by Eric Flint
Be that as it may, the instrument availed its purpose. Thus was propriety restored, following which, wizard and his sullen-but-subdued servant set forth for the great slave market of the Caravanserai. Yet, as the day wore on, it became apparent that the dispute between our protagonists had been needless as well as undignified. For, try as Zulkeh might, he simply could not sell his apprentice. Scrofulous though the average slave was, Shelyid was so grotesque even in this company that no slave merchant would so much as discuss the possibility of purchase.
The closest approach which the wizard enjoyed to success was also the most ignominious. All other establishments on the Boulevard of Bounteous Labor having spurned his offer, Zulkeh advanced upon the very last edifice on that noisome street—the term "edifice" being used very delicately. The ramshackle building—say better, disintegrating hut—was conspicuous for any apparent volume of trade. The only customer in sight was a large animal urinating against the rear wall, as if expressing its opinion on the architecture. It might have been a hog, it was difficult to tell.
Above the half-open door—half-open of necessity, since two of the three hinges had fallen loose—was a sign which read:
RIGHT TO WORK INSTITUTE
Herbert & Gertrude Sophist, proprietors
You've got a right to work!
So we'll sell it to you.
Cheap.
Zulkeh strode within, Shelyid in tow. In the gloom beyond, an elderly couple so slender they seemed almost skeletal were lounging on an ancient divan. The male half of the pair was snoring. His female counterpart, eyes widening at the appearance of an actual customer, jabbed him fiercely in the ribs. Given the sharpness of the elbow involved, it was a bit astonishing that no flow of blood ensued.
The man jerked awake. Then, seeing Zulkeh and Shelyid, sprang to his feet. Using, again, the term "sprang" with considerable delicacy.
"Yessair, yessair," he chortled, rubbing his bony hands together with a sound not dissimilar to that made by certain insects. "Yessair, yessair—I've got just what you need!"
He gestured grandly toward the far corner of the shack, where his wife was now occupied hauling forth what appeared to be the only merchandise the establishment had in stock at the moment—a woman whose age was impossible to determine, clad in rags, festooned with chains and shackles, and so skeletal she made the owners seem obese.
"Premium quality house servant!" the man pronounced solemnly. "Not quite suitable fer y'proper carnal abuse—I'll be the first t'admit it, I'm no huckster tryin' to pass off cut-rate merchandise as anythin' more than 'tis—but I'll knock twenty percent off y'price."
Alas, the intended sale turned out to be a skeleton in actual fact. After being dragged halfway across the earthen floor, the arm in the wife's hand came loose at the shoulder and the rest of the body flopped to the ground.
"Vile slave!" the woman snarled. "Wretchit thief! Try and steal from me, would yer?" She proceeded to thrash the corpse with the limb in her hand. Alas, after a single thrash the elbow joint gave way as well, leaving the wife disarmed as well as dispossessed.
"I told ye we 'ad to feed 'er more often, Gertrude," hissed her husband. "Onc't a week jest won't—"
Zulkeh cleared his throat noisily. "Sirrah, you misunderstand. I have come here to make a sale, not a purchase."
The mage grasped Shelyid by the shoulder and shoved him forward. "My apprentice. A stout lad, if stupid, and well inured to labor. I warn you I shall not be cheated."
The man—Herbert Sophist, presumably—eyed Shelyid with skepticism. But, unlike all the other slave dealers they had approached that day, he began to examine the prospective merchandise. And if his bony fingers poked Shelyid's ribs with no great vigor, and pried open his lips to inspect the teeth with even less, still and all 'twas at least a semblance of proper slave-dealer custom.
After Sophist was finished he stepped back, planted hands on hips, and announced firmly: "I'll take 'im off yer hands. Nay a problem, sair. Be my pleasure." He eyed Zulkeh for a moment, gauging the possibilities, and then added (not quite as firmly): "Twenty quid. And don't think ye can talk me down, sirrah! I'm being generous as 'tis."
Zulkeh frowned. "I have no intention of talking you down! Your offer is absurd. Thirty quid and not a penny less."
Sophist's eyes widened. "Thirty?" he choked.
Before he could say another word his wife shuffled forwardly eagerly and hissed: "Done! Thirty quid it is!" Her hand stretched forth, palm up, like the petal of a Venus flytrap. "Cash now. No credit."
Zulkeh's frown deepened. He stared at the woman's clawlike hand. "There seems to be some confusion here . . ." he muttered.
"No confusion!" snapped Gertrude. "As 'tis, even at thirty quid we'll like as not lose money."
Her husband nodded solemnly. "Indeed so! A dwarf? Scrofulous as thissun? Th'feed alone'll mos' like bankrupt us afore we kin find some idiot—ah, customer who'll take 'im off our hands."
It was Zulkeh's turn to choke. And choke. Eventually he managed: "Insane! Do I understand you aright? You expect me to pay you for—for selling my own merchandise?"
Hearing these words, Gertrude Sophist began to spittle. "O'course! 'Tis the law!"
"Sairtainly is!" snapped her husband. In the singsong tone of one reciting memorized words: "No dwarven slave may be purchased without payment from the seller, lest the foul notion be established that dwarves are worth anything." In a less stilted manner: "Sorry, sair. No point arguin' th'matter. Thazza direct quote from ye Honorable Judge Greased Hand's decision in th' case o' The Dreaded Scot vs. the Pewling Dwarf-Lovers' Association."
He lifted his nose. "The Dreaded Scot bein', as I'm sairtain yer aware, reckinized 'cross Grotum as th'slave trader's slave trader."
"In the Hall of Fame, 'e is," snapped Gertrude. "Made it on th'first ballot, too."
These words spoken, the mage proceeded to open up to the understanding of Sophists, man and wife, the preposterous and pernicious nature of their logic, reason, rationale, sanity—
But he had barely warmed to the subject before the distaff member of the couple, displaying a vigor quite out of keeping with her anorexic appearance, threw him bodily out of the establishment's doorway. Dislodging, alas, the final hinge in the process, the which produced a shrieking promise from Gertrude Sophist that she intended to sue the mage for every penny he owned in damages.
Shelyid scuttled out of the building, nimbly evading a savage blow from Gertrude on the way out—so nimbly, indeed, that the hapless woman overbalanced and injured herself on the doorframe, the which mishap produced yet another shrieking promise that she intended to sue the mage for every penny he might ever own in damages.
But, by then, Shelyid had hoisted the mage back onto his feet. Master and apprentice hastened from the scene, followed by the shrill curses and imprecations of the Sophists, man and wife, until the cadaverous pair apparently ran out of breath altogether. Which, in truth, did not take long.
* * *
Midafternoon, therefore, found Zulkeh and Shelyid trudging back to the inn. Once arrived in their room, the wizard turned to his apprentice and spoke.
"Shelyid, I command you to remain here. You are forbidden to leave this room under any circumstances, no matter how dire or urgent they may seem to you. I now depart, to rendezvous with a certain individual who, such is my hope, may be interested in purchasing your person."
"But we already went to every slave dealer in town, master," protested Shelyid.
"You are too pessimistic, Shelyid. The individual of whom I speak is not a slaver. He owns a circus, and has, I am led to understand, a sizable collection of freaks and sports of nature, to which he may wish to add another specimen." And so saying, the wizard departed, locking the door behind him.
Following the wizard's departure, Shelyid huddled on his pallet, misery writ plain upon his face. Now that his feeble mind was no longer distracted by the sights and sounds of the Caravanserai, it was plain as day that the wretched dwarf's thoughts were
focused with undivided attention upon his plight.
"A circus freak," he muttered. "A slave was bad enough, but a circus freak!" Many long minutes of silence followed; then—"People'll laugh at me. Point fingers. Throw food. Probably get better food thrown at you than they give you to eat regular, anyway." Many more long minutes of silence. "And what about upward social mobility?" he called out suddenly, into the gathering twilight.
Many more long minutes passed. Then did a look of discomfort come to sit upon his face. Alas, the dwarf's fears had produced the inevitable biological concomitant.
"Gotta shit," said he. And so saying, rose and minced toward the door, which opened into the corridor where the water closet was located. But at the door he halted, muttering.
"Can't leave the room, master said. Under any circumstances, he said. Besides, door's locked." He turned away, mounting agony writ plain upon his face.
"But I gotta shit." He stared at the floor—a wild surmise—but then: "Cripes no, dummy. Issa Consortium floor—prob'bly gut ya f'that." Suddenly his legs coiled about each other like vines.
"Gotta shit bad!" he wailed. Then did understanding and wisdom come and sit upon his brow. "O'course!" he cried. "The old scroll! S'no good anyway."
And so saying, the dwarf hopped across the room, limbs still entwined. He flung himself upon the wizard's sack, feverishly scrabbling through its contents. At length he emerged, clutching in his hand an old and much-worn scroll entitled On the Transmutation of Base Elements Into Gold.
"Master'll never miss't—s'tried it dozens a times, s'never worked." And not a moment too soon did the apprentice spread the scroll upon the floor and attend to his urgent business.
There did Shelyid squat for a time, staring placidly at the opposite wall. Eventually finished with his work, the dwarf rose and buckled his breeches. Then, turning and stooping over, he prepared to pick up the scroll and its contents and hurl them through the window onto the street below, this method of waste disposal being de riguer throughout Grotum. But he was of a sudden transfixed. For imagine his astonishment when he perceived that, where should have lain certain objects the precise nature of which we will delicately leave to the gentle reader's understanding, lay instead—mirabile dictu!—several large and oddly shaped ingots of gold.
And it was at this very moment that the wizard returned to the room. It required a full ten minutes for Zulkeh to decipher Shelyid's ensuing babble, following which he smiled approvingly and patted the dwarf's head.
"You have done well, Shelyid. I perceive now my past error concerning this scroll. My mistake lay in assuming that by 'base elements' were meant the common metals, whereas in fact were meant base elements, of which, as is well known, there is none baser than dwarf excrement. And there is a lesson to be learned from this, my stupid but loyal apprentice, in that subtlety of mind can be, on occasion, its own undoing.
"Indeed, this stroke of fortune comes at a most opportune moment, for the individual I went to see expressed a total lack of interest in buying you for his circus. All this, however, is now behind us. Armed with this newfound wealth, we are funded not only for our present needs but for some considerable portion of the future as well."
Shelyid's ugly little face crinkled with pleasure. Not so the wizard's—for Zulkeh's benign smile turned in a instant to a fearsome scowl.
"I note also, however," spoke the mage in a stern voice, "that you have grossly defiled one of my scrolls, the which I had faithfully entrusted to your care." And the sorcerer thrashed his apprentice soundly.
CHAPTER VIII.
A Commercial Philosophy Elaborated. The Wizard Demurs. An Interview With a Subordinate of the Law. The Sheriff's Return. The Unsatisfactory Results Therefrom. The Wizard Seeks Counsel!
The next morning, with Shelyid in tow, the wizard set out for the depot of the GGNESWC& etc., desiring, before making further plans, to assure himself that the coach to Prygg would depart on schedule the following day. Arriving at the depot, he made his way to the ticket vendor's window. No sooner had the wizard identified himself than the ticket vendor exclaimed: "So! You chose to surrender yourself, did you?"
"I beg your pardon?" queried the mage.
"Sirrah, it has been brought to my attention that you were among the passengers who arrived in the last coach from Goimr."
"Indeed so."
"It has also been brought to my attention that the aforementioned coach was robbed whilst you were aboard."
"Indeed so—a scabrous event!" The light of understanding dawned in the wizard's eye. "Ah, good sir, it pleases me no end to see the concern with which your company views its customers' woes. An excellent policy, this, to offer recompense to those of your passengers who have suffered indignities while enjoying the hospitality of your firm! Know, my good man, that you are fortunate indeed to find yourself employed by so progressive a—"
"You suffer from a gross misapprehension. It is not you, but we, who are the injured party in this affair, and thus the recipients of restitution."
"I beg your pardon?"
"As a passenger on a vehicle owned and operated by the Great Grotum etc., etc., & etc., you are liable for any damage (physical, financial, mental, moral, emotional, spiritual, natural, supernatural, or immaterial) inflicted upon said vehicle and its contents (animate or inanimate, sentient or senseless) and, by extension, upon the Great Grotum etc., etc., & etc." As the wizard stared on, in a rare speechless moment, the ticket vendor picked up a scroll and began droning:
"For permitting a coach of the GGNESWC& etc. to be robbed, you are hereby fined one hundred and fifty ducats.
"For allowing—"
"Preposterous!" cried the mage, his wits returned. Gesticulating wildly, the thaumaturge thrust his face at the ticket vendor.
"This is absurd! Utterly absurd! You have lost your corporate senses! I am in no fashion responsible for your miserable coach!"
"That statement is not merely incorrect," sniffed the ticket vendor, "it is positively grotesque. You are, in fact, legally responsible in this matter, having made of your own free will a contract to that effect with the Great Grotum etc., etc., & etc."
"Art mad! I made no such contract—I merely purchased a ticket!"
"I see. Obviously you are ignorant of the fact that the moment one consummates any transaction with any subsidiary of the Consortium, one automatically agrees—at that very instant—to the full provisions of the Consortium Cosmological Contract."
"I was not informed of any such provision!"
"To be sure. This point, however, is hardly germane." The ticket vendor resumed his reading of the scroll.
"For allowing a messenger of the GGNESWC& etc. to be interrupted in the performance of his duties, you are hereby fined seventy-five ducats.
"For allowing a servant of the Lord to be slandered and his piety subjected to denigration, you are fined fifty ducats.
"For allowing a belted knight of the realm to have his manhood and noble reputation subjected to gross indignities, you are fined sixty ducats.
"For allowing a female passenger on a vehicle operated by the GGNESWC& etc. to be seduced by a non-paying individual, you are fined forty ducats, per seduction—a total of two hundred ducats.
"For allowing other passengers on the GGNESWC& etc. to be robbed, you are fined thirty-five ducats per passenger—a total of two hundred and ten ducats.
"For—"
"I protest! Why should I be held responsible for other passengers? Why should they not be held responsible for their own mishaps—and mine, for that matter?"
"They have," replied the ticket vendor, "and have been fined accordingly. I might add that two of the passengers, Il Conde de la Manteca and his wife La Contessa—ridiculous titles!—refused to pay the fines, and have accordingly been incarcerated."
"But she's a nice lady!" cried Shelyid.
The ticket vendor sniffed. "Finally, you are fined fifty ducats for allowing yourself to be robbed while traveling on a vehicle operated by the GGNESWC
& etc." He laid down the scroll and stared stonily at the mage, palm outstretched. "The total fine amounts to seven hundred and ninety-five ducats, payable in the legal tender of the region, which, in this instance, is the Consortium Ducat."
"I refuse!" bellowed the wizard, beside himself with fury. "O monstrous! O monstrous!"
"Sir," stated the ticket vendor in a voice devoid of inflection or discernible tone, "am I to understand that you are calling into question the philosophy and commercial weltanschauung of the GGNESWC& etc., a subsidiary—"
"A pox on your philosophy, sirrah! I shall take this arrant thievery to the law!"
And so saying, the mage strode forth into the street, casting his eyes about for the location of the forces of law and order. Almost immediately, his attention caught by faint wails of agony, he spotted nearby a large gray building built of heavy stone, windows barred, steps blood-stained.
"The Hall of Justice!" he cried, and hastened thence. "Come, Shelyid," he spoke over his shoulder. "You are shortly to witness the manner in which base curs of low degree are called to order!"
Entering the building, Zulkeh saw to his left an old wooden door, upon whose peeling surface was crudely lettered the words: Sheriff's Office. He strode within, there to espy a man before him, seated at a large and much-carved desk, belly overhanging belt, booted feet propped up, visage totally obscured by an enormous hat slanted sharply forward.
"Are you the Sheriff?" demanded Zulkeh. The man behind the desk looked up. Faded blue eyes peered at the mage from a face whose every feature was masked by a complex maze of wrinkles, crow's-feet, creases, and the like. A luxurious mustache adorned his upper lip.
"That I am," drawled this worthy. "Sheriff Pike." Then, in a tone which belied the words: "At your service."