw that he was interested now. The door eased open a little more, and he leaned outside.

  "The woman you call Lasa," Ajalia said, "why do you allow her to keep her hair long?"

  Gevad's face froze for a moment, and then he laughed. "She is a good salesman, is she not?" he said, and then his face grew serious. "I would prefer to have this conversation with your owner."

  Ajalia drew the knife out of her hiding place in her waist, and looked at the blade. Gevad stiffened, and then began to jiggle up and down.

  "What do you want?" he asked again.

  "Why does the blonde hair grow long when the woman has no position?" Ajalia asked again. She saw that she had caught Gevad in a corner, and she hissed beneath her breath with pleasure. She replaced the knife in the casing over her back. She was lucky to have hit on the right approach on the first try. Ajalia had suspected that women in Slavithe wore their hair long when they were wealthy, or when they had social standing. She had guessed that Gevad was using Lasa as a front, that Lasa came from good family, and that Gevad was using her to prop up his reputation. Gevad's eyes had thinned out suddenly, and become hunted and strange.

  "You are a stranger here," he said, but his loud words held no threat to Ajalia. She had lived among powerful men, and she knew their ways. Gevad was a snake and a weasel, and she could kill him if she liked with words, or with the knife.

  "I want the deed to Lasa's house," Ajalia said, "and I request that you cut her hair. That is why I brought the knife," she added. "In case you have nothing sharp enough."

  Gevad's face, before this, had been a shade of red that showed his agitation, but now all color left him. His voice changed. His whole body seemed to gather into a narrow spring, and to leap out at Ajalia in a breath.

  "You cannot do this," he said.

  "I will tell the women what you have done, and they will do the rest," Ajalia said. She turned away, and walked out into the street. Gevad followed her like a burbling stream of hot words.

  "You are a stranger here," he babbled. She saw, again, that she had hit on the right tack. She patted herself on the back for being on a roll today, and kept walking. "You are a stranger to our ways," Gevad was saying, in a voice that was beginning to rasp. "You must not interfere."

  "You are a liar and a cheat," Ajalia said in a firm voice. She stopped and turned to face Gevad, and he quailed before the look in her eyes. People in the street stopped and stared at them, and Ajalia did not moderate her tone. She did not mind if Gevad was ruined. She did not mind if he died.

  Slave owners did not bother Ajalia much; she saw them as opportunists, and as predators, but they were honest in the way that a great beast with long teeth is honest; it advertises what it is, and kills openly. Such persons as Gevad she could not tolerate.

  "On one condition I will not do what you fear I will do," Ajalia said.

  "You do not know anyone in this city," Gevad blustered. His face changed again; he was comforting himself. He waved his hands at Ajalia, as though he could waft her away like so much bothersome smoke.

  "I know the woman with the brown hair who lives in the great white house," Ajalia said at once. "I know the cloth merchant who let us use his stall, and he wants me to meet his wife. I know—" and here she named the rich man who had bought the fluffy doll and silk robe for his wife. Ajalia stopped, and let Gevad's face reorganize itself into a maze of terror.

  "These women of your fair city," Ajalia snapped, "will, I think, show interest in your way of doing business."

  "I will shave her head."

  "Liar," Ajalia spat. She had not meant to grow angry, but Gevad was crawling up under her skin, and irritating her to no end. If he had been a bug, she would have ground him into the stone with her heel.

  "As I said," she said again, calmly, "on one condition I will not reveal what you are." She paused for breath, and saw that Gevad was listening now. He feared, not her, but what her words could do. Ajalia told him her condition, and Gevad burst into gales of laughter.

  "You are insane," he roared, and his face now was full of glee. "You are out of your mind, stranger. I will tell those women what you asked of me—"

  "And they will want to know why you did not give in, after they have taken all that you have," Ajalia finished.

  Gevad grew pensive. "You would not really tell them," he said genially. His face was a picture of kindness and good feeling. He looked utterly sincere. He looked innocent, and well-meaning, and apologetic, all at the same time.

  "Fine," Ajalia said, and she turned away again. Something about her tone frightened Gevad; he chased after her.

  "I will give you the deed," he offered.

  Ajalia did not reply. She kept walking. She was in the center of the street, and it was not yet very late. The sun had set not too long ago; there were still numbers of people in the street. She did not fear Gevad's ability to hurt her. Gevad kept following her, and she kept walking. Ajalia wondered where Lasa was now. She did not think Lasa had the sense yet to think and plan for herself. She imagined what she would be doing, if she had been Lasa, and been left alone, now, in Gevad's house, and she smiled.

  The situation reminded her of the time she had been thirteen, when her first Eastern master had tried to sell her against her will. That was the last time that a man had tried to threaten her; she had been sold in the end, but to the master of her choosing, and her reputation had come with her. Not until Lim, in the market this evening, had another ma
n tried to cross spears with her, and even here, now, Gevad did not quite look as though he wanted to try to fight her. He was following her still, his breath coming in and out in spurts. Ajalia could hear the slapping of his too-clean sandals.

  Ajalia walked through the streets toward the district where the rich woman lived in the fine white house. When Gevad realized where Ajalia was going, he gave out a kind of yelp, and jumped to catch up to her.

  "Do not do this," he panted. "It will do no good. You will be seen as a troublemaker, and your master will be displeased."

  "You do not know my master," Ajalia said, and she looked Gevad full in the eyes. She let all the fire and hate for what kind of a person Gevad was show in her face, and Gevad flinched back, as though he had been touched by a whip.

  "Who are you?" he whispered.

  Ajalia smiled. She could have been dramatic. She could have said that she was the finger of death, or that she was his personal demon. Instead, she held out her hand.

  "Keys," she said.

  Gevad blinked, and then gave them to Ajalia.

  "I've changed my mind," Ajalia said, turning the keys over in her hands, and examining the different pieces. "It isn't enough." She handed the keys back to Gevad, who backed away from the proffered bundle.

  "We had a deal," Gevad said. Sweat was beginning to stand out on his forehead.

  "I want your slaves," Ajalia said. "And I'll keep the little house."

  Gevad did not know what to say. He stood in the middle of the street, part of the way to the rich woman's house, and his hands began to shake.

  "You can't take them," he said. His voice was hoarse. He sounded like death was coming out of his body. "You don't understand," he said, and his eyebrows started to jump high up above his eyes. "They rely on me," he whined.

  Ajalia looked at him.

  "Tell you what," she said, and Gevad gasped, and jumped a little forward.

  "What?" he asked.

  Ajalia looked at the little man, at his pathetic chin and his weak eyes, and she felt herself growing hard and cold in her heart.

  "Give me the keys. I want the slaves. You keep Lasa. And you keep Lasa's house," Ajalia said.

  Gevad ripped a key from the bunch, and thrust the rest into Ajalia's hands.

  "They will be at your house in two weeks," Gevad said. He tried to scamper away, but Ajalia caught a bundle of his clothes and pulled him back.

  "You and I both know that they will be at my house by midnight," Ajalia said.

  "That's impossible," Gevad spat.

  Ajalia shrugged. She counted over the keys. Then she turned, and walked towards the rich woman's house. Gevad did not follow her at first, but then he noticed that she had not turned back in the direction of the little house. He pattered up behind her.

  "Where are you going?" he asked.

  "I'm covering my back," Ajalia said. "Are you coming along?"

  Gevad stopped short. "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "Do you think I would make a deal with you?" Ajalia asked.

  "You—" Gevad stuttered, and came to a halt. He tried again, but only hiccups came out.

  "Come on," Ajalia said, and she went back to walking. She did not look behind her. She had stopped paying attention to whether or not he was still following her. She did not mind either way. She had moved on in her mind to other things. She was trying to decide if she wanted to sell the little house to Lim, or if she wanted to keep renting it to him at the price she had set. It depended on how long she was going to stay in the city, and with the way the market day had gone, she did not know how long she would be in Slavithe. The caravan had not been given any firm time limit, but Ajalia had guessed the journey would consume most of a year. Her master was dead set on being the first Eastern merchant to have a solid foothold in Slavithe, and the slaves now had arrived at the perfect time to take advantage of the moment. Slavithe was still mostly untouched by foreign trade.

  Ajalia's master was the smartest and the best merchant in the East; he was riding the very front of the wave, and Ajalia was sure that within five months, the city of Slavithe would have become overrun with foreigners, all equally eager to snatch at a piece of trade. The city was in an ideal position for foreign trade; Slavithe had been isolated for so long, and had grown so established, that there was a ready market among the wealthy for new materials, and strange goods.

  Ajalia's master had told her privately that there were plans underway to build better roads, and that there was talk of a new canal that would cut Leopath almost in two, and make for a much easier path to Slavithe, as well as many of the other lands that lay south of the great stretch of desert that marched through the heart of the continent. Slavithe had been alone in the deepest corner of the south for an age, but the isolation of the mysterious white city of stone was quickly nearing an end. Even if the canal plans came to nothing, Ajalia was sure that others would follow in her master's lead, and she had seen enough in two days to see that Slavithe was well worth the journey through the dry lands. Her master was going to make a fortune from his silks.

  Ajalia had reached the place where the street opened out a little wider. She could see the front of the elaborate white edifice, where the rich woman with brown hair lived. She went closer to the front of the house, and then stopped and turned. She could not see Gevad, but she had a feeling that he was following her, and she drew out her knife and fussed with the point. Finally, after several moments, Gevad appeared behind her.

  "I don't like this," Gevad said. "I don't appreciate these games."

  Ajalia turned a cold eye on him, and he stopped talking.

  "Where is Lasa?" Ajalia asked. "What is her real name?"

  Gevad clammed up, and Ajalia laughed. Ajalia went up to the door of the great white house, and Gevad grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her back. Ajalia pressed the knife against Gevad's hands, and he let her go. A drop of blood appeared against Ajalia's palm, where she had gripped the blade.

  "I'll scream," Ajalia told Gevad, "and I'll tell these good fellows of yours that you attacked me." She was holding the blade still, the handle of the knife pointing out towards Gevad. He backed away as though she held a deadly snake. Gevad backed against a Slavithe man, who looked curiously over at him, and when Gevad saw that Ajalia still held the knife out, he hustled back to her.

  "Put it away, you fiend," he hissed.

  "I asked you a question," Ajalia said. Gevad's eyes flicked from side to side. His short hair was bristling on end, and his nose was slick with sweat. The street here was full of Slavithe people. Many doors were open, and people were scattered through the street, coming from the market and from the business districts of the city. Some people were carrying bundles, and Ajalia saw many servants hurrying through the streets, carrying food and packages of wood.

  Ajalia waited for Gevad to answer, and she jiggled the knife up and down. She examined the blood that was pooling in her palm. She did not look at Gevad. Gevad looked like a little boy who needed to pee.

  "All right," Ajalia said, when she had waited long enough.

  "Wait," Gevad pleaded, but Ajalia had already turned to the house, and raised her fist. She pounded on the door with the handle of the knife, and she looked around at Gevad, and opened her hand to show him the large mark of lurid red that was beginning to drip up her wrist.

  "Eccsa," Gevad shouted under his breath, jumping up to the door step beside Ajalia, and straightening his robe. "She would be known by the name of Eccsa."

  "I want her mother's name as well," Ajalia said calmly, as the door opened. She saw that she had floored Gevad again; he was caught with his mouth open, and his eyes goggling out of his head stupidly.

  "Hello," Ajalia said in perfect Slavithe to the young man who had opened the door. "Is the good lady at home?"

  The young man said that she was, and after glancing with some distaste at Gevad, he asked Ajalia to wait.

  "Are you enjoying this?" Ajalia asked Gevad conversationally, as they stood at the open doo
r. The elaborate entrance hall was just as it had been earlier, but the colors made a more fantastic effect by torchlight. The same silver lamps were in use within the house, and they mixed with the firelight to create the impression of glowing precious metals all through the house. It was very beautiful, and Ajalia made a note to herself to procure some silver lamps to take home with her. Her master would not love them, but they would add an exotic effect to his house, and her master was nothing if not alive to the value of an exotic effect.

  "Your home must be a very strange one," Gevad said hoarsely, wiping his brow with a thick square of brown cloth that he had drawn from his robe.

  "My home was very strange," Ajalia said, "but I am not from the East."

  The tall woman with brown hair appeared at the door, and her empty eyes flashed when she saw Ajalia's face.

  "Ah, you," she said, and her mouth smiled.

  "Oh, kind one, forgive me," Ajalia gushed to the rich woman. "Gevad was just telling me the name of a good old woman. What was it again?" Ajalia turned to Gevad, and the rich woman tilted her head curiously at Gevad.

  If Ajalia had not been thoroughly fed up with Gevad, she would have smiled at his confusion.

  "Honored mistress," he spluttered, "I would not presume—"

  "What was her name?" Ajalia asked again, and the rich woman folded her arms, and her mouth tightened.

  "It is not a matter for—"

  "Stop lying, you fool," the rich woman snapped. "What old woman?"

  "I believe her daughter's name is Eccsa," Ajalia chimed in helpfully, and the rich woman cooed.

  "I remember a girl named Eccsa," the rich woman exclaimed with a frown. "She used to mend tapestry with my girls. Eccsa's mother? I don't remember." The rich woman turned to Gevad.

  "This man is holding Eccsa and her mother hostage in their old home," Ajalia added. "I tell you only, honored mistress, because this man has not allowed Eccsa, in her lowered condition, to cut her hair." Ajalia lowered her eyes tactfully, and stepped back. She looked up through her lashes long enough to watch the reaction that unfolded over the rich woman's finely shaped features. The rich woman was old, but not nearly old enough to have lost what was a not insignificant handsomeness. A kind of inarticulate and violent rage came first, followed by a frightening stillness.