“Oasis City has a City Council,” Cay said quickly. “I suppose that places like this here, RichWater, have some kind of Councils of Elders or of Leading Citizens.”
“But there is nothing bringing them all together to consider matters that affect everyone,” Mikal protested. “The Oasis City’s growth in spinners and weavers, and its expanding exports of Narra-cloth certainly impact on more than the city itself. Are not the three of you travelling to the grasslands because of it?”
“Yeah, we are, it’s true,” Matto said hesitantly, seeming to be unsure of where this was going.
“The last time I was in the grasslands, I talked to locals who told me that the settlements have put together co-operatives of a kind,” said Yarm. “I do believe that one of the functions of these co-operatives is to try to deal with the ever-growing demand for Narra-fibre. People were worried that the continual expansion of production would result either in the destruction of the grasslands through over-grazing, or else in clashes with the Wild Tribes living north of the herding lands.
“I’m not sure how much success the quest that Matto, Cay, and Jess are on, can have. There may simply be no more room for increasing production in this part of the world. However, if city manufacturers can be persuaded to make common cause with the herders in order to keep all steps of the Narra-cloth industry sane, possibly you can do more for your families, in the long run, than merely redirecting some fibre production to your businesses ever could.”
“This part of the world needs councils, at the very least, to oversee the Narra-cloth industry,” Mikal said firmly. “I want the three of you, Matto, Cay and Jess, to start talking about forming one. Talk to everyone you meet, sell them on the idea that it is necessary for Oasis City and the desert and the grasslands to co-operate. There has to be some co-ordination of the production of the Narra-fibre, the manufacture of it into cloth, and the selling of that cloth. If the different aspects of the operation get badly out of sync, you could end up destroying the whole industry. And that would make for a lot of hardship for a lot of people, in Oasis City as well as the countryside.”
“We of this world have seen a great Disaster,” intoned Yarm. “Let us avoid a smaller one. Let us learn from our past.”
“So what exactly are we supposed to do?” Jess asked hesitantly.
“Talk,” Mikal replied. “At first, talk. Talk about the need for some kind of a body, like maybe a Council of Concerned Citizens, to look at the situation. What’s happening in Oasis City? Well, you can tell the herders what you have seen in Oasis City. You can tell them about the manufacturers rushing substandard product out on the market, about how cloth is going off-world. Find out how they react to things like that. Maybe they don’t want to graze more Narra, just to have the cloth produced sold off-planet. You can ask how the grazing lands are holding up. Are they encroaching on the territories claimed by the Wild Tribes, and how serious is that situation?
“Then when you go back to the City, you can take what you have learned, to those of the city folk who have an interest in all this: the spinners, the weavers, the City Council. Tell them what the herders have told you, what you understand of their problems and limitations. And if everywhere you talk up the notion of a Council that can be formed to debate the issues, and to take action on behalf of all, well, sometimes an idea like that will take on a life of its own, and things will begin to happen in a positive way.”
“A Council of Concerned Citizens,” said Matto. “I like that. You don’t mind if I steal the name?”
“Go right ahead.” Mikal smiled. “I’m glad to have contributed.”
They discussed these matters for sometime longer. The two older men encouraged the younger ones to start taking an active part in the forming of a smoothly functioning society in their corner of the world. Yarm spent some time explaining how the Councils, including the Central Council, of the Northern Plains were organized, and what had been done to insure that any citizen of the Plains with a piece to say, could get a hearing with one of the Councils. Mikal reiterated what he had told to Captain Lomen of The Seabird, and to Yarm also: that he believed that it was inevitable that the Star Federation would be taking an interest in this world’s affairs, as soon as they had reports of what had been happening there.
“They’ll certainly take an interest in the Narra-cloth trade,” he added, “since the cloth is already finding its way into the Space Trade Lanes. It would be best for the inhabitants of this planet if you began the process of rationalizing the production of Narra-cloth yourselves, instead of allowing things to happen helter-skelter. The more you do to get things working smoothly, the less the Federation officials will interfere with this world.”
*****
“Well, you certainly gave those three young men a lot to think about,” Kati commented to Mikal as they walked back towards the Inn, with a very quiet Jocan.
Mikal merely shrugged.
“Is it a part of your job to go around, giving lessons in forms of self-government, to the people who you find yourself among?” Kati asked.
“If it needs doing.” He turned an impish grin on her. “Remember, I’m half-Lamanian; devising and refining systems of government runs in my blood.”
He turned serious and added: “I haven’t forgotten Gorsh. Or Guzi and Dakra either. Or the space ship full of child slaves. But, we can travel only so fast on this world; I might as well do what I can here, while we’re on our way.
“By the way, where was ‘Paree’?”
Kati burst out laughing. She felt a warm glow fill her insides.
“You were listening to me think out loud, you! Paris was the capital city of a country called France in a landmass known as Europe. For some time it was considered to be the most civilized place on my world; rich in culture, arts, sciences, street life, cafes, restaurants, you name it. At one time if you wanted to be an artist, a writer, a musician, dancer, anything like that, you went to—or at least you wanted to go to--Paris. Sometimes it was called ‘The City of Lights’.”
“Did you ever go?”
“No, I never saw Paris.” She sighed, was going to add something else, then just shrugged her shoulders. How could she explain?
She felt Mikal take her hand into his and squeeze it gently. She wanted to look at him and smile, but dared not because suddenly her eyes were brimming with tears which she did not want to shed. Her emotions were all mixed up in a muddle; joy was vying for space with sadness and a deep sense of loss.
They had reached Lazo’s Inn. Jocan pushed open the outer door and they headed down the hallway towards their rooms. Mikal’s hand was still holding Kati’s, warm and reassuring.
*****
The met the rest of the caravanners the next morning at the campground. Chrys was hurriedly packing a last few things into her saddlebags when they arrived, looking tired and harried.
“Taxom had her working until late last night,” Matto muttered to Kati and Mikal. “I helped her get ready this morning—she could hardly drag herself up out of her blankets, the poor girl.”
“We’ll have to keep an eye on her,” Kati said, speaking as quietly as Matto had.
Then she thought of something. She motioned the men off and walked over to where Chrys was lacing up the last pocket on a side of her saddlebag. The girl looked up tiredly as she walked up, smiled to see that the intruder was Kati.
“Chrys, it occurred to me,” Kati started, then stopped. This was a bit awkward.
“Your professional activities—” she plunged in, feeling voyerish. Damn! This was awkward and not just a bit. “I mean, are you going to be too sore to ride this morning?” she finished in a rush.
The blonde grinned wanly.
“Of course,” she replied with a grimace. “I don’t have much choice, though, do I?” Her already low voice grew weaker yet: “This is going to be one hellish trip. My line of work and riding don’t really mix.”
“We could try the numbgel,” Kati suggested. “I would imagine tha
t its numbing effects will have passed by the time you need to have feeling in those parts again.”
Chrys’ eyes lit up.
“Bring it on. I’ll try anything at this point. I gotta keep old Taxom happy, and the way to do that is to be able to work.”
Kati retrieved her numbgel crock from the bottom of one of her saddlebags (where it had ended up once it was no longer needed), and led Chrys to a spot among some of the bushes which afforded some privacy. She handed the younger woman the salve jar and turned her back while the girl used it.
“Oh my goodness, that really does help,” she heard the Chrys say while she waited. “I think I’ll live, after all.”
“Why don’t you keep that jar,” Kati said when Chrys offered the crock back to her. “Mikal and Jocan have jars of it, too. I’m sure they’ll share with me if I need it again, and I get the feeling you’re going to need it whenever we spend the night in a settlement.”
“Thanks,” Chrys said. “I will, if you don’t mind. You’re right, I really do need it and will again.”
“Why do you have to keep Taxom happy?” Kati asked as they were walking back to the others.
Chrys stared at her for a moment, obviously surprised by the question.
“Because he’s my bond-master,” she replied simply.
“A bond-master? What?”
“He owns my bond. My family are fisher-folk on the coast. A tiny village a ways up north from Oasis City. My parents lost their boat in a storm and we were barely eating; you can’t catch much fish without a boat. I was the pretty daughter, and, well, what’s known as a blackfur. A blackfur is a woman who has light colouring except for her pubic bush, and she is considered to have natural talent for the amorous arts, so it made sense for me to be bonded to one of the Madames in Oasis City; she paid my parents enough for me that they could get a new boat. She trained me, thereby adding to my value, and sold my bond to Taxom, who was looking for someone to train the country girls that he employs. I can do that, but my bond cost him a lot of coin. So I have to try to be worth his money; help him earn it back. When we get to where he runs his house, I’ll be training the other girls and my life will be easier.”
“Are you a slave, then?” Kati was almost afraid to ask this question, but felt that she had to do so. She was feeling a little bit sick in the pit of her stomach.
However, Chrys laughed.
“A slave? No. My parents didn’t sell me, just my bond. Having your bond sold means that you are bonded to work for someone for your keep, for a certain length of time. The usual length of a nightlady’s bond is ten or fifteen years—after that your looks fade and you aren’t worth as much. My term, in the beginning, was for fifteen years, one of which was spent training at Madame Rosala’s. Since I worked at the Madame’s for another year, I have another thirteen years left, and I understand that Taxom paid Madame a fine sum to have me for those years. But then, his girls are all green country girls, apparently, and it will be my task to teach them the arts of a courtesan. If I can do that, and I know I can, I will be worth every penny to him. Unfortunately, as the Madame explained to me, Taxom is a worrier; he worries about his investment, he worries about his money. So I try to make sure that he is getting something back, even before we get to his House.”
“If you’re worth a lot of money to him he should be worrying about your health,” Kati snapped. “You won’t be much good to him when he gets you to his House, if he uses you up before you get there.”
Chrys laughed. “I’m going to have to point that out to him, Kati. Thank you. You’re a sweetheart, you know.”
“Just trying to do my little bit for this world,” Kati muttered.
They had reached the others. Rober and Kaina and their teenagers had rejoined them, too, and the caravan was ready to leave.
*****
“So what’s this business of having one’s bond sold, anyway?” Kati asked that evening.
Seven people had crowded around the small fire that Jocan had built at their campsite. He had a pot of water sitting on some embers; it had just began to boil, and he had tossed a bag of herbs into it to make tea. Yarm was waiting for it with his mug ready; Matto, Cay and Jess had elected to drink the icy water from the artesian well which was a feature of this campground. Kati had been a bit surprised that there was water but no human settlement; Yarm had pointed out that the water source was sluggish although the water was cold and crisp. It was enough for a campground, but not for a village.
“Still, I bet you could dig a good well here,” she had protested. “Then there would be lots of water.”
“Eventually that will probably be done, assuming the population keeps growing,” Yarm had said with a shrug. “So far, no-one has wanted to settle here. It would be lonesome, I think.”
Kati had let the subject go. Sometimes she found it hard to remember how under-populated the World was. The Narra-cloth trade might be creating an economic explosion of sorts in this part of the planet, but so far she had not seen much danger of over-population. But what did she know? Perhaps the ecology of the river valley in which they had been riding, was much more fragile than she could imagine. Maybe it was better left as a trail connecting scattered settlements, with campgrounds where the underground water came to the surface.
At the moment, however, with Chrys gone to catch up on the sleep she had missed the night before, and four people present who might be able to satisfy her curiosity, she was keen to fill in some of the holes in Chrys’ explanation of her situation.
Yarm shook his head.
“Having one’s bond sold?” he repeated. “That’s a new one on me. Never heard of it. No idea what you’re talking about.”
Kati turned her attention to the three young men.
“Matto? Cay? Jess? One of you must know about it, surely?”
“Yeah,” Matto mumbled with a nod. He stared down at the ground for a spell.
“It’s usually done by poor people,” he said at last. “Always with the bonded person’s consent. I suppose that Chrys told you that she had her bond sold to Taxom?”
At Kati’s head bob he continued:
“That’s the most common situation in which it is done. Poor parents find themselves with a daughter who is considered a good candidate for the nightladies’ trade. Maybe she’s even a blackfur, which is believed to give her an edge in the business. A nice pile of coin would get them out of a hole—maybe buy them a patch of good land when all they have is a poor, rocky spread that can barely feed them. Or their house has fallen into disrepair and there is no coin with which to pay a fix-up. So they take the daughter to one of the Madames in Oasis City, and if the girl is desirable enough, she’ll stay there, and the Madame will pay her parents a lump sum for the daughter’s services for a given number of years, usually ten or fifteen. A clerk is engaged to draw up legal papers, and the Madame agrees to feed, shelter and clothe the girl for the length of her bond, so long as she works for her. It’s not so bad a deal for her as you might think at first; usually she gets fed better, and dressed better, at the Madame’s, than she ever did at home. The girl gets trained in the nightlady’s arts, the extent of that training varying with the Madame.
“A Madame can resell the bond of a girl she has trained. Because she now is trained, the girl is worth more than she was when the Madame bought her bond, so she makes a profit. The length of the bond remains the same, so the buyer gets only the years remaining in the contract. But that can still amount to a fair number of years and the deal can be a good one for a provincial Whoremaster such as Taxom. He gets a city-trained nightlady into his house; even if he pays a considerable sum for her bond, he is sure to make his money back, and more, long before her bond has run its course.”
“She said that she would be training his other girls to be courtesans,” Kati said.
“I hope she hasn’t taken on more than she can handle,” Matto said with a chuckle. “Some of those village girls end up in the business because they’re too wild to se
ttle down to anything else. They might be a bit difficult to train in the arts of pleasing men.”
Kati raised her eyebrows at this but let it go. She could think of nothing else to add.
*****
They were given the warning in the next little village, where they stopped for the night.
MerryWater was too small to have any services except a single store and a stall that sold fresh fruit and vegetables gathered from local gardens. There was no inn, only a campground, although it was a nice enough campground, with its own artesian well and a couple of outhouses at the edge of the desert, where the sands were barely held back by scraggly trees. Beside the outhouses was a shed, divided into two stalls, and someone had left a stack of metal pails in each one. These stalls were bath-houses apparently: one for the men, the other for the women. The water for washing had to be hauled from the spring, using the pails, and it was cold, but—hey—this was better than having no facilities at all. Everyone in the Caravan took advantage of the stalls, and Kati and Chrys even went back after supper with a couple of Kati’s little lights, and washed out some underwear, leaving them to dry overnight on ropes hung up from the stalls for that purpose.
Earlier, before supper, when Jocan and Matto had returned from buying fresh vegetables for the group of the travellers who had gotten into the habit of eating together—the group had come to include everyone except the herder family—they had reported that the fellow running the fruit and vegetable kiosk had told them that one of the village elders had a message for the Caravan Leader and would come by later in the evening to deliver it. Yarm had raised his eyebrows at that, and shrugged.
“I guess I’ll have to wait and see what the message is. I certainly hope there isn’t some kind of trouble waiting for us ahead. Every now and then there is trouble on this trail.”
The Elder had taken his time about arriving. Kati and Chrys had done their laundry, and under the starlit sky, Kati had watched Kaina and Sany haul buckets of water to wash themselves and their under things, and had seen them return from the bath house. Jocan had made and served a couple of pots of tea, Chrys had left to get some sleep, and Taxom, too had retired to his tent, even though he had hung around the others for an unusually long while. Matto, Cay and Jess were young and likely could have waited for hours yet, but Yarm had been yawning in spite of all the tea that Jocan had served him.
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