I am sad to say that I did not win the bid on that first vulnerable young man. I could have hung in and potentially won, but the cost just kept rising higher and higher. When the bid crossed 1,700 gold, I dropped out with a sigh. My hope was that people with money to blow would exhaust themselves early leaving me in a more powerful position later. The young man sold to Felaern for 1,900 gold. There was a lot of grumbling in the room at the price. After he won, Felaern just sat there with a little smug smile on his face.
I think I know what you must be thinking. Since I likely had the power to change that young man’s fate, why didn’t I? As Joseph Stalin once said, “Quantity has a quality all its own.” Not that I would hold up Stalin as any sort of savant or role model. I wouldn’t. But the point he made applied directly to my situation. There were many people left to be auctioned and I had met none of them. They might all be great people, or they might be a pack of assholes. Given that I had no way to judge the difference, however, the more I could save the better the chances would be that I would redeem some good people. If I spent 2,000 or more gold on every purchase, I would only end up saving seven or so. If I could drive the price down to 1,500, seven would become ten. And if I could somehow average a winning bid of 1,200, then I could purchase and free the dozen that I was targeting. I was playing a numbers game. I knew from the sale bill that there were twenty three people for sale at this auction alone.
The second person prodded onto the auction stage was a young woman, late teens or early twenties. She looked like any number of students I used to attend classes with. Nothing about her would stand out in a crowd, except for the defiant gleam in her eyes. She looked like she had a great deal of determination. I wanted to save her. I failed. When the bidding crested the 1,900 gold mark, I again reluctantly dropped out. I was the second to last bidder. That prick of an elf won again.
It was clear that he was trying to make good on his threat to buy out the entire auction. That gave me an idea. Even if he was filthy rich, there had to be some limit. I would soak the bastard, bidding him up to make him exhaust his funds. For the next half dozen people auctioned, I was always the second to last bidder to drop out. I drove the prices higher and higher, capitulating only when the bid approached 2,000 gold. Felaern always won, but after a couple of repetitions, I think he sensed what I was doing. His self satisfied smirk fell from his face and he started sending angry glances my direction. Whenever I would catch him looking at me, I would meet his eyes with my own, a half smile on my face, and give him a subtle nod. Then, the muscles would tighten around his eyes and his jaw would clench. I was getting to him and I enjoyed it.
The people for sale up to this point had almost universally been the young, hale or hearty. Prime stock you might say. When I saw the group of chained-together slaves being force marched out of Sleetfield, I recognized that not everyone met that description. There were people of all ages and varying conditions. I thought that there were more than twenty three in that coffle, but either some of them had been sold along the way or not everyone survived. Given the harsh treatment I observed by the orcish guards, I was betting on the latter.
The ninth person led out for sale was an older man, probably in his fifties. He was short and wiry, his dark hair graying and receding. His face held an expression of calculating intelligence as he faced the crowd. Although I could see a little wobble in his knees, he faced his fate with his eyes wide open.
The bidding started as it normally did, a sea of bid cards thrust into the air. By the time the price had crossed 1,000 gold, it was down to three of us. Of course, I was bidding and so was the jerk, but an orc from Felaern’s initial group was staying in as well. As the price passed 1,200 gold, the orc dropped out. When it rose to 1,300 gold, Felaern bailed out as well. When I was declared the winner, he looked over at me and winked at me with a self-satisfied grin. He must have thought he really pulled one over on me, bidding me up as I bid him up. He likely believed I was of limited means and would soon be unable to keep bidding. I could understand his belief given my down-market appearance but he was in for a rude surprise, one that I was going to dearly enjoy delivering.
The next two people I again lost to the elf. I once more kept bidding until he was paying close to 2,000 gold per person. The look of consternation on his face was priceless when another elf, who I assume was a retainer or another family member, hustled up to him and whispered something to him. After a few seconds of conversation, he angrily pushed the other elf away then turned in my direction with a murderous look on his face. I didn’t think I had just made a friend. I was fine with that.
Slave auction item number twelve was a rough looking man in his thirties who had clearly seen some hard living. His arms were corded with muscle as he stood on stage, clenching and releasing his fists. He was taller than me and stood proudly, almost as if he were holding a position of attention. Former military? I decided then and there that he was going to be free, damn the cost. If he had some combat experience he would be a tremendous asset to the small community I hoped to build. Even if he didn’t, he looked strong, accustomed to rough living, and might have leadership potential. Just as the bidding started, I heard Felaern speak.
“I don’t like the look of this one,” he sniffed dismissively. Maybe he didn’t but I certainly did.
In the end, Felaern didn’t bid but two other folks stayed in for a long time, driving the price higher and higher. I finally won, but I had to spend 1,800 gold to accomplish it. My budget was down to 12,000 gold, and I had only managed to secure two people, which was more than a little disheartening.
The next person was an older woman, and by older I mean elderly. She looked like one of the spry old grandmothers I used to see headed out to Sunday brunch dressed to the nines. In the slave smock, she looked far less impressive. She appeared resigned to her fate, thin and frail. Few people bid. Given her age and apparent physical health, nobody seemed all that interested. They treated her like damaged goods. Once again, I found myself locked in a bidding war with Felaern, but when the price rose to 1,000 gold, he bowed out. Three. I was up to three.
And that’s largely how the rest of the auction went. I didn’t get to the twelve I had originally targeted, and I was ashamed I had not been more aggressive with my earlier bids. At the end of the auction, I still had 1,200 gold left from my budget. With the right bids here or there, that amount represented the freedom of at least one other person and maybe more. My strategy had backfired in the end, but being mistaken was nothing new to me. Maybe I could come back another time and secure the freedom of someone else. At least that’s what I told myself then and there, hoping to feel a little better.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
For the rest of the auction, though, I won more than I lost. When I did lose, it was inevitably to Felaern. I was somewhat gratified when I saw the other elf, the one I thought was a retainer of some sort, approach him two more times during the auction. Their discussions were no more cordial. Felaern, you ignoramus, you’re going to have some explaining to do when you get home. I hoped whoever had control of the funds tore him a new one.
The remaining 9,800 gold I spent represented seven more individuals. One of those people was a male child I estimated to be ten or eleven years old. The other six were evenly split between men and women. There was a woman in her forties who took in the whole proceeding with disbelief, as if she couldn’t believe this was happening to her. Another woman, in her late twenties, stood staring at the back wall of the auction house stone-faced as her life was auctioned away. The final woman was in her late teens, short but densely muscled as if she were a gymnast or some other sort or competitive athlete. She was my most expensive purchase, but I would be damned before I let her get sold and used up by that elf.
The men were also a mixed bag. The first one was a shifty looking weasel-faced dude in his early thirties. I should probably be precise in my description. By weasel-faced, I don’t mean he had an actual weasel’s head. This is a fantasy world after all. He was human enough, but his beady eyes were really close together and his face was kind of long and pinched. Then there was the big dude. He reminded me of Rob, my now deceased partner, but I didn’t hold it against him. He stared out at the crowd with vacant eyes, as if he might not be all there mentally. I didn’t want to judge things by looks alone, however. We all have different stress reactions. Finally, there was a nondescript man in early middle age. He didn’t look like he had performed an ounce of manual labor any day of his life. Skinny and not very muscular, he had somehow managed to develop a fairly ponderous pot belly.
As the auction went on, many of the people who had shown up originally to bid had left, clearly sensing that there were no bargains to be had. After the last person was sold and the auction concluded, there were only a few people left in the room. That didn’t seem to bother the auctioneer at all, though, as he appeared ecstatic, like he was mentally tallying up all the coin he had made on the day’s sale. I imagine the nonrefundable deposits for the room full of people who had left empty handed didn’t hurt his feelings either.
I let Felaern leave well before I did. I didn’t want to get in an argument out at the desk where we had to settle up our purchases. I sat there until I was the last person left in the room. The cleaning crew had already moved in to take care of the mess. Every one of them had five fingers on each hand.
Finally, I stood and exited the room. I approached the desk which was staffed by a female orc.
“I was wondering when I would see you,” she said. “Are you regretting your purchases?” Her voice took on a note of menace. “Or perhaps you bid more than you could afford.”
“No, I’ve got it covered,” I said, pulling out gems and starting to stack them on the table in front of her.
“I see you do,” she replied with a tusky smile, all hints of animosity gone. “Did you bring your own manacles?”
Crap, I knew I had forgotten something. I needed to be out of town before I could explain what was really going on to the now former slaves. Until then, how would I keep them from running away?
“No, I was hoping I could arrange something with you,” I replied.
“No problem, manacles and chains for the lot will cost you another 200 gold.”
For the first time, I was glad that I had not spent the rest my budgeted money.
After getting things settled up, which took quite a bit of time with each gem being weighed and inspected with a loupe, I was told to report to the rear of the auction house to collect my purchases. I was correct in one of my assumptions. Paying in gems resulted in me losing some of their value, but that amount of gold is too heavy to carry, so it was worth it.
“Is that elf gone?” I asked. “He was giving me some unfriendly looks during the auction.”
“Master Felaern has already picked up his purchases and departed,” she answered.
“Well, that’s one less thing to worry about,” I proclaimed.
“Are your guards waiting outside?” she asked.
“I don’t need any guards,” I replied.
“Ah, an ambitious tough guy,” she said with a smirk.
Nodding, I left the front of the auction house and followed a narrow alley around to the back. The back of the auction house was significantly less grand. It was nothing more than a large warehouse full of cages, fully steeped in an oppressive air of human misery. Showing the receipt that I had obtained for my purchases to the guard at the door, I was led inside to a large holding pen. Ten sets of eyes stared at me with universal distrust when I approached.
“My name is James Smith,” I announced. “We will be traveling to my estate. I am known for treating those who work for me well. If you are cooperative, you will have plenty of food, a warm place to stay, and the various small comforts I am able to provide.”
What a line of crap. Unknowingly, they had signed up for weeks on the road with blankets and leather tarps for shelter and preserved rations to eat. It was all for the greater good though, I told myself. Hopefully, once they received full information they would see it that way. It would only take one or two poor reactions to send my plan into the dumpster.
With the assistance of the guards, each of my new people were manacled. Then, we walked out of the warehouse and headed towards the northern gate, marching through the busy city streets. The child and old woman were having difficulty keeping up, so I set a slow pace. I felt like we were being watched as we made our way through the city, but decided I was just being paranoid.
Once again, I was wrong.