It was the day before the auction and I was really starting to panic. Assuming that I could acquire ten or so of my people enslaved off the island, what was I going to do with them? It’s not like they would be able to blend into society any better than I could. In fact, I had a distinct advantage. At least I could speak the language. It’s not like I could drag them all back to Mrs. Dorrotya’s boarding house once the auction was completed. The room wasn’t big enough to hold us all.
I had spent so much time getting ready for the purchase that I had neglected what comes after. Sure, I had thought about some things, spitballed some plans, but I believed I would have more time. Time to firm up my ideas. Time to provide them with a better life. But time slipped away from me, and I didn’t have much of it left.
I assumed I could leave them in the custody of the auction house, for a fee of course, until I was ready to take possession of them. How would I feel, though, if our situations were reversed? Would I want to spend one more day, one more hour in bondage if I didn’t have to? I don’t think so.
Staying in the capital was out of the question. Having a bunch of us blunder through the city like bulls in the china shop was a sure recipe for discovery and eventual enslavement, not just for them but for me. I assumed that I could buy some property a day or two out in the country, but every gold piece I spent on property I couldn’t spend redeeming individual liberty, and property closer to the capital was expensive. I know because I checked. I thought about maybe heading back to the ranching territory out beyond Shroud Hallow where Dato and his family lived. There seemed to be some decent people out there. Once we got there, though, would there be any property available? It’s not like I could log on to the internet and check out the Shroud Hallow page on realtor.com.
I suppose I could settle them in the redoubt out in the canyons, provided I could find it again, but how would I keep them supplied? The ground there didn’t make for fertile farming, and provisions would need to be hauled in from a great distance away. And every time I made a supply run, we would risk discovery. I may be a strapping young man, to quote Mrs. Dorrotya, but nobody would believe I ate enough for a dozen people.
We would have to find our fortune on the road. I am certain that I could cook up some semi-believable bullshit story about where we were headed to disguise our real travel plans. That part was easy. We would have to wander until we found the right opportunity, and I would need to preserve enough funds to keep us all fed, and to take advantage of that opportunity if and when it presented itself.
For the rest of the day, I prepared for travel. After asking Umog where to rent a horse, she directed me to an area outside of the northern gate of the city. Umog had warmed up to me since I made few demands on her time. I didn’t let her clean my room, there was too much risk. Once I left the gate, I found myself in an area that appeared to be the main gathering place for trade caravans. The area was dominated by warehouses, livestock corrals, and dirt streets rutted by the passage of a thousand wagon wheels. It had been dry recently and every wagon that passed kicked up a choking plume of dust. The faint breeze carried the smell of hundreds of unwashed animals and the stench of manure from the many livestock enclosures. I felt like I had stepped into a strange scene, Silk Road meets Old West.
It took me a little time to get my bearings. Eventually after wandering around and getting lost a couple of times, still not fun, I found myself in a compact business district that seemed to cater to the needs of the caravans. There were farriers and coopers, wainwrights and livery stables. Several carpenters seemed to make a living making nothing but crates. Potters manufactured amphora and weavers created sturdy but lightweight baskets from reeds harvested along the river. Surrounding the businesses were sale barns for livestock, and there were even a few general stores that sold travel provisions and other necessities for the road.
Transportation being my first concern, I browsed wagons. There were many types, from small two wheel carts meant to be pulled by humans in the narrow confines of the city to large freight wagons that could only be pulled by oxen, albeit slowly. After quizzing the proprietors about carrying capacity, maintenance needs and what would be needed to pull them, I settled on a couple of medium-sized wagons that could be pulled by either horses or oxen. They were rated to carry a couple of thousand pounds each. At least I think they were, because weights in this world were specified in stones, and I am not certain I converted things correctly. For each wagon, I purchased a couple of spare wheels as the iron-banded, wooden and spoked wheels on the wagons looked none too sturdy.
That set me back almost a hundred gold each, once I also acquired the tools needed to maintain them.
Then, it was on to the sale barns. Unfortunately, I had arrived too late in the day to take advantage of the auctions, but a helpful gentleman of an orc who was mucking out one of the holding pens directed me to a commercial livery stable. They had horses and oxen for sale. I was told that the wagons I purchased could be pulled by two draft horses or one ox. The oxen were much cheaper for some reason, probably because they moved much more slowly, but I was trying to preserve my funds so I bought three. It never hurts to have a spare. There went almost another hundred gold. I considered buying a riding horse for myself, but after seeing the prices decided that I would walk in solidarity with my fellow man. That, and I hadn’t ridden a horse more than a couple of times in my life, and had no interest in breaking my neck. Again. I told them that I would be by late in the day tomorrow to pick them up.
Finally, it was on to the general stores. I purchased things I thought we would need like a community cookpot and several weeks of provisions for a dozen people. I also obtained four large sections of leather, sewn together patchwork, to cover the wagons and perhaps serve as shelter at night. I dropped more money on a couple of dozen woolen blankets, a hundred feet of extra rope, and a couple of barrels to hold water. Bye bye gold.
Then, I went back to the sale barn and asked the helpful orc whether I could pay him for a quick lesson in hitching up oxen and driving wagons. I had to wait until his work was done for the day, but he complied at the end of his work shift. It was the best two gold I spent that day, and both the orc, who was named Num, and I were happier for the experience. I got along well with Num, and thought that if I stayed in the city he and I could be friends. He even laughed at a couple of my feeble jokes, which was a plus. I made sure, though, that he knew he was not being paid to laugh. I didn’t want him to do so out of obligation. I am not certain by the end of the lesson I was a competent drover, but at least I shouldn’t completely embarrass myself.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
It was fairly late in the evening when I returned to the boarding house. I wearily trudged up the uneven stairs and quickly retired to the washroom to get myself cleaned up for the next day. City living had made me a little soft and some of my muscles ached like they hadn’t since my early days on the road. I noted to myself that I should have made more time to keep up my physical fitness when I was lazing about, but I excused myself this time since Mrs. Dorrotya’s house didn’t have a gym.
Before bed, I made certain that my dressier clothing for the next day was set out and that it was clean and presentable. Then, I fell into a restless slumber. I was filled with anxiety and my dreams were unpleasant, reflecting my discomfort. I finally gave up trying to sleep just before dawn, and sat on the floor stretching my weary muscles. When the sun finally rose, I headed down to eat another helping of breakfast slop. I had avoided it for the last few days because the same dishes were available every day and I had quickly gotten sick of them.
On my way back to my room, I ran into Umog. I told her that I had gotten unexpected news from home, that one of my family members was sick, and that I would be leaving either that afternoon or tomorrow to return home. The sick family member excuse is so versatile. It can be spread about liberally to good effect unless someone actually knows your family. She let me know that since I had paid in advance, there were no refunds for the unused portion of my stay. I let her know that I didn’t expect one, and then slipped her a few silver thanking her for making my stay pleasant. She smiled at that. Maybe she actually liked me.
I went back to the room, got dressed up and made certain I was packed for travel. Then, I headed out to the slave auction. I still heard snide remarks from the students in the neighborhood, but this time they were about the dressed up rich kid who thought he was better than them because he was spending daddy’s money.
I arrived at the slave auction an hour before sale time. I was using my ring again to make my hands look normal, but otherwise attended looking like me. Internally wincing, I handed over another deposit, but was assured that if I made a purchase the deposit would apply to the purchase price. I was definitely going to make a purchase.
Walking into the opulent sale chamber, with its fine trappings funded by human misery, I noticed I was one of the first ones present. Wait staff wasn’t circulating yet with complimentary snacks or beverages. From my previous attendance, I knew that to bid I just needed to hold my bid card in the air as the auctioneer regularly increased the price. The last person with a card in the air won. It was fairly straightforward and I much preferred it to the quick-fire, chattering auctioneer who had presided over the auctions in my hometown.
There were a couple of people seated by themselves, but the majority of other people in the room were gathered together in a group chatting. There were six of them. Three were orcs, two were humans with the appropriate number of digits, and one was a beautiful but cruel looking younger elf. They were all males, most of them at least middle aged. It looked like buying slaves was considered a man’s job in these parts. Chauvinists. After seeing what they were wearing, bespoke suits made of the finest fabrics, their bodies dripping with jewelry, I couldn’t help feeling a little underdressed.
Because the room was mostly empty, I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation. Well, it also didn’t hurt that I had positioned myself closely with an intent to eavesdrop. When I arrived, the elf was speaking.
“These new arrivals are always so lost, and that makes them tractable, very easy to train. Show them even the barest hint of kindness and then they become devoted to you, and you can use them as you wish. And when you have to eventually discipline them, they cry like lost puppies. It’s so satisfying.”
“I understand what you are saying, Felaern,” the oldest of the two humans replied. “What I find the most interesting is the skills and experiences they bring from their own worlds. Why, one of mine knew a revolutionary design for a new plow. We have brought it to market and have greatly increased our family fortune because of it.”
I had to fight to keep my hand from drifting to the hilt of the knife at my belt. I very much wanted to sheath it up to the hilt in that smarmy, condescending elf’s body. I wanted to do it over and over again.
“Many of those from other worlds are so physically weak,” one of the orcs interjected. “It’s like they haven’t worked hard their entire lives. A few weeks in the mines or the fields sorts that out quickly, however. They do make good slaves, though. They have no place to run and they know it.”
And the kill list keeps expanding.
“Don’t worry about this lot,” Felaern said. “I have gotten permission to buy them all. Certainly, some of them will make poor investments, but I hope to find a few unpolished gems.”
That statement caused quite the uproar, most of the people in the group protesting at once. It sounded like the elf might have been a tad bit wealthier than everyone else present and that they all knew it. There was quite a bit of grumbling and a couple of entreaties to leave a couple of slaves for the rest of them to buy, but the elf just stood there silently, a smug smile on his face. Buy them all, I thought. The hell you will.
As time passed, more people had filtered into the room. There were other groups forming and soon the general clamor of dozens of voices talking drowned out the conversation from the group that I was surveilling. I could have moved closer but that would have been a little too obvious.
Instead, I turned my attention to my budget. I knew I would need to hold a couple of thousand of gold in reserve for travel expenses and finding a place to live. With the money I had previously spent on clothing, travel gear, food, lodging and magic lessons, that left me a total of approximately 17,000 gold to spend, the vast majority denominated in gems. When I entered, I made certain to ask whether gems would be accepted as payment. I was told they would be, but I was certain I would lose some value in the exchange. I felt comfortable bidding up to 15,000, or maybe a little more. I hoped that would be enough.
Waiters dressed in gaudy uniforms had begun circulating with not actually free victuals. I once again ate like a pig at the trough. Apparently, my behavior was noteworthy enough that I started getting hard stares from the waitstaff and barely concealed laughter from some of the folks seated around me. I didn’t give a shit. Let them laugh. Tomorrow, I would be gone and lives would be redeemed. At least I hoped so.
The room quieted as a finely dressed auctioneer and a couple of assistants strutted on to the low stage that ran the length of the front of the room.
“Welcome,” the auctioneer said. “You are all familiar with the terms of sale, I trust? Let us begin.” Gesturing to his right, one of his assistants led a young, short and scrawny man onto the stage. He was dressed in rough pants and a cheap smock, and he looked like he was fighting the urge to burst into tears. I didn’t blame him. I would cry, too, if I were standing in his place.
“Let’s start the bidding at 500 gold,” the auctioneer intoned. Dozens of cards shot up into the air, mine included. “Six hundred. Seven hundred. Eight hundred . . .”