by Ford, Lizzy
Her guide, George, sighed. “I told you. You need to try to fit in, if you can. Do not gawk.”
“Shallllll I tallllk like thissssss?” she retorted, exaggerating his accent.
The slave who met her after her carriage ride to the outer city was old enough for his hair to be white and spoke with the same cultured lisp as the other outer city dwellers. He had not seemed particularly pleased to see her and even now, his gaze was skeptical. Rather than taking her to her new ward at once, he had sent her in for a medical exam, where they injected her with medicine to counter the numbing agent. She had then been scrubbed down and given clothing traditional to the slaves: gray, cotton shirts and pants, sturdy black boots and a dark gray cloak.
The clothing was more comfortable than she expected.
“What is this?” she asked. She plucked the sash he wore across his chest.
He pushed her hand away. “I told my master you would never pass as one of us,” George complained.
“I’m not here to pass as one of you,” she replied. “I’m here to do what I do best.”
“You do not touch another slave’s family mark,” he said firmly. “This denotes who owns me. Every slave is identified this way.”
She glanced down. “Why don’t –”
“It’s in your left pocket,” he snapped.
Aveline had yet to explore this pocket, though she placed the envelope with her father’s treasure in her right pocket. She pulled a green sash and a leather necklace from the left pocket. She set about examining the necklace to determine how much she could sell it for. The leather rope was simple, the wooden locket round and clunky and decidedly worthless.
No longer interested, she pulled on both sash and necklace.
“Not like that.” George sighed again. He moved forward and expertly arranged the sash so it was not twisted or wrinkled. “You must try to fit in!”
“Why don’t you have a locket?” she asked, ignoring him.
“Because your locket is meant to look like it belongs to someone from the street caste. It contains a special concoction.”
“Really?” Her curiosity renewed, she picked it up. “Is it poison?”
“I do not know what it is. My master insisted you wear it. He gave specific directions for you never to open it.”
Aveline smiled, and the older slave pursed his lips.
“On the streets, you can do what you want. Here, every one of these people would kill to be on the floor above them, and all of them want to be there.” He pointed to the very tip of the pyramid. “You cannot behave with brashness or thoughtlessness or disobedience and survive here for long. Some of these families have been plotting their ascension for generations and manipulating everyone who crosses their path.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine,” she said and shook her head. “These people wouldn’t last a day on the streets. What do they have to worry about? Being served one pad of butter instead of two?”
“Not all danger is physical,” he said with impatience. “You were warned.”
Aveline snorted, amused he thought to warn her about danger. What in this obscenely wealthy enclave was a threat to the daughter of the assassin guild’s leader, the bearer of the Devil’s blood? She began learning to use her first machete when she was three. These privileged, overdressed, weakling snobs had never seen a knife let alone knew how to use one. Not one person in the pyramid, except for the occasional Shield soldier, remotely posed any danger.
“What am I doing here?” she asked.
“What my master hired you to do.” Resigned, George led her down a quiet hallway populated solely by slaves that led around the base of the pyramid. He stopped at the first corner, and they stood waiting.
Aveline watched the scurrying slaves, each of whom wore a different color sash from the rest.
“If you find yourself in trouble, which I am certain you will, come to me,” George said when they were alone. “But otherwise, you will have to earn your place among the slaves.”
“What?” she asked, shifting her attention back to him. “Slaves are slaves, aren’t they?”
“There’s a hierarchy. You must adapt to our way of life quickly.” He looked around then pulled out an elegantly wrapped bundle from the depths of his cloak. “My master bade me give you this along with a warning. You must only act in defense, and only use what force is necessary.”
“I can do that.” Aveline accepted the long bundle wrapped in soft, high quality leather. It was heavy and tied closed by a matching piece of leather. Sensing he did not want anyone else seeing it, she tucked it into her waistband.
“The slave quarters are below the main floor. The stairs are in each corner.” George indicated the stairwell beside the doors in front of which they stood. “The kitchens and offices belonging to other members of the staff are also in the basement. This is the slaves’ lift. Do not use the other lifts or entrances not marked for slaves.”
As the said the words, the door before opened to reveal a small compartment lit by a light bulb.
Aveline frowned, not understanding the importance of the space. George stepped into it, and she followed. Before she could ask what they were doing, the box lurched and then began to climb swiftly.
Her breath caught and her stomach dropped as she realized they were being carried upwards, towards the top of the pyramid. Her attention went from admiring the fist-sized bulb that managed to light up every corner of the lift to the scene below them. She leaned against the front of the wooden box and stared down at the village at the center of the structure. It was filled with people, and the murmur of their talking echoed off the walls of the pyramid.
When the lift stopped, the people below were the size of insects.
“This way.” George said from behind her.
She turned and trailed him past four Shield members and into a hallway whose floors and walls were made of polished marble. The ceilings soared, and stately paintings in heavy frames lined the walls, some taller than her. Glittering crystal chandeliers blazing with brilliant, white light hung from the ceilings.
The hallway opened up into an elegant, circular shaped gathering area with antique furniture, sculptures, more paintings and even larger chandeliers. George led her around the area to another hallway and then onward to a dining chamber featuring a table at least forty feet long. Aveline’s eyes fell to the silver cutlery and delicate, porcelain place settings, and she automatically calculated how much she could sell just one for, if she managed to steal it without being caught.
Every room he led her into was more opulent than the last, until she was certain she was walking into a dream. They passed only one other slave wearing a green sash and none of the apartment’s residents.
After seeing more spectacular chambers, their path dead ended in a cul de sac flanked by four gilded doors. George paused before the one on their right and turned to face her.
“You must not, under any circumstances, allow anyone to know why you are here, or that someone hired you for a position other than as a slave.” His features were unusually grim. “Especially not her.” He lifted his chin towards the door before him. “She will monitor your activities closely, and you must convince her you are nothing other than a dumb, mute slave. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” Aveline said readily. Role playing was yet another skill children living in the streets mastered at a young age in order to manipulate passersby into giving them money. “Did you say mute?”
“Mute.”
She sighed and nodded.
“Finally, do not lift your eyes from the floor.”
George opened the door and entered an antechamber with a gilded fireplace, more chandeliers and statues. He went to the door on the right and tapped on it.
It was opened seconds later by a female slave, who bowed her head and stepped aside. The parlor beyond the door was large. Aveline was starting to become numb to the displays of grandeur and wealth, but this room lit a spark of anger inside her. Cups and
goblets were inlaid with gems, silk drapes edged with pearls and gold and silver everywhere.
She had always known the outer city citizens lived better than those of the inner city, but the divide between those who could barely find food and this sparkling, golden, bright world left her vowing she would steal as much as she could carry when she left. What could anyone living in such a place ever fear from anyone? Why had she been hired, when one gold plate would pay for an army of guardians?
“Forgive my intrusion.” George bowed his head to someone.
Aveline focused on a raven-haired woman of exceptional beauty, dressed in silks and gems, who sat sipping tea and nibbling a pastry from a table laden with more food than Aveline had eaten in the past year. Different varieties of meats, savory pies, bowls of vegetables, pastries, breads and rolls, and other food covered every inch of a table. It was enough for several families, but Aveline guessed it had been brought for one person alone.
“What is it, George?” the woman asked crisply.
“My master purchased a slave for his sister.”
The woman tensed, set her saucer down with great control and then rose, facing them.
Beautiful – and cold. Something about the woman made the hair on the back of Aveline’s neck stand up. This wealthy woman could not possibly pose any sort of danger, and yet, Aveline’s instincts – molded by the need for self-preservation on the streets – were never wrong.
“This?” the brunette asked, lifting an eyebrow in delicate offence. “This is who my stepson chose to bring into my home? A mixed slave?”
Mute, Aveline reminded herself. It took effort to keep her eyes on the floor when she wanted to slap the woman.
“Absolutely not. I will not have one of her kind in my household!”
Aveline sneaked a glance at George, who appeared unruffled.
“He did not believe you would approve of him spending more than an ounce, and he insisted upon buying a mute, dumb slave,” George replied calmly. “He believed this would please you.”
Aveline held her breath, uncertain what the woman would say.
George’s mistress glided towards them and circled Aveline. Without warning, she reached out and pinched the soft skin of Aveline’s inner arm – hard.
Aveline remained silent despite the pain.
“Hmm,” the brunette murmured. “So she is mute. But Tiana has enough slaves.”
“My master assured me this mixed girl is meant to become her personal slave,” George persisted in a low, respectful voice.
“Interesting timing, when he is not around for several weeks,” she stated. The woman shifted her cold, intent gaze to George, and she scrutinized his features long enough for the tension to become uncomfortable. To his credit, George did not so much as blink beneath her glare.
Aveline waited, uncertain what exactly was causing the dissent between the two. That this Tiana did not need another slave? The new slave being mixed?
The identity and importance of this family was beyond Aveline’s experience to judge. She had been too enamored by the sensation of flying from the bottom of the pyramid towards the top to notice on what floor they stopped, except that it had to be near the top, which meant these people were among the most powerful and richest in the city.
She was learning hints about the masked man who tracked her. But a man who lived in this golden world was not likely to ever visit the inner city. Had he sent someone to do his bidding?
Did it matter? A wealthy brother had hired her to guard his wealthy sister. Aveline was starting to unravel the mystery behind her assignment – and becoming more baffled in the process.
“My master believed this slave would ease your burden,” George added when the woman did not speak. “No woman of your position should be forced to sully her hands as you are.”
“Burden,” she repeated and whirled, gliding back to the table. “May no one else ever know such a life as mine!”
“My master understands this and wishes to help make your life more comfortable.”
“I had thought my stepson wished me to suffer!” she snapped.
“He does not,” George said firmly. “Consider this a gift to you as well.”
George is a damned good liar, Aveline thought, entertained by how he was manipulating the fickle-tempered beauty.
“Then I accept. For now.” The dark-haired woman lifted a plate and placed a heel of bread, three strawberries and a half-eaten piece of meat upon it. She leaned over to pour a cup of tea next, dropped a sugar cube into it, then reached into a pocket hidden in her sleeve for a small vial. She delicately dispelled two drops from the vial before replacing it. “Slave, serve your mistress her dinner!”
George nudged Aveline forward.
Is Tiana a dog? She thought, looking over the paltry dinner. She approached and accepted the plate and saucer held out towards her while the woman glared at George.
“It will be your life in the fire, if this does not go well, or if I find upon his return he did not arrange this,” she warned him.
He bowed his head at her then signaled Aveline towards the door.
Aveline obeyed, not at all eager to remain in the presence of the wealthy woman. She exited and waited in the round cul de sac for George. He appeared after a minute and closed the door to the woman’s chambers behind him.
“You will need to tread very carefully,” he warned Aveline again. “Tiana has never had a personal slave, and her stepmother will object to her husband if my master fails to reassign you. At the very least, you should have three weeks, until my master returns.”
Puzzled by the dynamics of the assignment, Aveline waited for George to explain.
“Do not ask too many questions and do not cross paths with Matilda, if you can help it,” he said. “Her drugs have made her pleasant today.”
“That was pleasant?” Aveline asked, eyebrows shooting up.
George said nothing. He knew far more than he let on, Aveline assessed. Surprised he had stood up to the stepmother named Matilda, she chalked it up to an impressive sense of loyalty to his master. She had never heard how slaves lived. By the nature by which they were bought and sold, she assumed loyalty would be difficult to assure.
“This is Tiana’s room. It’s kept locked from the outside at all time,” he said and approached the door right of center. “My master ordered for you to be provided a key. It will allow you to exit Tiana’s chambers. You cannot give it to Tiana or to anyone else. She must not leave her room. Ever. You must not speak about her to anyone, ever.”
Aveline’s instincts were on edge. George’s expression, always grim, had turned severe.
“What’s wrong with her?” she asked when he finished the lecture. “Why is she locked up?” Her concern was not for some wealthy girl living in opulence but her own safety.
“It is not my duty to know,” George replied and looked away.
But he did know. Aveline would wager every one of the gold candlesticks in Matilda’s fancy parlor on it.
“Take Tiana her dinner. Remember, if we are caught, we both burn.” By his tone, he had little hope of Aveline succeeding.
“You’re as pleasant as Matilda,” Aveline said. “Don’t worry so much, George.”
“I am old. At least, I will burn quickly.” He handed her a large key.
She smiled, entertained by the dour slave. George left her standing before Tiana’s door and Aveline focused on her mission.
The only obstacle between her and the ability to claim her place among her father’s assassins lay beyond the elegant mahogany slab of wood with its gilded fixtures. Hired first to protect Tiana, then to murder her, Aveline doubted anything could surprise her more than the turn her life had taken since her father’s death. Whatever reason Tiana was locked away was inconsequential when Aveline was determined to win Karl’s support and save Rocky.
She could make it until spring in this ridiculous world of the wealthy. If Tiana resembled her unpleasant stepmother at all, she would be e
asy to kill.
This is how I will honor my father. She drew a steady breath.
When she was an official assassin, Aveline would be able to look up at the sky and know her father and mother were proud of her. She hated crying, hated how weak it made her feel, but when she thought of her father, she was unable to stop the tears from forming. He had been her mentor as well as her father, and she found herself wishing she could seek his advice one last time about her current circumstances. His sudden absence rattled her to her core.
She took a moment to regain control over her emotions then shifted the saucer to brace it against her body so she could pull the key to Tiana’s room from her pocket. Her nose wrinkled at the pungent tea. Recognizing a very faint odor among the heavier smells of herbs, she leaned forward and sniffed.
An assassin learned early on how to identify poisons by scent and taste. Aveline lifted the cup to her mouth and took a tiny sip. Intermixed with the strong herbs was a familiar flavor: arsenic, a favorite among assassins.
That bitch, she thought, amazed by how brazen Matilda had been. None of the slaves had blinked when she dropped the poison into Tiana’s drink. Were they ignorant as to what it was? Or too afraid to speak up?
If her only challenge to keeping Tiana alive was a woman too stupid to hide what she did, Aveline’s duty to protect the Hanover girl was going to be easier than she thought.
Reaching forward to unlock the door, Aveline felt confident about her future for the first time since her father fell ill, although cautious about what danger lurked in the room before her. She envisioned a chamber similar to Matilda’s or one of the sitting rooms she had passed through while following George here. Balancing herself on the balls of her feet, in case this Tiana was somehow dangerous, Aveline opened the door slowly.