‘We were all down in the sitting room,’ he said, handing her a fresh drink. ‘Except you of course. We were sitting waiting for Obli and Janno to come and give us their news. We waited and waited, and they never showed up, so we started talking about what might have happened. Noli had just finished saying that Obli was crazy to even think that the Board would give her a licence, when who should suddenly appear, having overheard everything?’
‘Oh no,’ Shella groaned.
‘Exactly,’ Sami continued. ‘Well you can fucking imagine what happened next…’
‘Language, Sami,’ Shella said, out of habit.
‘Sorry, sis. Anyway, Obli and Noli started shouting at each other, and their husbands went at it too, and soon the whole family was arguing. Obli stormed out, and the whole dinner was called off. Noli and some of the others took the kids out for the evening. Poor Chapu, after cooking all that food as well.’
‘Obli told me she was going to re-apply,’ Shella said.
Sami snorted, shook his head, and poured himself another drink.
‘Noli will never allow it,’ he said.
‘I’m not sure she’ll be able to stop her.’
Sami shrugged. ‘Anyway, what happened to you?’
‘Had to work late,’ she said. ‘Found a body in the sewage works, blocking a valve.’
‘Fuck!’ Sami said. ‘Sorry.’
‘About the corpse, or about your foul language?’ Shella smiled, for the first time that day.
Sami laughed. ‘Both.’
He refilled Shella’s glass.
‘Want to get seriously drunk?’ he said.
‘Working another double shift tomorrow.’
‘And when has that ever stopped you, sis?’
Shella sighed, and took another drink.
Chapter 2
Requisition Form
Rahain Capital, Rahain Republic – 6th Day, First Third Summer 504
‘You’re a stubborn old fool, Laodoc,’ Stoelica said. ‘He’s our son.’
‘I cannot be seen to be making an exception,’ Laodoc replied from behind his desk. ‘My enemies would say I was being hypocritical. And they would be right. To have been opposed to the war from the start, only to be a guest of honour at a victory celebration? It would look as though I were trying to claim the credit for someone else’s success.’
‘But Likiat has been away for over a year…’
‘Then,’ Laodoc said, ‘I will catch up with him on some other, less public, occasion, and pass on my congratulations more discreetly.’
‘Once again, Laodoc, you put your political ambition ahead of your family. I am reminded of why I divorced you in the first place.’
Laodoc glanced up from the piles of paperwork in front of him and sighed.
‘It has been a pleasure as always, Stoelica, but as you can see, I’m a little busy this morning.’
‘Busy,’ she repeated, her tongue flickering out, the cleft at the tip visible for a second. ‘Of course. Well, I won’t disturb you any longer.’ She picked up her hat, and strode to the door of the study.
Laodoc flinched as she slammed it shut behind her.
He took a sip of his cold bitter lemon drink, and rubbed his temples. He had a headache coming on.
Outside, in the underground caverns, he could hear the low rumbling echo of the continual parties and festivities. Twenty days of public holidays had been ordained by the High Senate, following the successful conclusion of the conflict in Kellach Brigdomin. The capital city of the Rahain Republic reverberated with victory, and was swaggering with success. Laodoc had barred his front door and closed his windows to the boisterous and cheering crowds for twelve days now. Only another eight to go before he could leave the house again.
The governing war coalition had organised daily parades through the capital’s wide, arterial thoroughfares, displaying captured booty and slaves from the campaigns, along with marching companies of heroic soldiers. Laodoc laughed to himself. Heroic? To steal some land from a band of impoverished and backward savages? A few well-armed reservists should have been able to accomplish it, and yet it had taken the army nearly a hundred thousand requisitioned soldiers from the servile classes a whole year to achieve victory.
And the cost? Seven hundred dead officers from the ruling elite, a bloody harvest of the republic’s youngest and brightest. Along with thirty thousand chattel from the lower classes who would be expensive to replace, though no one was talking about that.
He shook his head, picked up his spectacles, and got back to work.
As a gentleman of Rahain, he had no formal occupation, but was burdened with several responsibilities. While the most important was his position on the City Council, today he was looking over some neglected correspondence from one of his other roles, as the patron of a small science academy.
He sorted the requests for money into a separate pile, which soon became the largest, and skimmed through the rest, until one caught his eye.
It was a letter from the academy’s Head of Biological Sciences, informing him that she had successfully petitioned the government for a requisition of three Kellach Brigdomin captives, for the purposes of examination and study. Due to the demand for slaves however, there had been a delay in processing the request, and the Head was asking in the most polite terms if Laodoc could use his influence to intervene. Attached to the letter was a copy of the requisition form.
Laodoc checked the date of the letter.
It had arrived ten days previously.
‘Oh, bugger,’ he muttered. ‘Simiona!’
The door to his study opened, and a young woman entered.
‘Yes, master?’
‘Clear the rest of my day,’ he scowled. ‘We need to take a trip out into the city.’
If the requisition had been for three native Rahain slaves, Laodoc reflected, as his carriage jerked through the subterranean streets, he would have simply ordered them to wherever he had needed them to be. For three Kellach captives, he wasn’t so sure. Would they require an armed escort? Defeated they may be, but were they broken?
‘Here it is, master,’ Simiona said, an open scroll in her hands. ‘The recommendation is four guards for every adult Kellach Brigdomin slave.’
Laodoc raised an eyebrow. It was uncanny how she always seemed to anticipate what he was thinking. She may be new to his household, but she was fast becoming the most useful slave he owned.
‘Now that’s interesting,’ she continued, her eyes scanning the page.
Laodoc smiled. He should reprimand her more often for her over-familiar manner, but as there was no one else in the carriage he decided to indulge her.
‘What’s that, then?’ he asked.
‘It says here,’ she said, looking up with earnest enthusiasm on her face, ‘that we must keep them away from naked flames, at least for their initial period of captivity.’
‘Ahh, yes, of course,’ he replied, nodding.
‘Why is that, master?’
‘Their mages, Simiona,’ he said. ‘They are few in number, but some among them can control fire, build it, concentrate it, and throw it. I hear they were responsible for a high proportion of our casualties in the war.’
‘And could some of the captives be mages?’ she asked, her voice rising.
‘It seems unlikely,’ he replied. ‘I imagine they were all killed in the fighting.’
‘It would be amazing to be able to study one of them.’
‘No doubt,’ he chuckled, ‘though also a little dangerous. No, I’m afraid our humble science academy will have to make do with a few common specimens of savage barbarism.’
‘It confuses me, master,’ she said, though she looked far from confused. ‘You are a speaker for the peace coalition, and yet you show the same contempt towards the Kellach Brigdomin captives as those who were in favour of the war.’
‘It is not your place to question my motives, slave.’
‘Apologies, master,’ she said, her head downcast. ‘
I meant no offence.’
Laodoc fidgeted in the awkward silence that followed. He was too soft on his slaves, he knew. It had been one of Stoelica’s constant refrains over the many years of their marriage.
The carriage rolled and juddered to a halt.
Laodoc lifted the window-blind a crack and peered out. They were in a well-lit street outside the gates of a slave clearing-house, one that he had heard was filled to capacity with new arrivals from the savage tribal lands.
‘We’re here,’ he announced.
They sat and waited as the driver opened the side door for them, before stepping down to the smooth stone pavement.
Simiona gazed up at the vast cavern roof overhead.
‘Master,’ she said, ‘are we in the wine merchants’ district?’
‘We are indeed,’ he replied. ‘How did you know?’
She pointed upwards. ‘This cavern has seams of dark red quartz running through the southern roof buttresses. The wine merchants’ district is the only large cavern with that type of quartz, master.’
‘Well done!’ he said. ‘At least someone pays attention to my mineralogy lectures.’
She blushed.
‘Beoloth,’ Laodoc called up the driver. ‘Be sure to stable the carriage as closely as possible to the main entrance. We shouldn’t be too long.’
‘Master,’ he nodded. He lashed the four-limbed gaien into movement, and they lurched down the street, their scales gleaming in the lamp light of the underground city.
Laodoc brushed the dust from his tunic, and smoothed his grey hair.
Simiona was gazing up at the walls of the clearing-house.
‘Have you ever been inside one of these places before?’ he asked her.
‘Of course I have, master.’
‘Silly of me,’ he said. ‘Of course you have.’
Laodoc smothered a curse. Talking to the girl as if she were a student, rather than a possession.
He strode towards the gate, and she followed, keeping two paces behind, as properly befit her station.
The walls surrounding the compound were high and smooth, merging seamlessly into the sides of the cavern. The barred gate was guarded by a whole company of servile troops. Laodoc looked through the bars at them, searching for whoever was in charge.
An officer glanced over.
‘Good morning, Councillor,’ the captain said. He called out to his soldiers. ‘Open up.’
The great gates swung open, and Laodoc and Simiona entered.
Inside, the entrances to the holding blocks rose before them, each capable of confining thousands of slaves at a time. Each block was dug back into the side of the cavern, extending for hundreds of yards through the heart of the mountain. There were twenty such circular entrances on the dark face of the high cavern wall in front of them, four rows of five. Stairs had been carved into the wall to allow access to the three upper rows. At the base of the stairs were the administrative offices, barracks and buildings for storage.
‘Good morning, Captain,’ Laodoc said, as they walked to the offices.
‘And how may we assist you today, sir?’
Laodoc handed him the requisition form.
The captain studied it, frowning.
‘I want this expedited immediately, if you don’t mind, there’s a good chap,’ Laodoc said.
The officer swallowed.
‘Is there a problem, Captain?’
‘Of course not, Councillor,’ he replied. ‘Official channels…’
‘Have been found wanting in this case, I’m afraid,’ Laodoc said. ‘Hence the reason I am forced to come in person. Tedious, I know, but what’s to be done?’
They reached the office.
‘The difficulty is, sir,’ the captain said, ‘all of this lot here,’ he waved his arm up at the entrances to the holding blocks, ‘have already been requisitioned.’
‘What?’ Laodoc cried. ‘By whom?’
‘Well, let me see now,’ he replied, counting on his fingers. ‘Four thousand for the silver mines south of Granite Heights, eight thousand for the preliminary works on the Grey Mountains Tunnel Project, three thousand for the new iron foundries being constructed in Calcite City…’
‘Yes, yes, I see,’ Laodoc said, flicking his tongue in irritation. ‘Are there none left whatsoever, then? After all, I’m only looking for three.’
The officer shifted nervously.
‘What would you be wanting with them, sir?’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘Of what possible relevance is that?’ Laodoc snapped.
‘Well,’ he muttered, looking at the ground. ‘I heard there were a couple of other science institutes apparently interested in picking up a few slaves, for, for experimental purposes, if you catch my meaning sir.’
Laodoc paused, saying nothing.
‘And,’ the captain went on, ‘if that were the case with your academy, sir, then there might be something we can do.’
‘I see,’ said Laodoc, masking his confusion.
‘It’s just that we have a pen filled with those deemed unsuitable for any requisitioning work, where three slaves might not be missed.’
Laodoc frowned, and lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘And what is due to happen to these creatures?’
‘Once the pen’s full,’ the officer said, ‘they’re all destined to be turned into gaien-feed. Sir.’
Laodoc thought for a moment.
‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘exactly how does a slave come to be deemed unsuitable?’
‘Mostly because they’re crippled, or diseased, or proven trouble-makers, sir.’
‘And their slave licences?’
‘Ohh, they’re still perfectly valid, sir. I would just need to remove a stamp or two.’
Laodoc glanced around, checking no one was listening.
‘Take me to this pen.’
The captain led Laodoc and Simiona to the furthest corner of the compound, where there was another entrance, one he had not previously noticed.
At a nod from the officer, guards unbarred the iron rimmed circular door, and they entered.
The foulest stench Laodoc had ever experienced assaulted his senses, and he gagged, putting a hand to his mouth as the bile surged.
‘Master?’ Simiona asked. ‘Are you quite all right?’
He looked at her face, her eyes cold and expressionless.
‘Quite,’ he coughed.
The captain had halted a few paces ahead, waiting for them. The corridor behind him extended for fifty yards in a straight line. Every ten feet, there were grilled hatches set low into doors on either side.
Laodoc started walking again, though he was feeling decidedly unwell.
They stopped at the first grille on the left. The captain knelt down and peered through. He nodded to himself, and straightened up. He took a scroll down from a peg on the wall, and gestured for guards. A dozen formed up by the door, their crossbows levelled and ready.
‘Is this really necessary?’ Laodoc asked, looking at the drawn weapons. ‘For the crippled and ill?’
The officer bent down to the grille.
‘Back! Back!’ he shouted through it, then unbarred the door and shoved it open.
Laodoc glanced inside, and retched again.
‘Oh my.’
Inside the large cell was a scene of squalor and filth such as Laodoc could not have imagined. Bodies lay prostrate on the floor, several of whom were obviously dead. Some had even started to show signs of decomposition. Those alive lay huddled in excrement-plastered rags up against the walls of the cell, on the low stone benches that ringed the room. Some looked up at him in hatred, but most gazed listlessly into the distance.
The captain turned to him. ‘Any of these suit your needs, sir?’
Laodoc considered calling the whole thing off. After all, surely the academy could wait a little longer for their specimens? Damn, if only he hadn’t delayed opening the letter.
‘I’ll need to take a closer look,’ he
sighed, adding ‘unfortunately’ under his breath.
The captain nodded, and gestured to his soldiers. Six of them entered the cell and took up positions by the door, their crossbows remaining pointed towards the captives at all times.
Laodoc went through the entrance, being careful not to tread in anything too unpleasant, his eyes stinging from the ammonia filling the air. He noticed Simiona by his side. Her face continued to display no emotion, but she had paled considerably.
He turned back to the captives, distancing himself emotionally from what he was looking at, much as he did when he was dissecting a specimen for an anatomy demonstration. These are just specimens too, he said to himself. Nothing more.
‘What about these three?’ he said, pointing to a small group crouching together in a corner. ‘They look alive, at least.’
The officer squinted at the numbered tags attached to the captives’ ankles, and consulted his scroll.
‘Trouble-makers, those ones.’
‘And what did they do?’
‘Not recorded, sir,’ the officer said. ‘Could have been one of a hundred things. Fighting, stirring up dissension, you name it.’
Laodoc studied the small group. Two females and a male. This was the closest he had ever been to any of the Kellach Brigdomin, having stayed indoors and missed the great parades.
They were pale-skinned, and very large, but those differences notwithstanding, they appeared to him to be remarkably similar to people he had seen from the Realm of the Holdings, far to the north.
‘Ape,’ he muttered.
‘I’m sorry, sir?’
‘What? No, nothing,’ Laodoc said, breaking out of his thoughts. ‘I’ll take them.’
‘Excellent, sir,’ the officer grinned. ‘Now we can go and do the paperwork, while the guards prepare your specimens for travel.’
Back at the office, Laodoc sat enjoying a cool drink, while the captain carefully erased the ‘unsuitable’ stamp from the three slave licences.
‘There you go, sir,’ the captain winked, handing the licences over. ‘Good as new they are.’
Laodoc put them into the inside pocket of his overcoat.
‘Now,’ the captain went on, ‘about our administrative fee. Sir.’
The Queen's Executioner Page 3
