Lady of Mercy

by Michelle Sagara

  Three hundred crowns? He began to move in the direction of Robert’s voice, keeping his head bent and his eyes upon the ground.

  “Three hundred?” The auctioneer’s voice held genuine surprise—and genuine pleasure. Both were rare. “Three hundred is the bid. Do I hear—”

  “Three twenty-five.”

  “Three fifty.”

  There was silence, and then a tall slim man stepped out of the crowd and headed toward the block. Darin could see him clearly as he entered his field of vision. He was robed in crimson velvet, with dark black boots and an equally black hat. Across his back—and most probably his chest, although Darin couldn’t see it—was the regalia of House Kellem. He’d seen it only twice in his life—but he remembered it.

  “Three hundred and seventy-five.”

  “Four hundred.”

  Lord Kellem’s head swiveled to the side, giving Darin a good look at the hawkish profile. The lord’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe I know your house.”

  And Robert stepped into view, as if the block were his stage. He wore a cloak of velvet as well, and Darin’s throat tightened. Please, he prayed silently, please don’t let us be caught. He remembered clearly the last time that Robert had brought new finery into their midst. Robert only shrugged.

  “I recognize it, Lord Kellem. House Montan; the money is good. Four hundred is the bid. Four hundred and twenty-five?”

  Lord Kellem nodded, but his eyes never left Robert.

  Robert shrugged again. “Four fifty.”

  “Lord Kellem?”

  The man moved once more, to stand directly in front of the slave on the block. “Four seventy-five.”

  “Five hundred,” Robert said, yawning.

  “Five twenty-five.”

  “I tire of this,” Robert said, folding his arms across his chest and leaning into the platform. “Seven hundred.”

  The minutes of silence that suddenly stretched out were a testimony to the auctioneer’s dumbfounded shock. He recovered quickly, but his face was red when he spoke again. “Seven hundred. Seven hundred is the bid.”

  Lord Kellem looked once at the slave, and once at Robert; it was hard to tell which of the two was a more pointed glare. But he nodded, curtly and forcefully, and strode back into the crowd. With a murmur, it closed around him.

  “Take your number and come back when the block has closed,” the auctioneer said, once again the smooth-faced man of business. He handed Robert a slip of slightly crumpled paper that shook. “Lord of Montan.”

  Robert nodded, his face equally businesslike. He also turned and cut neatly through the crowd, stopping as he reached Darin’s side. He did not acknowledge the boy; he was wearing a noble demeanor. “We wait.”

  Darin nodded, chin almost flush against his neck.

  And wait they did. It was agony for Darin; he kept his face frozen, unable to stop some of the horror and fear from showing, as, one by one, slaves were led to the bidding block. He recognized, in all of them, a bit of himself.

  The auction drew to a close very slowly. Nobles and merchants, satisfied with their purchases, filtered out of the open doors until only a few remained, chits in hand, to speak with the auctioneer and formalize their claim. They were tired or bored except when casting their sidelong glances at Robert; then, their eyes flickered with a curiosity that they knew enough not to express.

  Robert waited until most of these remaining nobles had gone. Then he walked to the block and handed a new attendant the small slip in his hand. The man, in simpler dress, and of a less prepossessing size than the auctioneer, glanced at it, raised an eyebrow, and then barked out an order that was high enough to carry clearly.

  In a few moments, the clanking of chains answered it.

  “Didn’t bring guards, Lord?”

  “No.”

  “Want an escort, then? For a small fee we can—”

  “No.”

  “Have it your way,” the man shrugged, obviously put out by Robert’s terse replies. He stomped to the back of the block and carefully pulled the screen that separated the selling area from the hall that led to the holding rooms to one side.

  The large giant of a slave was half led and half shoved down the long corridor behind the block. Two men flanked him, and one—at a safe distance from the reach of his arms—prodded his back with a thick wooden pole. His chest had been covered by a canvas shirt and a thin, padded vest that would probably protect him from the cold for long enough to be transferred from the block to a house. Both were off-white and unadorned.

  “Enough of that,” Robert said irritably. “I want something left for my own amusement.”

  As if this were a signal, the auctioneer, having completed the transaction that had occupied his attention, now turned.

  “Ah, Lord Montan.” He held out one hand, and after a deliberate hesitation, Robert took it. “A good purchase. If anyone can deal with this barbarian, I’m certain it’s you. Would have been a pity to let Kellem have him—wouldn’t have been much of use left. ” He held out an open palm.

  Without a word of acknowledgment, Robert deposited a small cloth sack into the man’s hand. “It’s more than coin is worth.”

  The auctioneer didn’t take Robert at his word—which was to be expected. He opened the drawstrings of the small black bag and smiled to himself.

  “We will have to have them appraised, if you’d care to wait.”

  “I would not.”

  “Ah.” The auctioneer bowed awkwardly. “Well, the account can be settled with Montan, one way or another. A pleasure doing business with you.”

  Robert made no reply. Instead, he turned to the guards. “Remove the ankle chains.”

  “Aye, Lord. And the rest as well.”

  Robert raised an eyebrow.

  “Cost of chains wasn’t covered.” The man gave an unpleasant smile. “You’d best hurry. You might want the help of the market guards, and they’ll be gone in a quarter.”

  Shrugging, Robert turned and began to lead the way. After a few moments, the large slave followed. The auctioneer watched them go.

  “Something strange about that,” he muttered to himself. His round hands caught hold of the jewel pouch, and he gave a philosophical sigh. “Still, it’s none of my bother.”

  It had been a good day.

  chapter nine

  Robert’s mood stayed grim and “noble” as he traversed the market square. His jaw was a tight, angular clamp, and the little muscles of his neck, visible over the cloak’s odd collar, twitched. He had never been a quiet man, and Darin found the ice of his silence unnerving.

  The crowds had thinned, and the boards were already being raised in the stalls; the flags would be the last thing to come down. Together, Darin, Robert, and the nameless giant joined the steady stream of traffic that was leaving by the west market gate.

  Only when those gates, with their guards and their flow of people, had been left far behind, did Robert speak.

  “Curfew’s coming. We’d best move quickly. As usual, we’re in the wrong part of town for it.”

  They quickened their pace, until the building facades surrounding them once again melted into tenements, snow, and garbage.

  Darin stared at Robert’s stiff back, then turned to glance at the man he thought of as the giant. The giant’s hair was unevenly shorn—not, Darin thought, a matter of choice—and hung in lanky, dark locks about his long face. The scar across his cheek was new, but there were older ones there as well along the line of his jaw.

  But he walked steadily, even proudly; his dark eyes were fixed to Robert’s back as if something there mesmerized him. Darin thought he could see the hint of a smile about the giant’s lips. It was hard to tell.

  They went in silence to the Red Dog, and if there were any thieves in the alley, they kept their distance from the giant and the people he escorted. The bar itself was near empty, and Verdor was nowhere in sight, although Astor could be seen cleaning mugs and scrubbing at burns in the counter. He looked
up as they entered and waved his hello.

  Robert grunted and stalked past.

  “What’s the matter with him?” Astor said to Darin.

  Darin shrugged. “He spent seven hundred crowns in the market today.” Astor’s eyes went round. “On the big man,” Darin added hastily, already regretting the reply.

  “Bet there’s going to be trouble,” Astor replied cheerfully. “He always is.”

  Darin didn’t think the comment funny at all. He scurried through the bar and up the stairs in Robert’s, and in the giant’s, wake. They headed to the room Robert occupied, and waited while he opened the door. The giant entered first, and as Darin moved to follow, Robert blocked his entrance.

  “Darin,” he said, bowing, “I’m terribly sorry to have caught you up in this mess. I can’t imagine the slave block was a pleasant experience, and I can assure you it wasn’t what I intended.” Before Darin could speak, Robert continued. “But this matter-it doesn’t really concern you. I have to discuss a few things with an old friend, and I think it’s best they remain private.”

  The door was shut in his face before Darin thought to tell Robert that the giant couldn’t discuss anything; he didn’t have a tongue. He knocked at the door, but Robert chose not to answer it, and the doors were surprisingly thick enough to muffle words, if not tone.

  “Robert, I think you’ve had enough.”

  Robert didn’t even glance up. He was a thief, after all, and if his eyes were caught and held by gold, what of it? The gold was good, even if it was only liquid. Amber fluid danced on the rim of his cup and disappeared quickly down his own mouth. He winced as the alcohol burned at the back of his throat.

  Darin was surprised he could feel it at all.

  “Astor,” Robert said, pronouncing each syllable distinctly. “Another of the same.”

  Astor glanced hesitantly at him and then nodded curtly. The bar was too busy for more. After a few minutes, a similar glass was clunked down. The liquid eddied in a brief little tide. Robert didn’t give it time to still.

  “Robert, I really think you’ve had enough.”

  Darin glanced nervously from side to side, seeing shoulders and bar stools occupied by men that he’d rather not speak to, let alone be trapped in a crowded room with. His second night on the floor of a bar hadn’t done much to improve his opinion of it. It smelled bad, it was too stuffy, and it was full of loud and boisterous people, every one of them outweighing him—that is, if you didn’t count Astor, who stayed behind the safety of the counter.

  Robert sent the contents of the ninth glass the way of the eighth. The empty shot glass was placed beside the others; they formed a neat, clear testament to a good evening’s work.

  “Robert.”

  This time, he deigned to notice Darin’s presence. His smile was quirky and unfamiliar; it stretched too tightly across his features, like a mask that didn’t quite fit.

  “You know, Darin,” he said, with perfect enunciation, “you’re beginning to remind me overmuch of my oldest brother Gregory. Astor, get me another of the same.” He reached into his pockets, pulled out two gold crowns, and casually slapped them onto the counter for emphasis.

  The idea of a brother to Robert had never occurred to Darin, and anyway, it wasn’t important now. “Robert, you—”

  “Gregory always insisted on parenting me in the most ineffective of fashions. Why don’t I just pretend you’re Gregory? I haven’t had this conversation in years.” He placed his hands against the counter and suddenly shoved the glasses to the side.

  “I don’t—”

  “Gregory, why is it that just because you don’t know how to have fun, you insist on making certain that none of the rest of us do?”

  “This isn’t fun, Robert. You’ve had too much.”

  “No, no, no. That isn’t the way it’s supposed to go. You’re supposed to say, ‘Fun is not a thing that should ever outweigh the good of Marantine, Robert. We are representatives of and to our people, and as such are expected to put on a good face.’ ” Robert gave a jerky little laugh. Like his expression, the sound didn’t fit; it was too thin and hollow.

  “Then I say, ‘You are a representative of Marantine, Gregory.’ And you say, ‘Don’t be facetious.’ And I say, ‘Ask your father.’ ”

  Robert reached over the counter and picked up his latest drink. “And you say, ‘He’s just angry. You shouldn’t have accused our uncle publicly.’ ”

  Robert spun suddenly, and alcohol rained down on the counter. “And damn you, Gregory, you self-righteous bastard, I was right!”

  Darin took a step back at the force of words that he knew he didn’t really understand. Robert stopped speaking and almost idly drank what little remained in the glass.

  “Damn you all,” he said, to no one in particular. “Astor, get me another one.”

  This time, Astor looked askance at Darin.

  “Get me another one, boy. Don’t stand there gawking. It’s rude, and I hate poor manners.”

  Astor nodded grimly, but leaned over the counter. “Get Marlin,” he whispered to Darin. “She’ll take care of him.”

  Thankful for the opportunity to hand the responsibility to someone who could deal with it, Darin began to pull away from the bar.

  Initiate, Bethany suddenly said, do not leave him here. He is ... unwise at the moment. Darin bit his lip and then nodded firmly. He walked up to Robert and caught his arm. Robert frowned and began to pull away, but before Darin could say anything, another pair of hands intervened. Darin looked first at the edge of rough cuffs, then followed the arms up to see the face of the giant.

  “Ah, Gerald,” Robert said, trying futilely to pull away. “Have you come to join me? How novel. Astor, a drink for my friend. Saurian fire, this time.”

  The man that Robert had named Gerald—and Darin wondered if that was any more real than “Mika” or “Lorie” had been—shook his head firmly.

  “No? A pity. I shall have to drink it myself. A good thing that I don’t mind drinking alone.”

  This time, Gerald didn’t bother to shake his head. He shook Robert instead. Hard.

  “You never give up, do you?” Robert said bitterly, his lips moving against collars that had ridden up his neck. “The old man’s gone. Gregory’s dead. The lands are in the hand of a new governor. And you just can’t quit.”

  Lack of a tongue had nothing to do with the silence that Gerald offered to Robert’s anger. Darin was certain of it, perhaps because the giant’s face seemed very determined and somehow peaceful.

  “Dammit, what do you want? It’s over! Don’t you understand that, you big oaf? You aren’t my keeper anymore. It’s gone. It’s finished. Just leave me alone. Let me get back to my drinkang.”

  Velvet sounded strange when ripped. Common, really.

  Stranger still was the sight, not the sound, of the water that played around the red rims of Robert’s eyes—that, and his expression. Darin looked away, knowing that it was not something that Robert wanted to share with anyone.

  Gerald didn’t care. He reached out, grabbed Robert under either arm, and lifted him from his stool. Then, the giant swiveled to one side, and he raised an eyebrow in Darin’s direction. After a moment, Darin nodded and began to lead the way out of the bar. Gerald had no difficulty following—not even when he had to drag Robert along behind him; Darin moved slowly, stopping to stammer an apology whenever he bumped into someone, which was often.

  Robert did not speak at all. He shrank inward, his eyes ringed black now, and hollow. When Gerald set him down, he walked slowly up the stairs, and if his footing was a little uncertain, no one complained.

  “What do you want me to say?” Robert, hands folded tightly across his chest, glared at Gerald.

  Gerald did not reply.

  “I can’t give you answers. I can’t give you reasons. I did what I could seven years ago.” His lips curled briefly in a smile that was no smile at all. “You know what happened afterward.”

  Gerald still cont
inued to pin Robert down with his immutable, unblinking stare. Unnoticed, Darin moved around to one side. There, he saw that Gerald’s lips were moving slowly. He couldn’t tell what the giant was trying to say.

  Robert could. “Don’t. Don’t call me that. I lost the right to that title years ago, and I don’t want it back.”

  Gerald raised an eyebrow.

  “No.”

  Deliberately and slowly, the giant raised his right arm and rolled his sleeve back. His lips made no motion; the scar spoke elegantly and starkly for itself.

  “I didn’t do that for the damned title. You were a friend once, you pompous bastard, and I owed you.” He turned on heel and started toward the door. Gerald stopped him.

  “Get out of my way.”

  Gerald shook his head, his face implacable and more impassable than the body that blocked Robert’s egress.

  “What do you want from me?”

  Gerald’s lips didn’t move. Instead, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head, both fluidly and rigidly. At any other time, it might have looked ridiculous—the giant bowing to the bedraggled drunk. But Gerald lent the gesture a powerful dignity that even Robert could not deny.

  “Damn you,” he said, in an unsteady voice that had less and less to do with alcohol. “I won’t accept this. I won’t be made responsible for you. It wasn’t my iault—I did what I could—and it’s no longer my problem!” He spun around, more to escape Gerald’s bowed head than Gerald’s presence. He reached the door, grabbed the handle, and then stopped, straining against something that Darin couldn’t see. At length, he pressed his forehead into the unadorned, stained wood.

  “Gerald,” he said, deceptively softly, “your tenure is ended. You’re free to go wherever you will—back to Illan, forward to the capital, or to Candice and her mercenary corps in Verdann. I don’t care. Do you understand?” He spun around again, losing the anchor of the door. “I don’t care. ”

  It was obvious that Robert was lying—and obvious, even to Darin, that he wanted that lie to be taken as truth and be left alone. But things were suddenly clearer to Darin, as he watched the silent giant and the man who had bought him free of slavery.