Chapter 7: The Would-Be Scarecrow

    “The lads are good, but they’re not gentle. If you expect any sort of coddling on account of your size, forget it. If anything, you’ll be in for more of the shit than most. It’s long days of polishing, fetching, sharpening, stable work, and being knocked about on a whim.

      “I understand she named you ‘Zephyr.’ Do you know what that means?”

      “No, but it seemed like it had something to do with sailing. She said my sails had been trimmed because I did nothing about my parents being killed, and I was so easily captured.”

      The guard stopped, and Zephyr almost bumped into him. 

      He looked down at the boy, and Zephyr lowered his head, then remembered what Karis told him and looked into the guard’s dark eyes.

      The man grunted his approval. “A word of advice, b–,” he paused, “Zephyr. If I may, a word of advice.”

      Zephyr nodded, not sure where this was going. 

      “Sometimes the ships in still waters are eventually in the best position to strike back. Do you understand?”

      “No, sir..”

    “There’s a story of a gunship that got stalled, and when invaders were about to sail to the coast to take the land after destroying their enemy’s moving ships, the wind stirred and brought the gunship home.

      “Can you guess what happened?”

      “The ship that came home blasted the enemy ships.”

      This time the guard did smile approvingly. “Good lad. Now do you understand?”

      “I…think so.”

      The guard stopped and faced him. “Cultivate your quiet, Zephyr: watch them, examine their behaviors. Use your shyness to keep in the shadows and let them forget you’re there, but listen to everything. Learn to use weapons in secret so they’ll keep underestimating your fighting ability.

     “Then, when you’re ready, attack them first. Now, do you understand?”

      After a moment, he said “Yes. I’m waiting for my moment to take my revenge.”

     He remembered Mistress Karis asking him if he wanted revenge, and he’d said yes. How had he forgotten that?

     The guard unexpectedly tousled Zephyr’s hair. “There’s a good lad.”

     They were approaching the camp, and as they got closer, the activity stopped as they approached.

     “We don’t need a scarecrow, sir.” said a young man currying a horse. “We’ve no crop field to plant it. Take it somewhere else where it will be useful.”

     Those near enough to hear him laughed, which caught the attention of those who hadn’t. 

     Zephyr felt the weight of their stares, trying not to imagine the taunts, fists, and gods-knew-what-else that would follow. 

     If they make my life hell, I’ll raise it for all of them. He shuddered at the image the dark thought put in his mind, but whether it was fear or anticipation he couldn’t tell.

     The guard stopped in front of a shed with a small fire burning inside of it.

     “What’s this?” Zephyr asked.

     The guard held up his hand for Zephyr to be quiet, and whistled.

      In a moment, a large boy appeared in the doorway. 

      His skin was shadow black, and his face had white dotted markings on it the color of night stars. He was muscled, and while his dark features were quiet, there was a dark undercurrent to them, as if he could smile while killing you. 

     Zephyr took a step back, and the boy noticed. He nodded at Zephyr, and Zephyr took another step back. 

    The boy looked at the guard then, and shook his head. 

     Sighing, the guard went past him, called Zephyr in, and the boy followed, closing the door behind them. 

                                                              ***************

      The sun was setting and the grounds were clear of boys and horses when they emerged. 

      There’d been hours of gestures, grunts, threatening looks, mocking laughter, and finally an exchange of gold and vigorous shaking of hands. 

       Zephyr was confused. “I thought I was to be a squire.”

       “You were, but you’re better off here.” 

       “You disobeyed your orders?”

       “No,” he lied. “And see that you don’t disobey yours,” the guard said, and left. 

       The shadow man put a large hand on Zephyr’s shoulder and sat him down at the small table in a dark corner. The chair for it looked on the verge of collapse, but Zephyr’s size was not a threat to complete it.

       In short order, the smell of stout fare and roasting meat made him think less of his current situation as his stomach, fueled by the exotic scents, made noises that overrode his anxiety.

                                                      ****************

    The man brought out a heaping plate of meat and cheese, and a pitcher of something he called apricot wine. Zephyr had never heard of such a thing, and when he drank it, it had the delightful effect of giving him a false sense of well-being. 

   As they ate, the man let Zephyr know that the guard had bribed him to accept Zephyr as an apprentice, when he was supposed to go to the mines.

   “The Queen will be mad you got out, and will likely come for you in due time.”

   “And you, for helping me.”

   “No, not really. They’re actually afraid of you, hearing that you went through the naming ritual with Karis herself.”

“Why did you take me as an apprentice?”

  Amadi chuckled. “You need muscles, and I need an assistant. My workload is growing, and there’s talk of war.”

   “There’s always talk of war.”

   “True. But this time, it may not be just tongues wagging in the wind.”

   Zephyr sighed, his brow furrowed. “I won’t allow myself to be taken again.”

   Amadi sat down, leaned on his elbows and looked at Zephyr. 

    “They told me some of your story, that you lost your parents.”

    “I didn’t lose them. They were murdered in front of me.”

    A boy of plain speech. That is not good.

     Amadi smiled, warming to his new charge. “A word of caution, Zephyr: plain speech is not the stuff of nobles and courts. Everything is clouded with the softest of words, including the most evil of intentions.

    “Between you and me we may speak so, but not so in the presence of others. You understand?”

    “I do.” 

    “Good. Finish your wine, and I’ll show you where the tools are stored. After that, we sleep.”

Chapter 8: Gauntlet of Chains

     The day dawned cold and cloudy.

     Gale tied a shawl around her shoulders to keep it from shifting with the rocking motion of the mountain pony walking in the wake of Karis’ mule.

      Horses were sold in the marketplace, so no others were permitted in the market.

      Gale scanned the sky, her hopes of seeing a tinge of sun along the horizon dashed.

      Her stomach made inquisitive burbles as to when it would be fed, but she had no answer; for now, she’d just have to endure. 

      Mistress Karis told her they were going to the market, and Gale thought they’d get something to eat there, her stomach giving a hopeful squelching sound.

     It felt all the keener for the sun not being out. She would have been pleasantly distracted by the filling in of colors and the inexorable erasure of night shadows as the sun chased the moon below the horizon.

     Closing her eyes, she took a moment to breathe in momentary fresh air that brought the scent of market flowers, and the pleasantry of bird songs, though she knew nothing about which kind made which song.

     Cutting through her reverie with a jolt, she heard a loud crack followed by a keening scream.

     “Mistress Karis, what was that?”

     Karis stared at her a moment to see if she was serious, and realized she was: “The Market.”

     The sound of birds faded into the sounds of screams, curses, the clanking of chains, and the cracking of more whips.

     The smell of fresh cut flowers was replaced by the cloying miasma of human waste, dirt, sweat, and illicit sex, commingling with the wild, putrid scents of beasts of burden.

    Karis and Gale covered their mouths with veils to keep from gagging, but they weren’t much help in that they seemed to seal the smells in rather than filter them out, but it was better than nothing. 

     Gale was grateful she’d chosen not to eat after all, and wondered why Karis was here.

     This makes no sense. She has many dociles that can do this for her…

      Then what Karis told her after the naming service came back to her, about sometimes having to do things correctly by yourself to oversee the outcome. 

     Even so…

     They went to the other side of the market, almost leaving it, when Karis motioned for them to stop. A young man ran out of a careworn tent to help her down, and another did likewise for Gale. As fast as they appeared, they took both animals by the reins and led them away.

     She went and stood closer to Karis, taking in the tents set up some distance away, just as careworn as this one at the market’s edge. They were patched and dirty, with faded colors and what Gale would realize later were symbols of slave stock written in dried blood.    

   Forcing herself to breathe slowly, Gale took Karis’ hand while she took another look around.

   “This is where the unsuccessful merchants set up, Gale. They sell useless junk to poor people. It’s allowed because as long as it gives them and their customers the illusion of legitimacy and being part of things, they’ll be less prone to thievery. That said, they also know it’s pretending, and the penalty for actual thievery is a lot crueler than letting them put on this show.

     “If you ask me, all of them seem one step away from feral.”

     Looking at their faces, in their eyes, Gale had to agree, and something in her expression attracted Karis’ attention.

     “Get used to it, Gale, then get indifferent to it. We’ll be back here in a few weeks’ time.”

     Gale took a risk. “Why, mistress. How many slaves does your city need?”

     “It’s not only the city I supply, but the realm itself.” 

     “Oh.” 

     Karis laughed. “You’ve a lot to learn, and I’ve a lot to teach you.”

     “Am I to be a slave merchant then?”

     “Would you rather be a slave? Or worse, a Docile? Slaves at least rebel every now and then, but Dociles…”

     “What happens to them?”

     Karis shook her head. 

     Gale determined she’d find out on her own.

     What happens then?

     You’ll know how to make one if you need one.

      “Pay attention, Gale. The auction’s about to start.”

      Gale sighed as Karis took her by the hand and led her to the reserved spot for suppliers.

      It was surprisingly some distance away from the bidding platform. 

      “We get a better overall look from back here,” Karis explained. “The close inspections come when we’ve made our purchases.”

      Gale nodded. 

      The auctioneer took his place. 

      The couple on stage were chained together, both half nude and sweating. 

      Bleeding scars crossed the man’s chest, and Gale wanted to ask Karis about it, but decided she didn’t want to know. He likely fought against the slavers, and since the woman’s eyes were downcast, her body trembling against his bleeding one, she could guess what happened. 

       Damn this. 

       A rising feeling of helpless anger swelled, and she had to check it. 

       No, not yet. Learn what you can. Fortune favored you for a reason.

       She turned her attention to the auctioneer’s drone, watched the bidding gestures, watched Karis make hers, and tried to figure out what she would do with it all when she finally became a slave mistress herself.