by Victor Poole
"I don't think she would dare," Philas said. "Trade is opening up. There are three caravans of good behind us, still in the desert, two from other cities than our own. The Thief Lord cannot afford to destroy trade relations with the outside."
"You don't understand," Ajalia said impatiently. "She won't destroy trade relations. I don't know what she'll do, but somehow we will end by losing everything."
Philas looked at Ajalia. Skepticism was in his eyes.
"You think I'm being suspicious, or jumping to conclusions," Ajalia said. "I've seen her type before, I've seen what happens."
"What happens?" Philas asked.
Ajalia shook her head. "Nothing happens. Nothing that you can pin down, nothing that you can point to. But a thousand things will go wrong, and they will be little things that seem to be no one's fault, but within a year, or six months, somehow our profit will have slipped away, and we will have nothing."
"What are you proposing we do?" Philas asked. His brows were furrowed; Ajalia thought that he didn't believe her.
"Nothing," Ajalia said. "I don't want to do anything. But I want to be prepared."
"For what?" Philas asked. He was growing impatient.
Ajalia went to the window and glanced out. She had pulled the silk beard from her chin, and was carefully removing the remnants of glue from the beard. She looked up and down the street, and then glanced up the stairs. Her boy was out of the house, but he had made friends, and one of the young men was sitting idly on the first landing. Ajalia shouted at the young man; he scrambled to his feet and up the stairs.
Ajalia came back to Philas.
"I want you to be ready to leave the city," she said quietly. Her voice was low, and urgent. "Go to the harbor, and make an arrangement with a ship. Move the silks if you need to, or sell the horses. Prepare to flee at a moment's notice, with the slaves and the silks, to Saroyan."
Philas stared at Ajalia, with his mouth a little open.
"You're serious," he said.
"I've seen this woman before, I've seen her type," Ajalia said. "I can't afford to lose Slavithe. I would never be able to go home if we lose the trade here."
"We won't lose the trade," Philas said. "You already placated the woman, what more could she ask?"
"You know master wants long term trade relations," Ajalia said softly. Philas nodded. "He's never going to get them now," Ajalia said. "Not with the city like this."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Philas said impatiently. "You handled the offering, we lost very little."
Ajalia had gone back to the window. She placed the beard in the pouch, her eyes fixed on the figure of Chad that was approaching down the street.
"I won't lose this city," Ajalia said. "But it's going to take me time to gather support. We don't have time to debate," she said, as Philas opened his mouth again. "I won't be going with you, but if you get a rotten feeling, or if I send you word, you go."
Philas looked at her with his eyes wide open. Ajalia saw that he didn't believe what she said of the Thief Lord's wife, but she saw that she had alarmed him.
"You will be ready?" she asked. A knock sounded at the door. Philas gave Ajalia a swift, sharp nod, and she went up the stairs as the door opened, and Chad entered. She went around the corner the landing as Chad came in, and she heard him asking Philas, in clumsy Eastern words, if she was in.
Ajalia went up to the little attic room, and put away her master's silk robes. She cleaned the ceremonial paint from her face, and replaced the fragments of gold in their tiny box. With a sigh, she unwrapped the sheath of coins from her waist, and massaged the flesh where they had pressed, hot and heavy, against her skin.
The leather book was tempting to her; when she took it from her robe, the cover seemed to call out to her to open it. She examined the stone rectangle with the letters painted on it, and traced her finger over the shapes.
On one side of the stone rectangle was the sweeping letter she had learned that made the beginning of the Slavithe word for her name; when she turned the stone over, in the same place on the opposite side was a thick, wild letter. She could see little similarity between the two shapes, but the old letter was somehow bristling with promise. She wanted to read the book.
She lay the book aside, and examined the sheaf of papers that she had been carrying in her robe. The lists of names, houses, and debts ran over the pages, and halfway down on the other sides. The houses were listed first by name, and then by street address. Some of the houses had numbers listed in a row behind the address. The names listed were not clustered into families; she didn't know if she owned individuals as servants, or if they were heads of households for children as well.
Ajalia changed into a clean robe, and piled her black hair onto her head. She secured her hair, and shook out the clothes she had been wearing. She opened the door, and shouted down the stairs. Philas was partway up the stairs, and she opened the door wider for him to come in. He saw the wrap of coins, and picked it up.
"I'm taking the money," he said. Ajalia nodded. The sick feeling she had had about the money had passed now. "I'll make arrangements out near the harbor," Philas said in a low voice, and she nodded again.
"It may be nothing," she said.
"Better safe than sorry," Philas said.
"Yes," she said. They were both thinking of the last slave caravan that had lost its goods, and returned to the East with a great loss. Such a thing was so rare that Ajalia could count on one hand the number of times it had occurred in her time in the East. The Eastern traders were many and strong, and their caravans spread out over the land like tendrils of vivid blood, reaching gold and trade to every inch of Leopath. Slaves that returned empty handed, without even recovering the value of their caravan's goods, were stripped of all they owned, and sold into the barbarous wetlands. Slaves did not often escape the wetlands, and those few who did spoke little of their lives there. The Eastern chiefs were circumspect, and valued the bodily autonomy of their human property, but the lands in the marshy borders of the continent were depraved and strange; terrible things happened there, and many slaves found creative ways to die when they were en route to the marshes to be sold.
Lim was lucky that Ajalia had disposed of him here, in Slavithe; he would have a peaceful life, if he was clever, and the Slavithe were not used to hunting runaway slaves. The harbor was nearby, and Ajalia had no doubt that Lim would find a way to free himself, if his life became burdensome in the Thief Lord's house.
Ajalia did not term her past escapes as running away, because she had never attempted to escape slavery. She managed her life by belonging to masters she liked; now that she had placed herself in her current master's household, she had no intention of changing. She had heard of slaves that travelled across the sea to other lands, but she liked Leopath, and she did not want to escape again. Escaping particular masters had disrupted her life in a way that had proved difficult to recover from; she preferred to maintain and improve the life that she had, rather than to uproot herself into a new life entirely.
She did not think that Philas would agree with her, but she had stopped confiding in Philas.
AJALIA MEETS CARD
Philas unwrapped the coins, and put them into stacks by size.
"I'm going to assume," he said, "that you have sufficient means of your own."
"I won't keep the boy," Ajalia said.
One of the female slaves wandered up the stairs and into view.
"Who's doing the laundering?" Ajalia asked her.
"Delphi," the slave replied.
"Give her these," Ajalia said, handing over her inner robe. She had removed the coins she usually sewed into the seams, and closed them up again. The slave went down the stairs, shouting for Delphi.
"They're going to think you've run away," Philas told her, nodding at the slave's retreating back.
"They can think what they like," Ajalia said briskly, putting the slim book and the sheaf of papers back into her clothes.
"
What's that?" Philas asked, pointing to the book.
"I won't be back for a long time tonight," Ajalia said.
"I'll start the trading tomorrow," Philas told her. "We're moving the silks back into the house this evening."
He began to put the stacks of coins into thin compartments in his shoes and pants.
"You aren't supposed to do that in front of me," Ajalia said. Philas glanced up at her, and winked.
"We're a team now, dear," he said. "And I'm beginning to think that you aren't going to live very long."
A bristling shiver passed along Ajalia's shoulders. She gritted her teeth.
"I don't appreciate that attitude," she remarked.
"Think what you like," Philas said. "You aren't as old as I am."
Ajalia blinked rapidly.
"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked.
Philas slipped a last pair of coins into a slit built into the neck of his clothes.
"You don't fight the bad people," he said. "When you fight the bad people, you die."
Ajalia stared at Philas. She felt that she was seeing a part of him that had always been obscured by drink and sloth. His eyes were more alert now, and his voice more honest than she had ever heard from him. He spoke as if his feet were planted in true earth.
"So you drink to escape yourself," Ajalia said. Philas shrugged.
"I don't drink anymore," he said with a smile. "There's no liquor here."
"That's disgusting," Ajalia said. She looked around the room to see what she had missed. She took up the pouch that held her master's silk beard, and put the box of gold flakes into it.
"No one else can pass for master," Philas said.
"I know," Ajalia said. She gave Philas the pouch, and put the rest of her things into a pile. "You'll have to start a new precedent," she said, "if you get to Saroyan."
They stood and looked at each other. An immense distance seemed to have widened between them. Ajalia could not believe that only days before, he had been kissing her. She knew now that he had not been pursuing her so much as running away from himself.
"You're going to feel awfully silly," Philas said, "when the trading goes well."
"The trading will go very well," Ajalia said quickly. "I'm worried about what will happen when you try to leave the city."
Philas shook his head.
"Nothing will happen," he said.
"Everything will happen," Ajalia said. "And if I'm wrong, we'll pretend this never happened."
"Oh, no," Philas said, "once you start down the path of suspicion, there is no turning back. You're finished in our master's house."
Ajalia put down the stack of clothing she was folding, and put her hands on her hips.
"What?" she asked.
Philas shifted a little, but held his ground.
"You're going to start a war," Philas said, "aren't you? You're going to purify the city of evil. You won't be able to stop. Once the silks are traded, you'll find something else to be suspicious about. You'll stay, and stay, and stay, and even if the caravan returns East with no problems, you won't come with us."
"Is this your bid for power?" Ajalia asked.
"I'm already in charge," Philas said dismissively. Ajalia's fingers itched for her knife, but she kept still.
"You're wrong," she said, but she doubted herself.
"It's that boy," Philas said, and Ajalia felt firm ground again.
"Delmar?" she asked. Philas nodded. His face was triumphant.
"Philas," Ajalia said gently. Philas bristled.
"I'm not jealous," he said.
"You don't even like me, Philas," Ajalia said.
"I do, too," Philas replied.
Ajalia reached into the seam in the neck of his clothes, and fished out the two coins he had put there. Philas put his hand around her wrist.
"We aren't on the same team," she told him. "And maybe nothing will happen."
"I doubt nothing will happen," Philas said. He let go of her arm, and she closed the coins in her fist. "Everything seems to happen," Philas said. "We've only been here a week."
"Less than that," Ajalia said. "Six days."
"And master wanted a trade route," Philas said with a sigh.
"He might get one," Ajalia said, "but it will take longer than six months."
Philas sat down against the wall, and watched Ajalia bundle her things into a satchel. He was calmer now.
"I don't want you to go anywhere without me," Philas said. He was watching the sunlight stream through the window.
"Look on the bright side," Ajalia said lightly. "You'll see your mother again in Saroyan."
"You don't really believe I'm the prince, do you?" Philas asked. He was looking out of the window.
"Just think," Ajalia said, dropping her satchel, and sitting next to Philas, "if the throne is open, you can buy your way out of slavery."
Philas began to laugh. Ajalia nudged him in the ribs, and he pushed her back.
"I might not be back tonight," Ajalia told him.
"You said that," he replied.
"I've got to meet all these people," she said, patting the sheaf of papers.
Philas stood up with a groan and held out a hand for Ajalia. She did not take it.
"Take Chad with you, love," Philas said. "He's driving me mad." Ajalia stood up, and took her satchel to the door. Philas took up the pouch with the silk beard, and the folded pile of ceremonial robes.
"If I did become king of Saroyan," Philas said, "would you marry me then?"
Ajalia began to laugh.
"That depends," she said.
"On what?" he asked.
"Wait and see," she told him, and went down the stairs.
Chad was hanging around in the main room downstairs. He had brought a bag of twisted sweetbreads with him, and he was sitting in a corner of the room, watching a group of slaves talking loudly over the bread in the center of the room.
"I brought those," he said to Ajalia, pointing at the bag of bread.
Ajalia nodded.
"I thought it would be nice," Chad said loudly, "to bring food."
"Very thoughtful," Ajalia said. "Are you coming?"
Chad jumped to his feet. His hands didn't seem to know where to go; they rose up to his brown tunic, and then jiggled at his sides.
Ajalia opened the door, and held it for Chad.
"Why aren't you wearing the bright colors I saw?" she asked him, as they moved down the street.
"I don't have any money," Chad explained. "I wasn't supposed to be there, but I wanted to show you the way. Then I wanted to watch."
Ajalia glanced at Chad's plain brown clothing, and at the brown lash of leather he used for a belt.
"Does anyone enforce the rules about festivals?" she asked. They turned down the street that led to the house where Chad's mother and aunt had recently lived.
"No one breaks the rules," Chad said.
"Why don't you like Delmar?" Ajalia asked. Chad's face clouded into a storm of vengeance. His hair bounded up and down as he strode next to Ajalia. They passed a bath house, and she reminded herself to tell the poor slave at home to fetch water from there, instead of from the well.
"Delmar," Chad said, and it sounded as though he was beginning an epic poem, "is a waste of space. He doesn't work at anything, and he's always in the way. He isn't even a good example to his little brothers," he added with a scowl.
"Is the littlest one Coren?" Ajalia asked.
Chad nodded. They were drawing near the house that had once belonged to Chad's father.
"Wall is the name of the heir to the Thief Lord," Chad informed her, "and Coren is the youngest. You know," he added suddenly, "Delmar is the oldest."
Ajalia stopped walking. The door to the house was just ahead. She drew the sheaf of papers out of her clothing to hide the heat that was travelling over her face.
"Delmar is the oldest? Doesn't that make him the heir?" she asked. Her eyes did not take in the names and numbers on the papers.
"His father doesn't like him," Chad said viciously. "Everyone says he's a failure, not like what a Thief Lord's son needs to be."
"And so Wall is the heir," Ajalia said.
"Yes," Chad replied. "He's only a little bit younger, hardly any younger at all. Just a year or two." He shifted on his feet, and glared at the house ahead. "I used to live there," he said.
"I know," Ajalia said, and knocked on the door.
"I'm pretty sure it's empty," Chad said quickly. "My mother left."
"It isn't empty," Ajalia said. "That's not how this works."
Chad jumped a little as the door opened wide. A young woman with dark hair appeared. She was holding a toddler on her hip.
"Yes?" the young woman said.
"My name is Ajalia," Ajalia said. "This is Chad."
"Hello," Chad said. He waved.
"Gevad has sold his properties, and Chad is now managing your rent," Ajalia said.
The young woman's eyes widened, and her mouth opened like a fish reaching for water.
"I heard about Gevad," she said in a hoarse voice. Her eyes traveled to Chad, who stood a little straighter under her gaze. "Is it true he married a servant?" she asked.
Chad nodded importantly.
"I was there," he told the young woman. "I saw the whole thing."
"How did he not know who she really was?" the young woman asked.
Ajalia excused herself, and stepped past the young woman, and into the house. She heard Chad animatedly describing the wrap of green fabric that Lasa had worn to conceal her short hair at the wedding. She walked through a short passage into a squat kitchen that was full of baking utensils, and trays of rising bread. A tall shelf had been erected against one wall; it stretched to the ceiling, and the shelves were stuffed with trays of bulbous bread.
A sound of rhythmic knocking was coming from deeper within the house. Ajalia followed the sound of knocking. She went through two rooms and came to an open courtyard that lay just behind the house. The courtyard was rimmed around with a white stone wall about five feet in height. An old man was sitting on a bench, and knocking a large black rock against a block of wood. The wood was crumbling away into shards of brilliant yellow. Within the block of wood, a blood-red shape was partially exposed.
