Obsidian (6 page)

“Only one of them saw me. I had seen him briefly during my time here before. We made eye contact but by the time he looked twice, I was gone.”

Chiyo took a long pull of Lascombe Pure. “We’ll have to keep our heads lower than ever. Kynell forbid that Corfe and the king start thinking of us as Obsidian spies!”

“Apparently the king doesn’t show his face very often. And most people are grumbling about Corfe. You know he has become the king’s main advisor—it was he who insisted that the army be quartered in Lascombe. But he doesn’t come out much either, except early in the morning, accompanied by that fellow named Gair.” He paused and sipped his own Pure, not bothering to hide a grimace at the taste. “What about you?”

Chiyo adjusted his hood and looked around again to make sure no one was listening. “My contacts in the army tell me that the dissent continues and not just between the Sentries and the Keroulians. Amarian’s few battalions of humans from the Eastern Lands cause a lot of trouble all by themselves; they seem particularly put out if a Sentry and citizen manage to make peace—which can happen. If these troops don’t have something to do before too long, they’re going to make Lascombe into a war zone.”

“What do you think we should do about it?” Vancien was eager to do something – anything.

“Don’t think there’s much we can do. We’re not about to put our friend forward just to solve Corfe’s problems.”

“Our friend” was of course Amarian, but they had both agreed that to reveal knowledge of Amarian’s whereabouts would be fatal. Corfe would surely hunt him out and their small band had no chance of defeating Keroul’s army. Nor would they want to, Vancien mused. Most of the soldiers were straight-forward, Prysm-fearing men. It was unthinkable to waste their lives over a dispute between himself, Amarian, and Corfe. Despite his impatience, it was better to let things rest and hope that Corfe would forget about the Obsidian Advocate, if such a thing were possible.

“So tomorrow we go to—”

A sharp look from Chiyo cut him off. Three soldiers had come in, all of them wearing Keroulian blue, although they abused the barman in a way that most Keroulian soldiers would never have done.

Chiyo and Vancien looked meaningfully at each other. These were some of Amarian’s old men. What were they doing on the far end of town? Then Vancien noticed that there was a child among them: a boy, with manacles on his wrists and a bruise under his left eye. He must have been about twelve cycles, though he did not look as terrified as a normal twelve-cycle old might in his situation. Vancien nudged Chiyo, who expressed no interest. Neither one of them said anything as they watched the soldiers propel the boy toward a stool far away from the door.

“Stay there, you little runt!” one of them commanded. “An’ don’t be thinking about trying to escape!” He then returned to his comrades, who were already joking about thieves and slave markets.

To Vancien’s surprise, Chiyo drained the last of his drink and stood up.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Come on, my friend.” Chiyo responded in an even voice. “It’s late and we have to make an early start tomorrow.”

But Vancien did not move. “Are you joking?” he whispered fiercely. “We can’t leave this child in the hands of those. . .those men.”

Chiyo sat down again, looking as determined as Vancien had ever seen him. “Didn’t you hear the soldiers? The boy’s a thief.”

“But they’re taking him to the slave market!”

Chiyo clinched his fists and lowered his voice. “I know. But I have a plan. We just have to get out of here quietly and—”

He was interrupted by a drunken voice, so near that he could smell it as well as hear it. “Hey, you two! What’re you whispering about?”

Chiyo looked up to see one of the soldiers standing next to their table. He was clutching a mug and glaring at them. His lips were already wet with dark ale, which dripped down his chin into his gnarled beard. He was a big man, with a gut so substantial that it was barely contained by his belt. Chiyo did his best to appear intimidated.

“Sorry, sir! We didn’t mean to trouble you.”

“Well, you have. Now I suggest you get your hides out of here before I give
you
trouble.”

Chiyo nodded and made to leave. Vancien followed, trusting in whatever his friend had planned, but not without glancing again at the boy on the stool. His curiosity did not escape the soldier’s notice.

“What’re you looking at?” the big man growled as he grabbed Vancien by the collar. His breath stunk of ale and fish.

“Er, nothing, sir. I just couldn’t help but notice how young your prisoner was.” From the corner of his vision, he could see Chiyo roll his eyes.

“Oh yeah? Well, a thief’s a thief and we caught this runt climbing out of somebody’s window. He’s not the youngest brat to become a slave, you know.”

Vancien adopted a whine. “Oh, I know, I know. He deserves it, I’m sure.” He glanced again at the boy, who was looking at him with open disdain. “Yes, uh, we’re grateful to soldiers like you who keep order in our city.”

Pleased with the answer, the soldier let him go. “Aye, you should be. It’s our job to keep parasites like this off the street.” He raised a gloved hand to lay a blow on his prisoner, but found himself unable to complete the movement. Chiyo had caught his wrist.

“Pray, sir,” Chiyo said, still looking submissive. “Do not strike the boy any more. It will lower his price at the market.”

“Yeah? Powder covers up bruises well enough. What’s it got to do with you anyway?”

Chiyo jingled his money purse. “I’ve come into town for the purpose of purchasing a slave. This boy here looks exactly like the type my wife wants to help around the farm. If I buy him off of you now, you’ll get the money instead of some slaver.”

The soldier looked at his companions, who only shrugged. Why argue with such an offer?

“Yeah, okay. What’s it worth to you?”

“Twenty athas.”

The soldier smirked as his companions rumbled. “Twenty athas?! A wee babe’s worth more than twenty athas!”

“But if you turn him in to your captain, you won’t get any money at all, will you? Just a slap on the back, which won’t buy anything to drink.”

Again, the logic was difficult to oppose. The soldier looked again at his taciturn comrades before accepting the offer. The money was exchanged and the boy was un-manacled, hauled off the stool, and pushed over to Vancien, who took hold of his arm. Without another word the three escaped into the street.

Chiyo maintained his silence and Vancien followed suit as they hurried away from the tavern. The boy, meanwhile, watched his new captors with a mixture of relief and fear. When they were several blocks away, Vancien let go of him.

“All right, you’re free. Be sure to stay away from those soldiers. If you’re a thief like they say, I suggest you consider finding another line of work.”

Chiyo nodded his curt agreement, but the boy only rubbed his arm and looked at them. “You’re not taking me with you?” His head was uncovered in the cold night air and Vancien could not help but notice how ragged his hair was; it looked as if it had been hacked unevenly by a dull knife. But the child had round, expressive eyes that were looking at him reproachfully.

Vancien was taken aback by the question. “Of course not. What do we need with a slave? We just thought we’d get you out of the hands of those brutes.”

But the boy glared at them. “Then you should’ve left me with them,” he declared. “‘Least if I went to the slave market, I might be bought up by someone.”

“You
want
that?”

Before the boy could respond, Chiyo interrupted. “We’ve heard a lot about this slave market, boy. Last time I was in Lascombe, it was against the law to own slaves.”

The boy shrugged and pushed his hacked and dirty hair out of his face. “They just started doin’ it this breach. Some country folk come in, said they had goods to sell. Turns out it was their own families! Guess they was so poor they didn’t have no choice.”

“But what about the law?”

The boy ignored the fact that Vancien had asked the question and kept on addressing Chiyo. “After they ran out of poor families, some
narfats
took to sellin’ prisoners o’ war—them Cylini folk. Now they have a market ‘bout once every fortnight. The king doesn’t seem to care. Some say it’s good for the conom—econ—connem—”

“Economy.” Chiyo finished for him, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself. “But these slaves can’t have good ends. Why would you want to become one?”

The boy held up his tattered sleeve. “I’m already a slave—leastwise I feel like one. I only steal for food, mister. An’ Gorvy takes most of that, anyways.”

Both Chiyo and Vancien had more questions—their concern about the slave market was obvious—but there was no sense conducting the interview out in the cold street. Since Chiyo had given most of his money to the soldier, Vancien bought the boy a warm drink at another small tavern. When they were all seated, they renewed their questioning.

Vancien began. “Who’s Gorvy? Your father?”

The boy snorted into his drink. “That’ll be the day the Chasm opens! My dad’s dead, an’ my mother too. Gorvy. . .” he suddenly turned nervous, glancing around the room as if this Gorvy might appear. It was the sort of look Vancien had seen very recently. When he spoke again, his voice was in a whisper. “Gorvy’s the
narfat
who makes us steal for him. Then he takes what we get and gives us crumbs to live on.”

“Us? Who’s us?”

“Lots of kids like me. Our group’s only got four, but I know he’s got others. . . somewhere.” He took a purposeful drink, as if it had been his life’s mission to discover where these other groups were.

After catching Chiyo’s eye, Vancien excused himself for a moment and stepped away from the table. Chiyo mumbled something to the boy, then joined him.

“Chiyo, what if that girl is in the same situation? Perhaps the boy knows her.”

“I doubt it, Vance. This is a big city. This Gorvy could have hundreds of children under his thumb.”

Vancien looked again at the boy, who was staring into his drink. “Still, it’s worth checking out.”

“And even if he did know her, what does it matter? We can’t drag children around with us.”

“We could find homes for them.”

Chiyo’s eyes narrowed in reproof. As he did so, he seemed to draw on all the quiet dignity the people of the West were known for. “We’re set to leave in three days, Vance. And in that time, we’re supposed to keep our heads
low
. Even if we found families, it could be dangerous for them to have contact with us. I don’t know anybody in this town I’m willing to compromise, do you?”

“We’ve got to do something. We can’t just send this kid back to Gorvy, whoever he is.” As he considered their options, an unlikely image came to mind. But the more he thought about it, the more likely it became. The prospect made him smile.

“What? What are you grinning about?”

“I think I have a good candidate. I only hope he’s still in town.

CHAPTER
FIVE

Three days later, it was time for Vancien and Chiyo to leave Lascombe. They had found out what useful information they could and soon Telenar would begin to worry about them. But before they could sneak through the city gates and find Vancien’s Ealatrophe, they had one more task to accomplish.

Upon their many assurances of good intentions, the boy, Lucio, agreed to lead them to his “group.” He waited until the middle of the day, explaining that this was the least likely time for Gorvy to come by, and then led them into one of the poorer parts of the city. As the crowded buildings began to block out the orb-light, Vancien knew that his hunch was right. They were soon stopped in the same alley where he had taken rest a few days before.

“Here it is.” Lucio whispered, “Wait here while I make sure everything’s clear.”

He went on a few paces then disappeared into the stone wall on his right. Chiyo and Vancien waited for several breaths before seeing his head poke out, then his hand, waving them on. They proceeded slowly, with hands on their swords. During their time outside, it had occurred to Vancien that there was nothing to guarantee this child’s trustworthiness. What would stop him from betraying them to better his own prospects?

They arrived at the spot and discovered a thick, tattered curtain covering a cut-out in the wall. At Lucio’s bidding, they ducked down and went through.

“This is it.” The boy said, kicking at a pile of hay on the floor. “See why slavery don’t look so bad?”

Aside from the piles of mud-spattered hay, there were three other children in the room. Lucio must have prepared them for the newcomers, since they neither ran away nor cried for help. Instead, they looked rooted to the gravelly floor. Vancien, bent low to avoid hitting the ceiling, recognized the girl from the alley. She was watching him, but did not say anything. The two others were very timid: one was a girl who appeared to be blind, the other was a small boy—about four cycles—who clung to the blind girl.

For a moment all parties stood in awkward silence. Then Lucio began introductions. “These are my mates. That one there,” he pointed to the girl Vancien had already met, “is Teehma. She’s fifteen and can’t go out stealin’ no more, since she might get herself stolen.”