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

by Victor Poole

  She sighed, and turned her steps towards the market, and the cloth merchant's stall.

  AJALIA SELLS THINGS

  "Where are you going?" Chad asked her.

  "Come along," she said. "Emergency."

  "What emergency?" he asked. "Nothing happened."

  "No," she agreed, "but something is likely to happen in the next hour or two, and then there will be a fuss, and I don't like a fuss."

  Chad did not seem to understand what she meant at all, and he trailed behind her as she marched speedily over the city. She was becoming slightly footsore, and a part of her wished that she was still on horseback. The city of Slavithe was compact, more compact than most large cities could be, but it still took a deal of walking to cross over from the residential district to the market.

  Ajalia had the sick feeling that she was going to be just in the nick of time, and she walked faster. Philas would not have been such a fool as to leave a new market on the first day, and he certainly wouldn't have trusted a strange merchant with the bulk of their silks. She had just reached the edge of the market when a new construct on Lim's negligence occurred to her. He was still trying to set her up, she was sure of it. If the silks were spoiled or robbed, he would say that he had left the guarding of them up to her, and it would be her word against his. She began to hate Lim. She did not like being made to eliminate people, but he was making himself obnoxious.

  She came to the cloth merchant's stall, and her teeth clicked together with annoyance.

  "What is it?" Chad asked. He had begun to jog along behind her, and she half-noticed that he was being quite drawn into the adventure. She suspected that nothing much had ever happened to him in his previous life.

  "Thieves," she said, and rapped sharply on the door that led into the room behind the shop's display.

  A rumbling proceeded the opening of the door, and she reflected with some thankfulness on the sensitivity of her sense of self-preservation.

  "Yes?" said a voice in the dark. The voice spoke in the Eastern tongue. Ajalia lifted her lamp, and found Yelin's wide eyes staring up at her.

  "Really?" Ajalia snapped in the Eastern language. Her voice was sharp, and brusque. Yelin shrugged.

  "You came just in time," the slave said in conciliatory tones.

  "Show me," Ajalia said, and she pushed her way into the shop. Yelin moved out of the way, and Ajalia held her lamp high. Chad crowded in behind her, and she growled at him to keep back. There were three bodies in the room that she could see, besides Yelin, and Ajalia could feel that the shenanigans had not yet begun.

  "Who's here?" Ajalia barked, and the three bodies named themselves. "Congratulations," she said. "You've been caught. This transgression will be put on your record."

  A chorus of protests rose from the slaves; not guilty until the act was accomplished was the usual thing, and when Ajalia drew the knife from its housing on her back, they fell silent.

  "Then you were attacked by thieves," Ajalia said coldly, "and I saved you, and you each got a slash in the face."

  The little room was as still as death. Yelin was avidly watching the blade of the knife, which still had an edge of dried blood on it, and which was glinting like an evil thing in the light of Ajalia's lamp.

  "You too," Ajalia said to Yelin.

  "But I didn't do anything!" the slave complained loudly, an edge of panic in her voice.

  "Do you want the blame, or do you want a scar?" Ajalia asked. Her eyes moved slowly over the faces of the slaves, the young woman, whose face was fresh and clear, and the three slaves, who were young enough, and handsome enough, to care deeply about promotion.

  "I will take a scar, but you do not have the right to give it to me," one of the young men said boldly.

  "I did not give it to you," Ajalia said. "Hold this," she barked at Chad in the Slavithe language, and thrust the lamp at him. Chad, who looked mesmerized by the scene, took the lamp and held it. Ajalia pressed the knife against the slave's face. "The thieves that attacked you stabbed you in the eye."

  The slave shrieked faintly and moved backward so quickly that he tripped and fell into a swath of fabric. "Get out of the merchandise," Ajalia said, and her voice made the slave bound to his feet, and fly to a corner of the room.

  Ajalia went to the door, and opened it a crack. "You choose the blame," she told the terrified slave. "Go and tell Lim that I am under attack and outnumbered." The terrified slave scrambled to the door, and was out in the market street like a flash of lightning. Ajalia snapped the door shut behind him, and turned to the others.

  "Who's next?" she asked, and the other two male slaves clamored eagerly to be let out as well. "Fine," Ajalia said, but she nicked them both with her knife as they fled the room, and their cries made the market stall reverberate with their fear.

  "You are crazy," Yelin whispered hoarsely.

  "No," Ajalia said, closing the door again, and moving towards the young woman, "Lim is crazy to think that I am master's favorite because I have a pretty face."

  Yelin's eyes darted around the room, looking for a way to escape. There were no windows here, and Chad, who was quite tall, was standing near the door. He could not understand most of what was happening, but his whole body was rigid with attention; Ajalia was sure that he had never experienced so much excitement, even when his family had been stripped of their possessions. There was a glint in his eye, and a tautness to his mouth. He looked like a hungry animal, and his eyes followed Ajalia with keen interest.

  "He will defend me," Yelin said weakly, and pointed to Chad.

  Ajalia laughed, and Yelin tried to run. Ajalia was watching for this; she knew the young slave's type, and she caught her under the ankles with one foot, and sent her crashing against the stone floor. Chad made an exclamation of surprise, and Ajalia heard a clatter up the stairs. The merchant was going to come down, and see what the commotion was.

  "Last chance," Ajalia said softly in Yelin's ear, close to the back of her head. Yelin whimpered. Ajalia took that as an answer. There had been some chance that Yelin was made of stern stuff, but her response to actual danger made Ajalia know her heart. Ajalia picked the slave up by the hair and set her on her feet. The merchant unlocked the door from behind the stairs, and came into the room. He was holding aloft a candle.

  "What is the noise?" he asked. Even in the middle of the night, his words were polite. He did not look aggrieved, or angry.

  "Most honored business associate," Ajalia said smoothly in Slavithe, "I deeply regret the disturbance. My slave has been caught attempting to sell herself, and the man has run."

  The Slavithe merchant made a stern tut-tutting noise.

  "The custom is opprobrious in my land, as I have found it is in yours," Ajalia said. "It is a relief to find such civilized people as yourselves, and I sincerely hope, though I despair of her, that this foolish virgin will learn morals from exposure to such upstanding ones as yourself."

  "Is this the man?" the merchant asked, pointing to Chad, and Ajalia shook her head.

  "This good young man alerted me to the scheme," she said. "I am forever in his debt."

  "Good boy," the merchant said, crossing to Chad, and shaking his hand firmly. "What is your name?"

  The young man's eyes darted quickly to Ajalia. "Chad," he said slowly.

  "I will remember you, young Chad," the merchant said. "Good morals will stead you well in this life. I trust you will watch her closely after this?" he asked Ajalia conversationally. "I had a niece once, on my wife's side, who was made of the same stuff. Always end badly, these girls." He frowned at Yelin, and shook his head.

  "What are you saying about me?" Yelin asked Ajalia softly.

  "That you are a whore," Ajalia told her in the Eastern tongue.

  Yelin let out a shriek, and fell in a heap on the floor, hiding her face.

  "She does seem somewhat repentant," the merchant said.

  "It is her first offense," Ajalia said. She rehoused the knife on her back. "Her brother is with us
on this trip. He will be told, and made responsible for her behavior."

  "Brothers are best at that important duty," the merchant agreed. "They sense what a delicate thing honor is."

  Ajalia smiled at Chad, and Chad began to blush.

  "Come, slut," Ajalia snapped in the Eastern tongue, and Yelin sobbed into the floor. "If you do not stand up quietly, I will cut you," Ajalia hissed into the slave's ear, and Yelin scrambled to her feet, wiping her nose.

  "Improve yourself, young woman," the merchant said to Yelin, who would not meet his eyes. "Let this be a lesson that you never forget."

  Ajalia translated the merchant's words to Yelin, and Yelin's face flushed, and she looked up at the merchant. Ajalia could see that Yelin had expected harsh judgment and cruelty, and that her face was surprised at the genuine interest in the merchant's face. Ajalia took the slave to the door.

  "I wish you a good night, and good luck with the young lady," the merchant said, and went back into his house, shutting and locking the door behind him.

  "Why are they kind?" Yelin asked Ajalia as soon as the merchant was gone.

  Ajalia shrugged. "Kindness makes life pleasant."

  "Aren't you going to take me home in shame?"

  "I'm going to watch the silks. Find your own way home," Ajalia said. She shut the door on Yelin, leaving the slave alone in the street, and turned back into the room. Chad was bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet.

  "That was very exciting," he said to Ajalia. She stared at him. He smiled at her. He seemed to think that what had just happened should have fostered some kind of comradery between the two of them. Ajalia took the lamp and saddle from him, and opened the door again. Yelin was gone.

  "Go home," Ajalia said. Her face was impassive. Chad's face fell.

  "But I was going to show you where my old house was. We were going to learn things," he said. He was not exactly whining, but there was a plaintive note in his voice.

  Ajalia stared at him with no expression in her eyes, and after some time, and a few more baiting words, he left. She locked the door behind him, and began to examine the silks. Aside from the fabric that had been fallen into by the frightened slave, nothing had been mussed, and Ajalia set her goatskin saddle on the stone floor, blew out the flame in her lamp, and leaned her upper body back against the leather of her saddle. Without the light, the room was pitch black, and the unseen shapes of fabric and other bundled goods made the room feel bulky and warm.

  In the darkness, Ajalia took the knife from her back, where it was digging against her spine, and began to clean the blade. Her robe was ruined, she thought. There were tiny drops of blood on the sleeve of one wrist, and ash and dust had been ground into the fabric around her knees. She thought that it was a great waste, but could not muster enough energy to berate herself for it.

  The cluster of white keys, and the black key to her tenement hung heavy at her side, and her purse was still bulging with the coins she had taken back from Lasa. She had almost forgotten about Lasa. With a smile, Ajalia reflected that it was unlikely that Lasa had forgotten about her. Ajalia began to compose a list of things that she would like to do in the morning. Her body was beginning to feel tired, and her eyelids were heavy. She wanted to go and see the sunburnt horse that she had purchased earlier. She had a notion that he would clean up well.

  A gentle knocking on the door made her open her eyes.

  "Are you in there?" It was Philas's voice. He was speaking in the Eastern tongue. "Ajalia?"

  Ajalia went to the door. "I'm here," she said in Slavithe.

  "Let me in," Philas said. His voice, and the Eastern words, made her think that she was at home in her master's house.

  "Goodnight," Ajalia said. The Slavithe words were sharper, clearer than the Eastern ones.

  "I got more of that black drink," Philas whispered in Slavithe. "You should try it."

  Ajalia was tempted to laugh, but her body was tired, and her ribs ached with tears.

  "Go home," she whispered in the Eastern tongue. The words filled her mouth with longing.

  "Okay," Philas said. "As long as you're still alive." Ajalia thought that he had gone, and she was about to stand up and go back to the saddle when another tiny knock sounded at the bottom of the door.

  "What?" she whispered.

  "I love you," Philas whispered.

  Ajalia did not feel like crying anymore. "Go home, you old drunk," she said. She heard Philas laugh outside.

  "Now I know it is you, and not an imposter," he said in Slavithe, and she heard his footsteps echoing down the street.

  Ajalia went to her goatskin saddle, and lay back against the black leather. She was hungry and tired, and she knew she was going to fall asleep. She moved the saddle against the back door into the merchant's house, where the stairs came down from his living quarters above the stall, and lay down so that her head was against the side of the door that would open first.

  The last thing she thought of before she fell asleep was that she had not yet seen to the cleaning of the little house. Before too long, Slavithe merchants and wealthy citizens would begin to visit the little house, and they might begin to issue invitations to the figure of her master, and the ceremonial robes would come out, and be worn again to elaborate dinner parties and strategic trade negotiations.

  Ajalia slept until a dark dream overtook her. She woke to a cold sweat, and her heart was throbbing uncomfortably in her chest. She stood up in the pitch black, and went to the door that led into the market stall. She unlocked the door, and opened it a little. The outside was beginning to be filled with a dim, pale light. The sun was not rising, but the air was promising the coming of the sun.

  Ajalia threw open the door, and began to heave the silks and goods back into the stall. The air was crisp with a morning chill, and moving make her body shake off the nightmare she had had. She could not remember what she had dreamed, and she was thankful that she did not know what her dream had been. She did not want to know what she dreamed of at night. Some years ago, when she had been new in her master's house, she had had a series of nightmares that still haunted her. She still remembered those, but soon they had stopped, or she had begun to forget her dreams again.

  A group of slaves, led in the front by Yelin, came trailing through the dim marketplace. They came to the stall and began, without speaking, to help Ajalia. Other merchants and their servants began to appear in the other stalls, and in a little while, as the light grew stronger, the market was a bustle of moving bodies and rustling goods.

  There was a metal goods stall next to the cloth stall where Ajalia and the slaves were putting up the silks in the drapes that Philas had arranged yesterday. The pots and pans were made of the same strange blue metal as the bit that Ajalia had found, and they seemed to glow in the subtle morning light.

  Ajalia sent Yelin to purchase food from one of the eateries, where the steamy scent of baking bread had begun to wind through the market. Philas appeared at last, just in time to make noises of disapproval, and readjust the way the silks hung.

  "I did just what you did," Ajalia chided.

  "They are better like this," he said. Yelin returned with a basket of bread, and Ajalia left Philas in charge. Philas stopped Ajalia before she moved too far away.

  "Lim is sulking," he said in a low voice. He had looked from side to side, and he was watching Yelin and the other slaves.

  "Speak louder," Ajalia said.

  "He's trying to get you," Philas said, still softly.

  "If you care, do something about it," Ajalia said loudly. The slaves looked around at her. "To stand by and watch the wrong is to participate in the wrong. If you are on Lim's side, you are not with me."

  Philas's face turned brown. "That isn't fair," he complained. "I'm warning you."

  "But you aren't warning Lim," Ajalia pointed out. She took one of the pieces of bread, and went through the market until she reached the stall where the blue beaded bridle had hung. It was not displayed any longer, and she won
dered if it had been sold. The fat merchant with the yellow pouch was moving slowly in and out of his door, carrying piles of horse shoes. His chin was still quivering in an irritated scowl, and his beady eyes were almost squeezed shut with sleepiness.

  Ajalia stood in the street and watched the merchant for a long time. The merchant either didn't notice her, or didn't want to acknowledge her presence. Ajalia watched him move baskets of nails, and hanging bundles of leather braided ropes. Finally, when the sun was peeping over the very edge of the mountains that lay round the far edge of the city, Ajalia rapped on the counter of the stall.

  "What do you want?" the merchant said, without looking up.

  "I saw a blue bridle here," Ajalia said.

  "Too expensive for you," the fat man said.

  "How much?" she asked.

  "More than a horse." The merchant went back into the inner room, and Ajalia watched him bring out the coveted bridle, and hang it back over the edge of the stall.

  "More than the rental of a house?" Ajalia asked.

  "Certainly," the fat merchant said, and his scowl creased gradually into a smile.

  "I shall remember the high value of bridles here in your city," Ajalia said seriously. "I will certainly consider trading in them, if they are as worthwhile as all that."

  The fat merchant began to laugh. "You know our games, I see," he said.

  "Your games are delightful games," Ajalia lied smoothly.

  "Where are you people from?" the fat merchant said. Ajalia could feel his eyes taking in her soiled clothing, and the ragged drops of blood on her sleeve.

  "I was attacked by a very civil robber last night," Ajalia said conversationally. The fat merchant made a face of suitable surprise.