The Price of Loyalty

Despite the heat of the late morning, crowds still jostled elbow to elbow in the bustling marketplace. Everywhere, vendors cried their wares in the sing-song of accomplished hawkers while their customers examined the offerings or proposed counter bargains. Harried mothers grabbed at escaping children, one hand clutching their baskets. Off to the side, a group of tumblers occupied the area between two stalls, their dazzling acrobatics eliciting cheers and gasps of awe. Here and there a small clear space opened up as a nobleman strolled past, his sword at his side, disdainful and amused by the antics around him. Few carriages or horsemen tried to cut through the throng; those who attempted more often than not found themselves mired in the surging masses, drivers and riders cursing at the pedestrians around them.

Taerin Torris alighted from his hired hansom and eyed the scene with a rueful smile. It served as a poignant reminder of his youth in the village of Murrey, when he used to scramble under stalls and dart through the crowds, nimble as a monkey and delirious with the excitement of a market fair. The bazaar before him was larger by far than the one of his childhood, Little Cayenne being the capital of the nation and one of her brightest jewels, but as he watched a wide matron drag two screaming toddlers after her, he could not help but grin at the memories it evoked.

"Want I should wait, my lord?" The driver behind him shook his whip impatiently.

"No, I'll be fine, thank you." Taerin tossed the man a coin and waved him away. The wheels rattled on the cobblestones as the hansom turned, and Taerin watched it disappear around the corner, his mood sobering. He was not here for a pleasurable stroll, but on grim business, and if he succeeded, he would need more than a cramped hansom on his way back. He grimaced at the thought, distaste twisting his mouth.

He had barely stepped into the fray when he was accosted by the shouts of the merchants. Stamping down the temptation to loiter and put off what he had to do, Taerin gave them a polite but uninterested nod before passing.

"Shiny jewelry for yer lady, my lord!"

"Sir, use only the purest incense when you pay homage to the gods!"

"Milord, the finest silks from Carraway! T'would bring out the lovely green o' yer eyes, milord!"

Taerin's lips twitched into a reluctant smile at the brazenness of this last crone, who had thrust the material almost right under his nose, but he did not slow. His destination lay on the far side of the marketplace, and he saw its approach with a sigh of mingled relief and regret.

Unlike the other buildings around the market, the single-story stone edifice before him had no stalls set up in front. Instead, a high wooden platform stood to the side, steps leading up to the improvised stage. The gray exterior looked weathered and neglected, planks of wood nailed in the place of a broken window. No sign boasting its wares hung outside and an air of gloom seemed to seep from beneath the sturdy door. The large open area before it lay singularly quiet and abandoned amidst the turmoil all around, as though people found themselves hesitant to step too close. Passers-by shot the building and its wooden dais wary glances before hurrying on, their eyes averted. One elderly woman clutched her shawl close and made the sign against evil.

Taerin struggled with himself, chewing on the ends of his mustache, one hand on his hip and the other tapping on the hilt of his sword, unable to take the final few steps forward. For all that he had accomplished so much during the thirty some years of his life, Taerin still sometimes felt young and uncertain. He was almost grateful when a young woman from a nearby stand caught his eye and gave him a shy smile. Half-cursing himself for his sudden weakness, Taerin turned to examine her wares, fingering her trinkets with a preoccupied air. She was probably new to the hawking trade; her large hazel eyes watched him in fascination, and she offered no prices on her goods. When he selected a jeweled pendant, she took his coin with a blush, ducking her head. He smiled when he saw her examine him from beneath her lashes, not coy as most girls would be, but rather with an innocent curiosity.

"My thanks," he said softly, to put her at ease.

She colored again, but her smile lit her face with simple pleasure. "You're welcome, my lord."

Taerin stowed the bauble in his pocket and hesitated. The building beckoned to him out of the corner of his eye, blind windows staring a hole into his back. The urge to linger was almost overwhelming, especially when the girl gave him a concerned frown.

"Is something the matter, my lord?"

"No," he forced a smile. "No, nothing. Thank you again." With an inward sigh, Taerin turned away. Behind him, the girl let out an audible gasp as she discerned his course. She dropped her gaze when he glanced over his shoulder at her, but not before he caught the expression of startled revulsion in her eyes. Her reaction cut at him, but he resisted the urge to justify his actions to her. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he wouldn't succeed in any case, when he could hardly justify them to himself.

The door opened a crack at his impatient knocking and an unfriendly eye peered out at him. "We ain't open yet, come back tomorrow!"

Taerin jammed the door with his foot before it could slam shut. "I have business with Master Sims. Tell him it's private and it will not wait."

For a moment, it looked like the guard would try and close the door anyway, foot or no. Thinking better of the idea, and moved, perhaps, both by the quality of Taerin's dress and the confidence of his voice, he opened the door with a begrudging grunt. "Wait 'ere," he grumbled ungraciously, before stomping through a second door.

Taerin ran his fingers through his sandy brown hair and looked around. The room he found himself in inspired no more confidence than the dilapidated appearance outside. A crude table and three chairs stood next to the door, an overturned flagon leaking a thin stream of some foul-smelling drink onto the floor. The fireplace against the far wall looked like it had not been swept for years, soot and ashes clogging the interior. Broken furniture lay piled in one corner and cracks ran along the walls. The sunlight filtered in through a set of dingy curtains, looking weakened and paled by the ordeal, and with the walls muffling the sounds outside, it was difficult to remember the life and bustle that lay just beyond the door.

Taerin blew his breath out in a snort of exasperation. His fingers were once again drumming against the hilt of his sword, and he forced them to stillness. He carefully set his expression into a bored mask and crossed his arms. To anyone else, he would appear to be no more than an indifferent nobleman, irritated at the wait, but not unduly agitated.

Within, he was shaking. It was not fear; the very notion of being afraid of anyone in this establishment was laughable. It was not excitement; he would rather be facing the full wrath of Parliament then standing in his current spot. It was, he admitted with a wry twist of the mouth, nothing more than downright, stubborn reluctance and the guilty awareness of the fact that though he was only doing what had to be done, that did not make it any more the right thing to do.

Sweet stars in heaven, he thought, sighing. I can't -believe- I'm thinking about... no, actually -doing- what I'm about to do. An image of his hardworking parents floated unbidden into his mind, and he pushed it away with a shudder, thankful that they had no notion of what he was up to. How the son of an honest farmer and his loving wife could end up here, of all places...

He remembered with a wince the outraged indignation with which they and much of the nation had greeted the royal decree that legalized slavery in Cayenne. At the time, he had fought a covert, losing battle against court politics to halt such a measure. The Queen Mother had proved an invaluable ally, as had the young King, but their power had long been limited by the expanding influence of wealthy nobles grown bold under the rule of a child sovereign. As a last resort, Taerin had mobilized his network of spies and informants to sway public opinion. The task was easily accomplished, since the majority of the common folks were aghast at the notion, but it had not been enough. Unable to move Parliament, Taerin had settled for imposing harsh restrictions on the practice, though he suspected that many such restrictions went ignored.

It was, therefore, a painful irony that he now stood in one of the despised slave trading posts.

The Queen Mother had understood, when he explained in a private audience, though she too detested the necessity. As the King's Spymaster, Taerin could take no chances with his staff; nor could he appear to be anything other than another young nobleman enjoying a life of pleasure at court. He had put off the decision for months, convinced that loyalty could not be bought at the end of a lash nor shackled by chains, but after discovering one of his footmen pawing through his mail, he could not ignore the need any longer. The man hadn't found anything, but the possibility of it had chilled Taerin's heart. He dismissed the few servants he had, knowing that any or all of them could be in a pay of others, and presented his dilemma to the Queen Mother, along with his solution.

After her initial shock, she had tried to help him, tried to explain the situation to her son. They had had only limited success. Young as he was, King Wilhelm already possessed the same sense of justice that had marked his father. His serious gray eyes had born into Taerin with all the solemnity of a child confronted by adult problems and in their depths were the first glimmerings of disapproval that Taerin could recall. The boy had shrugged and told him to do what he needed, but his tone and the set of his small shoulders as he turned his back on his Spymaster had sent a bittersweet shiver down Taerin's spine. Someday the boy would come of age, and Taerin knew with gut-wrenching certainty that he would be a strong King worthy of service. Whether that King would still consider him acceptable for that service when the time came though, was anyone's guess.

Taerin jumped as the door leading deeper into the building opened with a loud creak, so absorbed was he in his thoughts. He shook himself, trying to clear his head. The King would not reach his majority for several more years. In the meantime, the job of protecting him from ambitious nobles and guarding his interests against those who would exploit them fell on Taerin's shoulders. He would do what was necessary, however disagreeable, and pray that it was enough for the end to justify the means.

The hulking guard that had granted him entrance emerged and pointed back over his shoulder with a grunt, his watery eyes still suspicious. Taerin pasted a smile on his face and headed down the narrow hall. Pushing open the door at the other end, he stopped in his tracks and blinked, surprised at the sight that greeted him.

Instead of being as dim and shabby as the room he had left, this room was clearly designed to impress visitors. Sunlight flooded in through two large windows. An imposing desk stood facing the door, behind it a high-backed leather chair. The cheerful yellow paint on the walls set off a couple of hanging landscapes and a thick carpet covered the floor. Two potted plants held sentry duty on either side of a well-stocked bookcase.

A short, portly man with a balding pate rose as he entered, a wide smile stretching across his face. "Welcome, my lord," he said, the slightest hint of a foreign accent on his tongue. He bowed and gestured to a chair.

Taerin sank into the seat, noticing as he did so that the color had faded from the carpet and the varnish on the desk was cracking. Small tufts of white cotton stuck out of rips in the leather chair and a thick layer of dust lay on the books in the bookshelf. Apparently the trader was more concerned with first impressions than lasting ones. Taerin forced a thin smile. "Master Sims, I presume?"

"The very same." The man puffed out his chest, as though his name were an honorific. His eyes glistened as he took in Taerin's appearance, the rich blue velvet doublet and white silk breeches, the gold buttons and polished boots, and the gold and silver inlaid hilt jutting out of its red leather sheath. Taerin watched the trader's tongue dart out to wet his thick lips, fat fingers twitching as though he could already feel the gold coins about to come his way, and suppressed a shudder of revulsion. "How can I be of service, my lord?"

"I find myself in need of household staff. I would like to see your... what you have to offer."

Master Sims hesitated. "My lord, the auction is on the morrow."

"I want to see them in private," Taerin said, a trace of impatience in his voice. The thought of publicly bidding on human flesh, hearing the auctioneer's callous assessment of each slave, and in the company of a large crowd of spectators made his stomach turn. "I was told that you're willing to... accommodate certain patrons before the public auction." He paused. "As long as they make it worth your while, of course."

Master Sims smiled again, showing off a row of yellow teeth. "I see my lord is a true gentleman, unwilling to subject himself to the scrutiny of the masses. I shall be most pleased indeed to give you a private tour." He bustled to a side door, pulling out a thick ring of keys. "Through here, my lord."

They passed into an open courtyard, surrounded by high walls topped with glass shards. A few guards loitered at one end, tossing dice. "The exercise yard," Master Sims explained. "Sometimes we must hold a shipment for a few days before the next sale, and we mustn't allow them to get sick and weak away from the sun and fresh air. Here we are." They stopped in front of another building while the trader muttered and flipped through his keys. He summoned a couple of guards with a wave "just as a precaution, my lord", and pushed open the door.

Taerin squinted in the dim light, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Thinking of what he knew about the neighborhood's layout, he realized that they were in the backroom of a store. The front, if he recalled correctly, was a cooper's shop. Master Sims was pulling open yet another door. This one led down a set of rickety stairs into a cellar-like space. He apologized as they descended, his voice an aggrieved whine.

"There's never enough room, my lord. I've tried to find other holding places for 'em, but no one seems to want anything to do with slaves. Seems to think it's evil. I had to rent this from that cooper at an outrageous price, and dig out the underground pens with my own money! It's completely backwards, of course, these people's sense of morality; why, in Camden and the Tricity, the slavers even have their own guilds! But we mustn't complain too much. No doubt in ten, twenty years, things will be different and Cayenne will have gotten used to the idea, and the wealth, of the trade."

"Indeed," Taerin managed through gritted teeth, silently adding "over my dead body". The air was close and damp underground, and the only illumination came from a couple of lanterns along the walls and a torch that one of the guards lit. Already, he could smell the odor of too many bodies packed into too small a space and hear the murmur of restless movement.

At the bottom, the passage led through another door, which opened with a groan to reveal a long hallway. On either side stood the "pens", as Master Sims had called them. They were nothing more than caves carved into the walls, with thick iron bars set in front. To one side of the hall stood two large, open rooms, a rough wooden tub and water pump half-visible in each. Heads rose as the trader led the way into the hall, showing haggard eyes staring listlessly out of sunken faces.

Taerin's fists clenched at his sides. The guard with the torch touched the fire to sconces along the walls, and the unexpected flares of light made those behind the bars cry out and draw back, shielding their eyes. He suddenly understood what Master Sims had said about the slaves' need for sunlight and fresh air. The stench was unbelievable, sweat from unwashed bodies mixed with human waste. He closed his eyes and took a few shallow breaths, trying to calm his anger and repugnance.

"This way, my lord," said Master Sims, oblivious to Taerin's reaction. "We separate them by age and gender, you know. What did your lordship have in mind?"

Taerin shrugged, not trusting his voice. "I... I'll know it when I see it, I guess," he said after a moment.

The trader gave him a skeptical look, but did not press the matter. He led Taerin down the hall, keeping up a running commentary about the slaves around them.

Taerin's head soon cleared enough for him to pay attention. He stuffed his reluctance and disgust back into a corner of his mind, peering into the cages at their inhabitants. What he saw was not encouraging. Many sat with their heads hung down, dispirited and apathetic. Others glared at him with hatred burning in their eyes, teeth bared like wild animals. Neither kind, Taerin knew, would serve him willingly or keep his secrets. He hadn't been expecting unswerving devotion, but if these were his only options, he might be better off taking his chances with hired servants.

Taerin was about to move on when one man caught his attention. Dark eyes gazed steadily into his own, cold and fearless. The tawny skin and straight black hair, pulled back in a braid, told Taerin he was a native of the deserts to the west. There was something about the way the man sat, one leg folded and arm resting on his knee, that suggested coiled readiness. His muscles rippled when he moved and in the flickering light Taerin could make out the jagged shapes of scars on his bare chest.

"Ah, a fine specimen, is he not, my lord?" Master Sims said, noticing Taerin's interest. "As you no doubt know, most of our slaves come from the deserts these days, but you can hardly do anything with them before you break their spirit. Savages, they are. This one though, he was caught young and trained as a guard in a nobleman's house. Wields a good sword, or so I hear."

"Why is he here then?"

"Well, seems he and his fellow guards failed to protect the young lord they were supposed to serve. He was killed in a planned attack, I think. In a fit of rage, the father sold the young lord's entire household to me, at quite a bargain too. The whole lot's scheduled to be sold tomorrow. He'll fetch a good price on the block, unless my lord is interested?"

"No," Taerin said, tearing his eyes away from the man and shaking his head as though coming out of a trance. "No," he repeated more firmly, ignoring the twinge of regret that plagued him. "I've no need of a warrior. Let's move on." He followed Master Sims' footsteps, but as he walked away, he could feel the man's gaze on his back, silent and assessing.

"This is where we keep the womenfolk and children," Master Sims said as they approached another cell. "If you're looking for a servant, you'll likely find what you need here." He gave Taerin a salacious grin. "Some of these girls can serve in more ways than one, my lord." His ribald chuckle echoed off the walls.

Before Taerin could respond, a loud grating noise shook the metal bars as the outer door opened. A trio of guards came into view, two toting heavy slop buckets and wooden bowls while the third held his naked sword in his hand. One by one, they opened the cell doors and set the food and a stack of bowls inside before retreating and locking the doors again. Taerin wondered what Master Sims fed his slaves that would make them eye the proffered meal with such a complete lack of enthusiasm.

A trickle of sweat ran down his brow, and Taerin wiped at it impatiently. He was weary of the ordeal and eager for it to end. He was about to turn away and examine the women huddled in their cell when a loud clamor broke out and a guard shouted in alarm.

Taerin whirled just in time to see the second guard go down and a figure burst out of his cell. Catching the remaining guard by surprise, the slave wrenched the sword from his grasp and drove it into his side in one smooth motion. The guard screamed as he fell against the open cell door, slamming it shut before he hit the ground with a thump. Pandemonium erupted as slaves on all sides began screaming and yelling, hands thrust through the bars as though pleading for help. The two guards who had accompanied Taerin and the trader rushed to aid their comrades.

Master Sims was right, Taerin thought with bemused interest as they engaged. The man -does- wield a good sword.

Holding his weapon in a double-handed grip, the slave slashed at the guards as they came up. He ignored the howling around him, eyes intense and focused, movements as deliberate as if he were sparring in a fencing salon. The first guard went down quickly, his sword flying from his hands and his eyes rolling up to show their whites as the man dealt him a solid blow to the head. The second, more cautious, tried a few probing strikes that were easily parried. The slave feinted to the left, drawing his opponent off-balance, then spun in a tight circle, his hilt coming down hard on the back of the guard's skull. The man crumpled without a sound.

Taerin had a bare second in which to own himself impressed before the slave lifted his sword and charged with a roar, the first sound Taerin had heard from his throat. Behind him, Master Sims gave a screech of pure terror and stumbled back, but Taerin hardly registered the trader's fear. Reflexes from a lifetime of training took over. His sword rang free of its sheath with a clear, bell-like chime as he stepped up to meet the charge. The other sword came down on his with a clang, jolting his whole arm, but he held firm. For a moment, their eyes met over their locked blades before they both drew back to assume new positions.

Taerin sidestepped the man's thrust, his own weapon darting forward, trying to find a point of weakness. The man parried and fell back a step, a startled expression on his face. His eyes narrowed and a snarl escaped him, but his next attack showed that he would not underestimate his opponent again. For his part, Taerin fought with a deadly calm. He did not want to kill this man, whose only fault lay in trying for his freedom, but neither was he about to let himself be impaled on some stranger's blade. Besides, time was on his side; already he could hear the shouting and commotion from outside as the guards in the courtyard began to realize that something was wrong.

From the look of desperation in the other man's eyes, he could hear it too. His strikes became less calculated, more careless as he took greater risks, leaving himself open and barely able to hold off Taerin's counterattacks. Finally, with a grunt, he took a wild swing.

Taerin evaded the blow, turning so that he was just beyond its reach. The man was overextended and his balance off. At that moment Taerin could have easily run him through, but instead he caught the other's sword on the tang of his own. A subtle twist of the wrist, and it fell with a clatter. Not giving his opponent any time to recover, Taerin followed through, ducking and stepping neatly into the man's guard and planting an elbow squarely into his midriff. The man collapsed to his knees with a groan, arms folded over his torso as he tried to regain his breath.

Taerin lowered his weapon and stepped back. In the heat of the moment, he had had no choice but to defend himself, but now that the fight was over and he saw the two knocked-out guards stirring, a strange regret gripped him. He shifted, but before he could analyze it further, an enraged cry startled him.

Master Sims had retrieved the man's fallen weapon, and now he lunged forward, spittle flying from his lips. "Murderer! Assassin! Try to kill me, will you? I'll show you!" He raised his arm.

Taerin's sword snaked out to intercept the attack just as it fell. For a moment, Master Sims stared at him, eyes still slightly mad, his chest heaving. "Please, Master Sims," Taerin said, amused at the trader's sudden burst of courage now that the threat had abated. "I think he's subdued. T'would be a terrible waste to kill him thus."

The words seemed to bring the trader back to his senses. "True, true," he muttered, dropping the sword and wiping a hand across his brow. At that moment, the two guards fell on the man from behind, wrestling him to the ground and pinning his arms. One added a vicious kick to his ribs for good measure, then hauled him to his feet and punched him in the face. The man grunted at the impact, but made no other sound. A cruel gleam lit the trader's eyes as he watched. "Still, it might be worth it to make an example of him, so no one else gets any bright ideas. You hear that?" he sneered at the slave. "I won't kill you -- that would be too easy. I'll have you chained up to the whipping posts and lashed until you've got no back left, and I'll make everyone watch! That'll teach 'em, and you too, I daresay!"

Taerin turned away, disgust twisting his stomach as Master Sims continued to rant and abuse his victim. By now, the guards from outside had arrived to assist their hurt companions and a fearful hush had settled over the other slaves. Taerin sheathed his sword slowly, suddenly tired and wanting nothing more than to escape the confines of this underground dungeon. His eyes wandered aimlessly to the cell where the women were held. Like the other captives, their wide, glazed eyes showed their horror. Someone wailed quietly in a corner while others hugged small children close. One young woman stood pressed against the bars, tears running down her face and a wrapped bundle clutched to her breast.

Taerin looked away from their misery, feeling unaccountably guilty, for all that he had acted in self-defense, and found himself staring at the man held in the guards' grasp. A trickle of blood ran down his face from a cut on his forehead and his lips were bloody. He paid no attention to Master Sims, gloating over his punishment, but stared straight at Taerin. There was no fear in his eyes, but the boundless anguish in its place pierced Taerin's heart. The man was unafraid of his fate, so why was despair written across his features?

Taerin chewed at his mustache, a frown forming across his brow as his Spymaster mind began to work. Now that he thought of it, the man's actions made no sense. He had escaped from his cell and overpowered the guards. There had been nothing barring him from bolting out the door. With a bit of luck, he could have won past the other guards, who would have been startled and unprepared, and Taerin doubted that the wall of the courtyard would have presented too big a challenge. Once outside, an escaped slave could have found refuge among many of the common folks, or lost himself in the market day crowds.

So why had he decided to charge deeper into the passage to attack Taerin and the trader? To eliminate witnesses, or prevent them from attacking him from behind? Taerin doubted it. The man had chosen to knock out the guards instead of killing them, and from what the Spymaster had seen, a trained warrior like that would never have given in to a panicked impulse. He had a reason, and a desperate one, for what he had done, and to persist even after it became clear that Taerin's skill surpassed his own.

Then Taerin gasped as the connection formed in his mind, like a flash of lightning illuminating the darkness. His head whipped back to find the man's eyes. They weren't looking at him, he realized. They were looking beyond him. And looking back at him was the young mother he had noted earlier, one hand held to her mouth, trying to stifle her sobs.

The guards were dragging the man away, their rough handling making him stumble. Master Sims followed, still muttering dire threats. In the space of a heartbeat, Taerin had made up his mind.

"Hold," he called, his voice clear and commanding. They stopped to look at him in amazement. Master Sims shook himself.

"My lord," he cried, bowing and unctuous once more, "My lord, my deepest apologies! In the fervor of the moment, I had almost forgotten your lordship! Yet how could I, with such a recent demonstration of your bravery and courage? Please, my lord, wait right there, I'll just put this rebellious slave in the stocks, then I'll return to finish our business!"

"Hold, Master Sims," Taerin repeated, softer this time but no less imperious. "Surely a few minutes' delay will make no difference in the end?"

The trader looked confused at the request, but nodded, the memory of Taerin's battle still clear in his head.

Taerin approached the cell and the woman inside in a slow arc, not wanting to startle her by too direct an advance. Even so, she shrank back from the bars, hand lowering to shield her babe. Taerin caught her eyes and held them, silently asking her to trust him, though he knew she had no reason to after watching him help the slavers. Still, he was the Spymaster of Cayenne, and he was used to imposing his will upon others. She did not draw near, but neither did she back further away, though she trembled as he came up. Taerin held her eyes a moment more, then reached one hand through the bars. She gasped, instinctively jerking her babe away, but when he glanced at her, she reluctantly allowed him to peel back the first layer of the swaddling.

A plump, round face crowned by peachy fuzz peered up at Taerin through two curious black eyes. Taerin stroked the soft cheek with one finger and the head turned, looking for a nipple. The babe gurgled, one small fist breaking free of the swaddling and rising to wave aimlessly in the air until he caught it. Tiny fingers curled around his.

Taerin took a careful breath and released it, startled by the emotion that stirred in his chest. He gently pried his finger loose and stepped back, turning his head to look at the man down the hall. The longing he saw confirmed his suspicions, a naked hunger on the man's face that twisted his heart.

Turning away from the cell, Taerin strolled casually to where Master Sims waited, the trader's mouth pressed into an irritated line, careful that his bored expression gave away nothing of his thoughts. It was true what he had told the trader, that he had no need for a warrior, but he had even less use for someone whose loyalty might be swayed. As his old Master once told him, "A man with a family is a man with something to lose." But beyond that, beyond the cold logic of the Spymaster that governed his life, he knew that if he walked away and turned his back on these people in their plight, he would never be able to look his King in the eye again, would never be able to say truthfully that he was worthy of the King's service.

"Is my lord finished?" Master Sims asked, trying and failing to conceal his impatience.

"Mmm, almost," Taerin drawled. He swept his eyes up and down the slave's half-naked body, lips pursed thoughtfully. "Perhaps I was mistaken earlier, Master Sims. Maybe I do need a warrior after all. How much do you want for him?" His lips twitched as slave, trader, and guards alike gaped at him.

Master Sims recovered quickly. "Him? This one? Oh, my lord, surely not! If it's a fighter my lord wants, I have many others, more skilled, more--"

"I don't know that I can survive a more skilled slave," Taerin interrupted, amused. "How much?"

The trader struggled with himself a moment, torn between greed, the reluctance to offend a potential buyer, and a thirst for vengeance. Almost he was on the verge of refusing the sale when the idea struck him. His oily smile bloomed. "Fifteen hundred gold, my lord," he stated.

The guards gasped at the outrageous sum, but Taerin only burst into laughter. "For a slave whose back you were about to have whipped off? I think not. Two hundred."

"'E's got fire, my lord, and that's not something that can be bought! Thirteen hundred."

"Yes, and I've seen to what uses he puts that fire of his. Four hundred."

"Four hundred for such a well-trained guard? 'Tis robbery! One thousand."

"A well-trained guard who apparently failed to protect his last lord. Five hundred."

"'E could fetch more 'n that on the auction block! I can't possibly settle for less than eight hundred, at least!"

Taerin rubbed his chin, brushing one finger against his mustache to wipe away his grin. In the heat of bargaining, Master Sims had clearly forgotten his original plan to force him to buy a different slave. "Hrm," he said, as though considering his choices. "'Tis still a high sum. Very well, but I'll want you to include his wife and child as well."

The man's head snapped up as though jerked by a string, his eyes enormous. From down the corridor, Taerin heard the girl gasp. He kept his own gaze fastened on Master Sims' face, eyelids drooping as though bored by the interaction. The trader looked confused for a moment, as though unaware that this particular slave had such things as a wife and child. He had, Taerin remembered, bought the household entire, after all. Realization dawned slowly across the trader's face, then he roared.

"Eight hundred gold for three healthy, able-bodied slaves! Ye must take me fer a fool!" he cried, his accent becoming more pronounced in his passion.

"Oh please," Taerin waved a dismissive hand. "Able-bodied indeed! I grant you that without the babe, you might make a good price off a woman her age, but that child makes the pair of them more of a liability than anything else. It's too young to be separated from its mother and it'll just be another hungry mouth for years to come. What's more, that woman's going to have to spend half her time taking care of it instead of working, so you're really only selling me half the labor of a normal slave, not to mention the extra food and other costs. You'll be lucky to get so much for her at your auction. I suggest you think over my offer."

Master Sims growled, then fell silent as he considered Taerin's words. His visage darkened into a scowl, but even he could not dispute their truth. Still, it galled him to admit it. "Nine hundred," he said, a stubborn set to his jaw.

Taerin eyed the trader just long enough to make him wonder at the wisdom of challenging a nobleman, then shrugged and smiled. "Eight-fifty. If you agree to clean them up and arrange for some form of transportation. I'm not about to march them through the city like dogs on a leash." One corner of his mouth curled upwards. "And there might be a little extra in it for you and your guards too, to recompense you for your lost revenge."

Master Sims blinked, taken aback, and even the guards looked surprised to be reminded of their original intentions. Still and all, now that their anger had had a chance to cool, Taerin knew that they would find the prospect of gold much more tempting than slapping around a helpless slave. The guards, at least, were looking at each other and grinning. Master Sims must have noticed as well, and bethought himself of his future relations with his men if he refused. He nodded decisively. "Done!" He rubbed his hands together and beamed at Taerin like they were now the best of friends. "Perhaps my lord would like to wait in my office while my men prepare them? I'll be along directly."

Taerin nodded and pushed open the door. "Oh, and Master Sims," he said right before stepping through onto the stairs. "Do make sure you and your men restrain yourselves during the... preparation. Remember, they're not yours anymore, and I don't pay for damaged goods."

The shadow of hesitation flitted across the trader's face so quickly Taerin would have said he had imagined it if he had not known better. Master Sims bowed. "My lord may rest assured that we will take the utmost care."

Taerin ascended the stairs, taking the last few two at a time and throwing open the backdoor of the shop to emerge into the courtyard. Ignoring the guards, he closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh fall air until he thought his lungs would burst. He grinned, half-surprised to find that the sun still shone overhead. He could hear sounds of the marketplace carried on the air, the merry voice of a street minstrel rising exuberantly overhead. The guards looked at him as though he had lost his mind, but Taerin only laughed at their puzzled faces as he crossed the courtyard.

Once inside the office, he appropriated pen and paper to compose a short note to his factor, then summoned a guard to deliver it. He spied a bottle on the table and helped himself to some of his host's wine. Just as he finished his glass, Master Sims entered, the man behind him, now considerably cleaner. Two guards flanked him and chains shackled his hands and feet, but he did not appear any the worse for wear. Taerin raised an eyebrow at the trader, who shrugged.

"She wanted to wash the babe," he said, correctly guessing Taerin's question. At that moment the door opened again to reveal the surly guard who had admitted Taerin. Behind him came a fussily dressed elder gentleman followed by a uniformed guardsman bearing a heavy, clinking bag.

"Only for you would I do this, Lord Torris," sniffed the notary, ignoring the others in the room. "Frankly, I was very surprised by your request, but if you're sure..." He sounded hopeful that Taerin would reconsider.

"I'm sure, Master Brogan. Do you have the papers?"

"Yes yes, of course." Master Brogan produced a pair of spectacles and a sheaf of documents. "I do so witness... blah blah blah, that on this day of... and so forth... that Lord Taerin Torris did purchase... from below establishment... at the price of... the following individuals... ah, here we are." He peered over his specs. "I'll need their names before you can sign."

That brought Taerin up short. He blinked, then gave a sheepish chuckle. "I'd almost forgotten. What's your name?" he asked, turning to the man.

A pair of dark eyes met his own green ones. They narrowed with suspicion, but after a moment the man gave in. "Derryk," he admitted with a toss of the head that sent his braid dancing.

"And those of your wife and child?"

The harsh lines of the man's broad face relaxed and softened at the thought of his loved ones. "Adita and..." his mouth twitched into a smile "And little Derryk." He cleared his throat, looking suddenly abashed, and mumbled something that sounded like "...said she wanted to name him after his father."

"Because he is a brave, noble man," spoke a clear voice behind him. Derryk whirled, and the next instant had his arms around his wife and son, crushing them into his embrace despite the chains. She wrapped one arm around his back, her other holding the babe, and buried her face in his chest. Her shoulders shook.

"Ahem, yes, well," Taerin turned away from the sight, embarrassed at having witnessed their joy. A rueful smile tugged at his mouth at the twinge of envy that pricked him. He clapped his hands together briskly. "You heard the man, Master Brogan. Derryk, Adita, and little Derryk."

"Yes, quite." The notary sounded thoughtful. He gave Taerin a penetrating look. "Well, perhaps 'tis not so poorly done after all, my lord." He affixed the names to the paper, then blew on it to dry the ink before presenting it to the young nobleman.

Taerin stared at the contract for a moment, the final step to completing his purchase. For a moment, the thought brought back the old feeling of disgust, but then he glanced at the trio standing together, still lost to everything else around them, and signed his name with a flourish.

"I've arranged for a wagon, my lord," said Master Sims after the transaction was finished. He looked quite cheerful. "It should be waiting outside. It has been such a pleasure!"

"I'm sure," Taerin returned dryly.

"I shall make a fair copy of this document, my lord, and send it to you with all haste," Master Brogan said once they were outside watching Derryk help his wife into the wagon. He shot Taerin a sidelong glance and waggled his eyebrows. "If you don't mind my saying, my lord, while I sincerely hope that there is no next time to this kind of business, should you desire more servants of this... nature, I advise you to call upon me beforehand. As a notary I cannot take sides once a deal has been concluded, but that old rascal in there cheated you quite badly."

Taerin chuckled. "I figured. You can hardly expect a man like him to be honest after all."

"You knew?" Master Brogan's eyebrows shot up. "And didn't call him on it?"

In the back of the wagon, Derryk had pushed some straw into a sort of nest. He led Adita to it and settled down beside her, one arm draped behind her neck, her head resting on his shoulder, the babe nestled safely between their two bodies. Taerin knew that neither one trusted him yet. To them, he was just another owner, and an eccentric one at that. Still, the contented smiles on their faces soothed his heart. There would be time for more later, when they got to know each other better.

"All in all, Master Brogan," Taerin said lightly, heading toward the wagon himself. "I think I got the better deal."