by Victor Poole
Chad stopped walking. After a moment, when he saw that she was not turning back, Chad jogged up to Ajalia again. His voice was calmer when he spoke.
"I am really not happy," he told her. "I really am not happy at all."
"That's fine," Ajalia said. "That went supremely well," she added, looking over the blood-stained paper in her hand.
"The paper isn't official," Chad said bitingly.
"You can't make official deals for stolen goods," Ajalia said.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Chad blustered.
"That means that Gevad is a thief, and that he has stolen most of what he has, and broken whatever laws for commerce you have to keep the rest," Ajalia said. "He is a thief, and if your leaders knew what he had done, they would take everything for themselves."
"They would not," Chad said hotly.
"They would," Ajalia said.
"They would not steal," Chad shouted. "They would return whatever was stolen to the victims of the theft." The streets were empty here. Chad's voice bounced between the houses. Ajalia grimaced at the noise.
"So if the Thief Lord learned," she said, "that your father lost all his estate in a rotten series of deals to a shady character like Gevad, the Thief Lord would punish Gevad, and return the estate to your father?" The flaming lights in the night grew farther apart as Chad led her into the heart of the residential district.
"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Chad said.
"You think like a child," Ajalia said. "No one keeps power that way."
Chad whirled on her, victory in his eyes. "The Thief Lord does not keep power over us," he said triumphantly. "Everyone is equal in Slavithe. Everyone works together to make life wonderful."
"Even Gevad does this?" Ajalia asked. "Are we almost there?" she added.
"Calm down," Chad said dismissively. "I am making a point. Gevad does not count."
"So Gevad is not Slavithe," Ajalia said.
"No, he is," Chad said, "but he does not count. What I am saying is that all the people work together—"
"Except for Gevad," Ajalia added.
"Gevad does not count!" Chad blustered. "I am not talking about Gevad!" He glared at Ajalia, and his neck was turning purple in the strange orange light from the torches. "I am not going to talk to you anymore," he added. "You are foolish. You're stupid. My house is over here."
He did not seem to notice that he called the building his house, even though it was not his father's house, and even though it had never been his house at all. Ajalia went to the door of the building, and knocked. There were no lights on inside. The building was low and square; it was more squat than the other structures nearby, but it was still connected to the houses on either side. It was smaller than Ajalia had expected. From the way Chad had talked about his father, and his father's house, she had expected a large and expensive structure.
"You never told Gevad why you were being mean," Chad said suddenly. Ajalia knocked on the door again. "He said he wanted to know why you were doing this, and you said you'd tell when he signed. Then he signed, and you didn't tell."
The door opened a crack. There was no light within the house. Ajalia could not see the face of the person at the door.
"What is your mother's name?" Ajalia asked Chad.
"Nessa," he said. The door opened a little wider, and a face ventured out into the dim light cast by the torch down on the corner house. The face belonged to a woman of middle age.
"Malkos?" she asked, peering at Chad.
"Is my mother in?" Chad asked. The woman nodded, and went back into the house. She shut the door behind her.
"Why did you let him call me a boy?" Chad demanded.
"I don't want you to tell your mother about your new name," Ajalia said. "It would complicate things."
"Why?" Chad asked. "Are we going to have adventures? Do I have to keep my new name a secret?"
"Sure," Ajalia said, "if it helps you, then sure." Chad regarded Ajalia in the dim light. His lip curled up a little, and his nose was wrinkled.
"I don't like you at all," he said. Ajalia adjusted the bandage over the cut on her hand. "Like, at all," Chad added. "If you were the last woman in all of Slavithe, I would never even be interested in you. Because you're so callous," he added thoughtfully. Before he could elaborate on his non-feelings for Ajalia, the door opened again, and another woman, older than the first, came out.
"Why haven't you come to visit?" the woman asked Chad. "I expected you to visit at least sometimes, not never. Who's this? Are you involved with her? Do you have any money for me?" All this was said in a monotone murmur while the woman hugged Chad, smoothed his hair, and looked critically over his clothes. "You don't have a job yet," Chad's mother commented. Her eyes were lingering on the threadbare edges of his clothes.
"I do have a job," Chad protested. "Look, I work for her now." He shrugged at Ajalia.
"I deal in houses and servants," Ajalia said. "I am told your name is Nessa."
Chad's mother stared open-mouthed at Ajalia. She clearly did not know what to say.
"Say something," Chad said to his mother.
"I apologize for the rudeness of Malkos," Ajalia said. "I have not had him long."
"Malkos," his mother said. The woman did not seem able to say anything at all to Ajalia.
"Well, goodbye," Ajalia said. She turned, and Chad, after some wavering, followed her.
Ajalia heard the door open and shut again. She looked behind and saw that the door to the house was shut, and the woman was gone. "What are the tenants like?" she asked. "Does your mother work for the people who live there now?"
"No one really lives there," Chad admitted. "It's sort of been empty for a while."
"Because of your mother," Ajalia said. Chad did not contradict her. "Are your sisters like that?" she asked.
"No," Chad said quickly, "my sisters are very nice."
"Good," Ajalia said, but she didn't believe him. They walked in silence for a little while. "We're going to evict your mother," Ajalia said. Chad didn't say anything. "Do you have a problem with that?" she asked.
"Well, no," he said. "Since you're going to do the evicting."
"No I'm not," Ajalia said at once. Chad spluttered a little.
"I can't evict my own mother," he said.
"Why not?" Ajalia said. She directed her steps towards the little house. It was not very late yet. The moon was rising, full and round, over the mountains. It cast a heavy blue light over everything. The moon seemed twice as large here as anywhere Ajalia had been before. It was like a great looming sun of silver and blue.
"Well," Chad said, "she's my mother."
"That's not a reason," Ajalia said.
"It's a very good reason," Chad said. "She's my mother, and I have to do whatever she says."
"Great," Ajalia said. "Then you're fired."
Chad laughed. "That is not a very funny joke," he said.
"It wasn't a joke," Ajalia said. "If you want to keep your mother, I'll fire you."
Chad faltered. He skipped up next to Ajalia. "You wouldn't really," he said. "Anyway, Philas likes me."
"Then work for Philas," Ajalia said.
"But he won't need me for anything," Chad complained.
Ajalia pushed Chad by the shoulder. He stumbled to one side. "No one needs you for anything," Ajalia said. "You're useless. No one wants you. Your mother doesn't even want you. Why are you standing up for your mother?"
"My mother probably wants me," Chad said. "I'm pretty sure she wants me."
"Well, goodbye," Ajalia said.
"You're doing that thing you did to Gevad, where you threw him off balance to get things," Chad said shrewdly. "You don't really want to fire me." His face was smug. He was pleased with himself. Ajalia drew back her arm. She punched him squarely in the nose. Chad let out a shout. He stumbled backwards in the street. His hands were clasped over his nose. His eyes were streaming tears.
"Go tell your mother she has two hours to get out of the ho
use," Ajalia said. "Tell her Gevad has sold the place. When the house is empty, come and find me."
"I won't ever come back to find you," Chad said. He was crying. "You'll just hit me again."
Ajalia raised her arm, and Chad scampered away into the darkness. She heard him whimpering and sniffling. She did not know if he would do as she had said.
PHILAS TAKES CHARGE
The little house was not far from where she was. As she walked, she began to reflect on the evening she had had so far. She had the proof she needed to get money out of Lim, and tomorrow she would have the list of her new possessions. She thought about the Thief Lord, whom she had not yet seen. Gevad had found some way to talk his way out of punishment with the Thief Lord's wife.
Ajalia thought about the way the Slavithe people had parted in the street around the rich woman with brown hair. She thought about Delmar. When she placed the young man with sandy hair and blue eyes into the great house with the wide entrance hall, and the rich carpets, she felt as though she could understand better why he acted so strangely. Particularly when she imagined the rich woman as his mother, she felt particularly as though she had gotten to the heart of the matter. Delmar was the son of that woman, and Ajalia felt as though he must have suffered in that house. She had not yet learned how many sons there were, and if there were any daughters. She made a note to find out more about the ruling family, as she came in sight of the little house.
When she went in the front door, Lim was nowhere to be seen. Philas was sitting in the center of the central room, holding court over a simple game.
"Do you want to play?" he asked Ajalia. Ajalia stared at Philas. She wanted to say, "Shouldn't you be drinking?" Philas was grinning. A light of genuine interest was in his eyes, and his shoulders were square. He was upright, and his vision was clear. He was not anxious, but assured. He was not drunk, but he was perfectly at home.
The other slaves told Ajalia that it was a lovely game, and she told them she had to do business with Lim.
"Lim!" a chorus of voices said in unison. A flock of words flew up at Ajalia's face. The slaves assured her that Lim was a poor sport, that he had been hiding in his room for the whole evening, and that he refused to disburse money for food. Ajalia clenched her jaw.
"Lim," she said.
"Maybe you should do something about Lim," Philas said. The other slaves agreed, their voices overlapping.
"Philas could be in charge," someone said, and a wave of enthusiasm followed. The unspoken consensus was, "because he is not drunk anymore."
"I will get the money for food," Ajalia said, and she left them.
The stairwell was dark. The rooms below had been lighted, but no one had gone up the stairs after the sun had set. None of the lamps were lit. A bright bar of light shone out from beneath Lim's door. Ajalia knocked.
"Go away," Lim shouted.
Ajalia tried the door. It was locked.
"The slaves need money for food," Ajalia shouted.
"Then buy food with your own money," Lim bellowed.
"You owe me the rent," Ajalia called.
"I owe you nothing," Lim replied.
"I have a paper that says otherwise," Ajalia said, just loud enough to be heard. In a moment, the door swung open.
"You do? Let me see," Lim said. "What do we have?"
"I," Ajalia said, holding the paper out of reach. "I have. Not we."
"We," Lim insisted roughly. "I am your superior."
"You are in my house," Ajalia said.
Lim glared at her. She had no desire to argue the point; it was not an argument she could win. Lim held the accounts. Lim carried their master's purse. Ajalia was a vital slave, but Lim had been given direct control of the caravan. He would answer to their master when the caravan returned to the East. He would report on the behavior of the other slaves. He was in charge. She was right that the paper and the contents thereof belonged exclusively to her, but she would never get Lim to admit so. He would push for as much advantage as he could get.
"What's on the paper?" Lim asked.
Ajalia did not reply. Lim's face was like a still pond. Her silence was like a pebble; ripples of agitation spread out over his cheeks. He grimaced. He scowled. He pushed his lips out.
"What did you get?" he asked.
"The slaves need money for food," Ajalia said promptly.
Lim sighed hugely. "I expect you to use the money I gave you for rent," he said.
"I paid the rent. I made my own deal, now you owe me rent. But the slaves need food," she said.
"That makes no sense," Lim complained. "You should have kept the rent."
Ajalia shrugged. "Look," she said, "I have no money." She held out the bag she had emptied into the city wall. The bag held only a heavy ring, the ring she had taken from the hiding place upstairs.
"That is mine," Lim snapped. His fingers stretched out like an enclosing net.
"No," Ajalia said. "I found it, with the pink silks."
"Well, the ring is mine," Lim said. "Someone must have taken it."
Ajalia looked at Lim. Lim smiled at Ajalia.
"Philas," Ajalia shouted. Lim's smile faltered.
"Stop it," Lim said. "You don't want to do that," he added. A sheen of sweat appeared at the rim of his hair.
"Do what?" Ajalia asked. Philas came lumbering up the stairs like a heavy rush of wind.
"She's doing something," Lim said, as soon as Philas was in sight. "Something I don't like," he said.
"Hello," Philas said to Ajalia.
"Hello, Philas," Ajalia said.
"What are you doing?" Lim demanded of Philas. "Now you're doing something, too." His words shot out like a bolt from a bow.
"Look at this ring that I found," Ajalia said. She held out the heavily carved ring. The gold blinked lazily in the dim light. Philas whistled. "It was wrapped with two squares of pink silk, up in the attic," she said. "Someone hid it up there." Philas's eyebrows climbed up into the region of his forehead. "Lim says," Ajalia added, "that the ring is his."
Philas turned towards Lim. The sheen of sweat had turned into a thick gloss. The sides of Lim's neck puffed out and reddened. Lim swallowed.
"Someone," Lim gasped, over vocal cords that rattled like dead reeds, "must have taken it from me."
Philas leaned against the wall. The whole house seemed to sag under Philas's weight. Philas folded his arms.
"You know," Philas said, "That story sounds kind of thin to me."
"Did master give you directions," Ajalia asked Philas, "before we left?" Three times Ajalia had been taken aside by their master, just before departures, and instructed to sell any slaves that were too much trouble. Their master had not said this to Ajalia this time. She did not know if her master had given Philas special instructions on this trip.
"You know," Philas said, "he didn't. But he did tell me to watch Lim." Lim jumped at the sound of his name. "Master told me," Philas added, "that Lim might try to get rid of his favorite slave."
"And who is master's favorite?" Ajalia asked.
"You know," Philas said. Philas stroked his chin. Philas heaved a deep sigh. Philas stared at a spot on the wall above Lim's head. "He didn't say who it was. But you know," Philas said, "I have a feeling that Lim isn't the favorite."
"Well, here's this ring," Ajalia said. She was tired of the exchange. Philas was taking a long time to get to the point.
"Money," Philas said. Philas held out his hand. Lim gurgled a little before going back into the room. He unlocked a box and rustled through it. Lim came back with a packet of coins. "Can you get these changed?" Philas asked Ajalia. The coins were heavy gold orbs from the East. The thick spheres were carried with caravans at all times, and were traded for currency in foreign cities. Lim held them out. Ajalia refused them.
"Where is your Slavithe money?" Ajalia asked Lim. "He already changed one," Ajalia told Philas. "He should have a great deal of their coin, and I paid him the sum I earned from the market stall." Lim's lips changed color.
>
"Why can't you just take what I give you?" he hissed at Ajalia.
"You rat," Philas said. "Give me the money."
"This is money," Lim said.
"I was going to be patient," Philas rumbled. There was an earthquake of anger tumbling through him. "I was going to give you dignity," Philas thundered. "Now you will have neither. You will give me all of the money, and you will be put back with the common slaves, where you belong."
Ajalia edged away from Philas. She could feel torrents of rage filling up his mouth, like boulders that would crush Lim.
"I act as master here," Lim protested. His voice was a veil of ice; it wavered and thinned at the edges.
"No more," Philas cried. Philas strode into the room, and began to fling things about. Lim followed him and flung his hands out against his things.
"You cannot take the money!" Lim shrilled. "You mustn't touch my possessions! Master put me in charge!" Lim's words pattered against Philas with all the weight of seeds against implacable rock. Ajalia crept down the stairs. She wanted to hear every word Philas shouted. The rest of the slaves were gathered in a knot at the foot of the stairs, their game forgotten. Their faces were turned with rapt interest at the shouts and bangs that were exploding around the bend of the stairs.
Ajalia sat on the second to last step and closed her eyes. She made a picture of Philas tearing through Lim's things with every loud rip and clang that echoed down the stairwell. Lim's voice fell to a murmur, and then to an inaudible stream of protests. Ajalia could hear the melancholy rhythm of Lim's complaints. They formed a shallow pool of sound. Philas was speaking in a steady flow. Ajalia had never heard Philas say so much at once. He told Lim that it was an ugly thing to steal, and a much uglier one to lay traps.
"Especially for women," Philas added. Ajalia blushed, but none of the slaves asked her what Lim had done. Philas philosophized. He moralized. He lectured. When Lim's protests had died to silence, and Philas had finished rifling the room, Lim appeared. His outer garment had been stripped away, and he was wrapped in the plain cream robe of a common slave. His face was puffy and red, and his eyes had blotches of ugly purple all round them. No one spoke to Lim, and the humiliated slave went out of the front door without meeting anyone's eyes.