by JM Guillen
Until another thought hit me.
Unless the crew were all tainted too.
That wasn’t unheard of. Stories abounded of tainted crews wandering the skies, plundering the outliers for women and food. I’d even read of a few in some moth-eaten historicals Da had found me. I’d thrilled to them at the time, but now the memories of the tales made me shiver.
I twisted my head, craning my neck for a better look at Barnabas. He seemed fine. Fit and able. And he spoke sense, when not asking his master’s odd questions.
He wasn’t tainted. Perhaps his captain wasn’t either. I needed to sharp up and focus. I could still get lucky here.
It was all I could hope for to end up in the decrepit arms of an untainted, debilitated granther. If that happened, I’d be free soon enough.
The entire market reeked of human sweat and misery. It was loud with street barkers and children crying. There were slaves and criers and street urchins everywhere.
“Pay attention, Ysabel,” I muttered beneath my breath. “Keep sharp. Breathe.”
I needed to stay hale and hearty so I could escape later.
When someone bought me, they would take me aboard their vessel, far away from Ogrim and Royce. I would also be out of this thrice-damned collar.
Then Royce would have his money and wouldn’t give two licks that I’d escaped. Da would live to see another day, and we would meet again, far from here.
“Teredon, my girl.” I smiled, imagining his voice.
When we finally turned the corner and ducked between the two basalt pillars that marked the Downs Market Slave Block, my heart hung in my throat.
So much depended upon what happened here. I needed to be bought by a certain kind of person, and once I was, I needed to be careful and canny, clever and quick. I might only have one opportunity.
I knew the kind of uses I’d be put to if I failed to slip the collar.
Barnabas strode unhesitatingly to the pens where all the stock was checked in and held until being put up on the block. There, a small, three-sided enclosure sat off to one side of the gate. It held a battered writing desk covered in varying sizes of rolled documents. A fat, unwashed man sat there idly chatting with the guard at the gate.
Barnabas set me on my feet with more care than I’d expected and stepped away without another word, heading toward the bidder’s entrance.
I watched him go warily. Though he’d not treated me as an actual person, he’d been kind enough, treating me with a modicum of respect.
Perhaps I should hope to end up with his captain.
Ogrim, in the meantime, had unceremoniously started to check me in with the fat man at the desk who shuffled roll after roll of paper around his desk.
“Wha’s ’er mum’s name?” The high, whiny tenor of the clerk’s voice startled me, coming from such a large man.
“What?” I blinked at him as he squinted at me. It seemed to be my day for oddment questions.
“Yer mum’s name? I gots ta put down yer lineage, sweetcheeks. I gots yer da, one Alman Dartagne.” He sniggered a little. “The debtor. So, who’s the lucky lady?”
I glared at him. “My ma’s dead. She has no financial claim on me.”
He sniffed. “Well ’nuff, darlin’. Did she leave relations behind that do?”
I just shook my head.
He shrugged and moved on. “Kithfolke?”
“What?” I narrowed my eyes. “What difference does it make if my great-great-granther had rolled with a spice-skinned Q’sarr or an ink-dark Kabian woman?”
“It’s fer sales.” The man tapped his fingers irritably. “No one on the wrong end of the leash will claim to be a purebred down here. ’Course the one they owed might claim it for ’em.” He gave a sharp smile. “A purebred oft brings more than a mongrel.”
My mother was one of the Du’anni clansfolk—golden haired and milk skinned with a voice that could make the stars weep. However this cully could go tup his mother for all I cared. I wouldn’t be helping him.
“Unknown,” I sassed. “Little of this, little of that. I think I got some Elderlander in my left toe.” I held out my foot and wiggled it.
The unnamed man matched me glare for glare.
“No call for that, now. You’d best learn t’ bide that tongue, girlie. Some of the patrons out there”—he nodded toward the bidder’s field—”won’t stand fer it, and I won’t neither. Don’ make me call th’ guard over.”
Ogrim glanced at the muscular, shirtless guard.
The man glared back with an icy gaze that meant business. He was a little shorter than my meaty friend but more trim. I might bet on him in a match between the two, but I wouldn’t spend my last copper on it. If I could start a fight between them, they might just be eye-catching enough for me to make a dash—
And leave me with the collar around my neck.
Don’t be dim. Wait for the sale.
I huffed and nodded to the clerk, a quick gesture to make him get on with it.
Finally, after several more questions and a brisk, impersonal examination, the man was done. He took my hand and dipped the fingers and thumb in crimson Q'sarr ink. Then he rolled a tiny, ceramic seal across the back of my hand, stamping a number across my flesh.
“Checked in now, in’nit she?” The clerk’s foul breath wheezed between rotten teeth as he smiled up at Ogrim. Then he turned to me. “You want loose, little sweetling, you’ll need to cut off the hand. Yer marked now, and only yer new owner’ll have the solvent.”
“Naturally,” I seethed through gritted teeth.
The next few moments were horrifying in ways I hadn’t expected. Sure, while I’d talked to my da, I’d been all clever, but I hadn’t known everything to come. My mind had instantly fixed on the worst of the stories, a life of rape and degradation, without understanding how quickly it would come.
Once checked in, the clerk had two men “gently” escort me to the holding pens. Ogrim was left behind, which I’d admit I found a little discomforting. Not that the large man was a friend, but he was at least familiar.
As we walked down the dimly lit hallway, one of them, a leering, yellow-toothed man, got more than a little frisky around the top-tie of my skirts.
I batted his hand away, almost reflexively. “Hey now.”
“Oh, sweet girl.” The man’s voice was low and gurgled with congestion as he spoke. “You won’t be havin’ your modesty for much longer. You’d best start gettin’ accustomated.”
I wanted to accustomate his face with a stoneworker’s hammer.
“Let her be, Garvis.” The whip-thin man in front glanced back at both of us. “If you start sampling the goods, you’ll get snipped. We got ’least four more before the auction, and only time for half that.” He opened the door in front of us, and they escorted me inside.
The room was small with only one other door. The far side dipped down, and there was a drain set in the floor.
What could this possibly be?
I turned to the man behind me, but before I even got a word out, the skinny man gave him a small wave.
At nothing more than the gesture, Garvis stepped behind me. He grasped my arms and held them tightly, stepping me to the center of the room.
Just like that, I was caught.
I squirmed. How could I not? It was startling how powerless I’d become. I was ashamed at how quickly Garvis caught me and how surely he held me once he had me.
“Shush, little dove.” The skinny man stepped close to me, and brought his fingers to my lips.
I trembled.
Damn it. I hated that I was shaking. I hated that they had me so easily and that I was actually scared.
I was a strong woman. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be.
“Me, sweetling. Look at me.”
I scowled at the slender man. His sharp, cunning gaze cut through me. I felt as if he had seen everything I had ever done, seen everything I ever would do. With a deep breath, I stopped fighting and forced myself to relax.
/>
Breathe. Just breathe.
He smiled at me. “Good girl. My name’s Daryn, and we’re goin’ get through this all quick-like. Understand?”
The skinny man reached to his belt and pulled a large dagger from an ornate sheath. It glimmered as he held it in both hands. The flickering, yellow lamplight shone against the gleaming, silvery surface.
My eyes must have been the size of saucers. I pulled away from Garvis—or tried to at least. The large man held me fast.
“Be a good girl, Ysabel. You won’ be hurt none—not so long as you do as you’re told.”
I nodded frantically. “Yes, yes, sir. I will. But that’s a knife.”
“Yes,” he said calmly. “An’ it’s quite sharp, so hold still.”
He took the edge of my homespun wool tunic between two fingers and began to cut.
My clothes. He’s cutting my clothing off me. This is where it starts.
I tried to stay perfectly still, but I continued to tremble. I jumped when the blade nicked my stomach.
“Careful, sweetling.” He kept cutting until my shirt hung open in the front.
I wanted to hunch my shoulders, but Garvis held me immobile, chest thrust out.
The skinny man pushed my ruined tunic off my shoulders, leaving it to hang off my elbows and took a single step back, regarding me.
Stone. Stone doesn’t flinch. Not even when it’s naked.
“As beautiful as I expected.” He began to poke and prod about my sides, looking beneath my arms and into the whites of my eyes. “Unmarked. No signs of the taint.”
“I could’ve told you that.” I tried to meet his eyes but found I couldn’t.
“And you could’ve lied. Aside from that, I’m not finished.”
Then the skinny man dropped to his knees and began to cut through my skirts.
I resumed breathing.
I did my best to remain still for him—truly. It was very difficult, however. This was the exact scenario that every woman feared. I was being held powerless, and a man was cutting my clothing off me. He was going to leave me naked and then use me as he wished.
Whatever he says. I shall do whatever he says, and if I don’t like it, then I shall pretend. That’s the only way to get through this.
When I was naked, he did a similar poking and prodding in much more, shall we say, personal areas. Still, he was very clinical about his work.
When he was finished he stood just out of reach.
“Good.” He smiled. “Very good.”
Was I? He wasn’t touching me any further, it seemed. And, aside from holding my arms, Garvis wasn’t either.
Gradually I stopped trembling. I eased my limbs from their terror-locked state, softening my stance. It was odd. I stood, proud of my form, yet not in any way seductive. It wasn’t a stance I had ever taken while nude in front of anyone, much less two eager men.
The skinny man smiled.
“Excellent, Ysabel.” He gestured to Garvis. “Bring her tradecloth, and we’ll get her moved along.”
When Garvis released me, I covered my breasts instinctively.
“You haven’t even—” I blushed, a little embarrassed.
“Nah.” He waved his hand, dismissively. “We just needed to make sure you’re free of lice. Now to get you dressed.”
“I was dressed.” My voice held calm, despite my fury.
“All the slaves are examined. It’s the only way we can know that we’re selling good stock. Can’t have the tainted in with the good.”
Garvis returned then, shutting the door behind him. The clothes he held were grey, rougher than my own but clean.
“Get these on, sweetling.” Daryn jerked his head to indicate the door. “The market awaits.”
I slipped into the clothing, wincing a bit as the rough cloth dragged over the nick on my stomach. Then Garvis came up behind me again and pushed me outside.
Patience, I counseled myself as I was shoved into the waiting pen. Patience.
Dirt, cold, and grubby people with red-dipped digits were my new companions for the next half-eternity. I gave them a once over, but by my tally these poor wretches were about as useful to me as the mud between their toes.
I wandered the pen, but my view was blocked on two sides by high-gleam and tarnish walls with the gate and desk at the third. In a bit of cruelty, the best view faced the ongoing auction along the fourth side. From my tiny, dirty vantage point, I could see everything.
After an age of waiting, a fat man swept onto the stage containing the block where the debtors being auctioned were chained for the patrons gawkerie. He cracked jokes and japed for the crowd while the gate guard brought up the first auction piece.
The girl, a broken little thing, sagged in place as the guard fastened her chain. It was obvious that she had already been on the streets; she had that worn, used look that so many of the mollies developed.
The fat man began calling out prices for the broken girl, and the bidders responded by doffing their hats or raising a finger. As the auctioneer went around the room, pointing at this one or calling to that one, I peered at the men who were bidding.
Scars and dirt, pock marks and stains greeted my eyes. The crowd, sparse both in hair and number, jostled, ready to turn nasty at the slightest provocation.
Perfect. Just perfect.
I sighed and took a closer look. Maybe Barnabas’ captain would stand out.
I scanned worn, seamed face after scarred, sickly face. Each was worse than the one before. I saw drunks and buzzers, lechers and infirm aplenty. I was surprised half of them could stand. Of course, not all of them were impaired or peaked. Some preferred to hide from the nefarious goings-on, concealing themselves behind masques shaped like hideous gnarls or knackermen. One looked like a shaedr-ghůl, one of the poor souls whose mind had been lost to the Shroud.
I’d read stories as a child about the goblin markets, but never thought I’d be sold in one.
I stopped scanning the faces. Whoever he was, Barnabas’ captain blended with the rest of this trash. Honestly, his identity didn’t matter.
“Sold!”
The fat auctioneer pointed to a gaunt man in an oddly fashioned, gray suit. I thought his smile stretched far too wide.
The skeletal man turned something in his hand. When he placed it in his pocket, I saw the gleam of gold.
I glanced at the newly purchased slave. The girl’s face had remained completely blank the entire time she’d stood on the block. She was already dead, I realized. It didn’t matter what happened to her.
As far as anyone here was concerned, she might as well fall out of the world.
And so it went.
After the broken girl, a set of twins put up as house domestics. I knew that wasn’t actually the use they would be put to, but no one would say that, not here. Inwardly I felt relieved when an older woman bought them. Surely, she wouldn’t put them to the same use as some of the pirates and brigands.
Then a young boy, skilled with a lyre, was brought up. He went quickly.
Three girls, all sisters were next.
“Here to pay their family’s debt,” quoted the fat auctioneer piteously.
That felt particularly tragic. I saw the man who bought them and had no doubts that only horrors awaited them.
The nature of debtslavery meant that people could be purchased for many different tasks. A debtor could become a housecarl or a domestic, always best, but I wouldn’t end up as a washwoman or maid to some highborn shrew.
No. I knew better even as I agreed to take on my father’s debt. I knew I’d be used by whoever bought me, most likely harriers or sky-pirates.
But it was done. My father was safe.
I was so lost in thought that I didn’t hear the guard call my number. He padded through the crowd like a stalking panthyr, silently slipping up to me. When he pushed me through the nearby iron-barred door to the block stage, I stumbled to my knees.
Several of the bidders hooted and catcalled. One of them
cried out, “You can stay there, sweetmeats! If I win, you’ll be living on your knees!”
I glared at the man, and my eyes must have said it all. His companions whooped and clapped him on the back.
“She’s got fire, Tarvis! Better watch out!”
Then, with me still on my knees, the bidding began.
“Three-twenny!” That was Tarvis, leering at me. His friends laughed as he obscenely pumped his hips in my direction.
I couldn’t decide if I wanted Tarvis to win or not. It would be horrifying to have to lay with the greasy man, but he also seemed stupid. Stupid meant I’d be in Teredon in a few days.
“Three-fifty.” That was Barnabas.
As the guard chained me to the block, I glanced at the Kabian, standing off to the side of the bidding pen. He stood alone, his massive size affording him breathing room other bidders lacked.
If he brought me here for his captain to bid on… why would he bid for me himself? Surely he wouldn’t bid against his employer. Even if he won me, he’d be out a job for certain, swiping his captain’s prize out from under him. He might be made to hand me over, too, if his captain were a greedy man. And who out there wasn’t?
But then again, Barnabas hadn’t expressed any interest in me whatever on the trip here, and he’d had ample opportunity to ‘examine the goods in detail.’
He hadn’t even tried.
I glanced at him again, searching for any clue. He wore sturdy, serviceable clothing, no scraps or tears in evidence. His skin was glossy, unbroken by wounds, and he was bounded by muscle. His thick neck was bare, so he was no bondslave. He was in good health. Honestly he seemed well cared for in his employment. Nobody’d throw that away lightly.
I drew a breath in understanding. His gentleman wasn’t even here.
Barnabas acted as his proxy.
Tarvis and Barnabas went back and forth a few times, and the bidding grew tighter. I felt an odd pride at how quickly my buy-price soared. Tarvis’ opening bid doubled what the fat man had set for any of the others.
When Tarvis’ bid hit four-twenty, a man in the back interrupted.
“Four seventy-five.” His voice was deep, melodious, but his face was covered in a leering carnival masque. “With an option to sell to the gentleman here,”—he indicated Tarvis—“if she displeases me, at his current price, within a single day.”