The Collar and the Cavvarach

by Annie Douglass Lima

  The backseat of the Watch car was like a cage. Two cages, actually, one on each side, with a metal mesh separating him and Ellie from each other and from the front seats. There were no handles on the insides of the doors, and he couldn’t see any way to open the windows, either. So that’s what it’s like in one of these cars. Last time they had been caught closer to the station, and officers had marched them in on foot.

  One of the men in the front spoke into his radio, and Bensin used the distraction to smile at his sister through the bars.

  “Bensin,” she whispered, trying to squeeze her fingers through the mesh. Frowning, he gave his head a quick shake, hoping the officers hadn’t noticed. The less the two of them interacted now, the better. He turned to sit facing forward, hoping she would follow his example. But casting a sidelong glance at her worried face, he tossed her a grin and a wink to try to cheer her up.

  No sooner had they arrived at the Watch station than officers whisked him and Ellie off in different directions. Bensin was ordered to remove his jacket and empty his pockets onto a table while the first officer and two others looked on. He had nothing in his pockets except the paperclips, which he could have kicked himself for not throwing away earlier.

  “Been picking some locks tonight, have you?” one of the men growled, holding them up.

  There was no point in denying it. “Yes, sir. Just to get out of my owner’s house,” he hastened to add. “I haven’t broken in anywhere.”

  “Really.” The man didn’t sound as though he believed him. “We’ll look into that.” He frisked him in search of anything else. Finding nothing, he made way for another officer who approached with a hand-held ID scanner and ran the laser light over the bar code on the back of Bensin’s collar tag. Then they handcuffed him and led him to another room, where he was made to sit in a hard wooden chair before a metal table. There was a lock built into the surface of the table, and the officers fastened his handcuffs to it before they went out.

  Bensin sat there, alone and bare-armed, shivering in nervousness and cold under the air conditioning vent. The table below his arms felt like a block of ice, and his head ached where the officer had slammed it against the wall.

  Where have they taken Ellie? What are they doing to her? Last time she hadn’t been harmed. Would it be the same tonight? She was a year older. They would probably be stricter.

  He looked around. This interrogation room was much like the one he remembered. The same kind of table with the lock, one chair on one side and two on the other. The same bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The same mirror filling half of the wall in front of him; he supposed it could be a window from the other side. Was someone watching him right now? Or were they just letting him wait while they questioned Ellie?

  Ellie. What was she telling them? The poor kid was so innocent, so gullible, so easy to manipulate. If they questioned her from the right angles, she might just get confused and end up blurting out the whole truth. But maybe they would believe what she told them and not ask her too many questions. They might assume a kid that young wouldn’t make something up. She didn’t have a collar, after all, so they couldn’t prove her identity. If only they ask me the questions first and then ask her to confirm what I’ve said. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be that simple. But just in case, he would tell them the truth about everything else — they were likely to find out eventually anyway — and hope they would believe the one little lie about Ellie.

  But time passed, and nobody came. Bensin pried his shoes off with his feet and pressed his toes against the cold floor. His throat felt dry and his stomach growled. What time was it? Probably one or two in the morning. Dinner — leftovers from the Creghorns’ New Year’s celebration with friends — must have been at least six hours ago. Poor Ellie must be starving. Would the officers give her something to eat?

  For lack of anything else to do, Bensin examined his handcuffs. The little keyhole was facing up, and he wondered if he would have been able to pick the lock if he still had his paperclips. Probably not. The Watch must use complicated locks for their equipment, like the one in his collar. Besides, he would never have been able to twist his fingers around to the right angle. The locking mechanism in the table would be even harder to pick. From here, the only part visible was a semi-circular bar like the top part of a padlock. The actual keyhole must be underneath.

  The minutes ticked by, and if he hadn’t been so cold and so worried, Bensin knew he would have dozed off in the chair. Is Ellie asleep? Have they taken her somewhere comfortable?

  At last the door opened, and he jumped at the suddenness of the sound. An officer walked in, the same one who had first found him in the alley. Shutting the door behind him, he set the laptop computer he was carrying on the table and pulled out one of the chairs, sitting down in it across from Bensin. “So,” he said, folding his hands and leaning back in the chair.

  “Sir,” Bensin replied, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice. He glanced briefly at the officer’s face before dropping his gaze respectfully.

  The man regarded him for a long moment. He was a Skeyvian, Bensin observed: dark skin, kinky black hair, and he had the stereotypical deep voice. Skeyvia was one of the provinces where the most slaves were from, second only to Tarnestra, where Bensin’s parents had both been born. Did this man have any relatives who were slaves? Perhaps he would be more sympathetic to a slave’s plight than some of the other officers.

  The Skeyvian opened his computer, eyes focusing on something on the screen. “Bensin, age fourteen, property of Cley and Hilda Creghorn. In their possession for just over three years, I see. Previous owner: Coastal Coconut Corporation; Jin Evvins, personnel manager. All five years of slave school completed. One previous escape attempt, thirteen months ago.” The officer looked up again and fixed Bensin with a stern gaze. “Anything to add to that?”

  Bensin licked his lips. “I guess that about sums me up, sir.”

  “Well, then.” The man turned back to the computer and clicked a couple of keys. “Let’s hear your version of what you’ve been up to tonight.”

  “Did — did the little girl tell you what happened already, sir?”

  The man didn’t bother replying to that, just waited, fingers poised above the keyboard. Well, it was worth a try. Bensin swallowed, his heart thudding again. The next few minutes could determine whether his sister spent the rest of her life in slavery or freedom. I wish I knew exactly what she told them.

  “I had seen her around a few times, sir,” he began finally. “She lives on the streets because she doesn’t have any parents. I told her she could go to a Watch station and someone there would know what to do, but she was scared to go alone. So I was going to bring her; the two of us were on our way here tonight when you found us.”

  He dared to glance at the man’s face, but the officer was busy typing and didn’t look up.

  “And it didn’t occur to you to come during the day when people would be less likely to suspect you of running away?” the man inquired dryly.

  “I couldn’t, sir. I work all day.”

  “Don’t your owners give you a day off? They should know that you have a legal right to one day off a week.”

  “Yes, sir, they — they do give me a day off.”

  “Then why didn’t you ask for a pass and come here then?”

  “Because — because Mr. Creghorn wouldn’t let me. I asked him, sir, but he — he said I couldn’t go out.”

  The man waited, eyebrows raised, so Bensin went on. “I, uh, I was in trouble for, for talking back to him, so he said I had to spend my day off this week in the house.” Actually, that was true. “I know I shouldn’t have sneaked away at night, sir, but I just wanted to help the little girl find a good home. I was going to go straight back after I dropped her off here.” He raised his eyes to the officer’s again, hoping he looked sincere. This time the man met his gaze, met it and held it until Bensin dropped his eyes back to the tabletop.

  Finally the ma
n sighed and folded his hands again. “You know, I have a son your age, Bensin.”

  What does that have to do with anything? Bensin glanced up again, confused. “Sir?”

  “He’s a good kid. Earns decent grades. Athletic, as I see you are too. Teases his younger sisters now and then, but what else can you expect from a teenage boy? Deep down, I know he loves them, and I’d like to believe he’d put himself at risk to protect them if he ever thought it necessary.” The man leaned forward. “I may be an officer of the law, but I’ll tell you: nothing would make me prouder than if my son were to hatch up as daring a plan as you have out of love for one of his sisters. I couldn’t condone his breaking the law, of course, but I would applaud his initiative, ingenuity, courage and sibling loyalty. As I do yours.”

  Bensin couldn’t move. He stared at his hands, cold and clammy, and didn’t dare twitch a finger or even breathe. It was as though if he sat perfectly still, none of this would be real. The man across from him wouldn’t have said what he’d just said. He wouldn’t have figured out the truth.

  “Watch officers are trained to know when people are lying,” the man informed him quietly.

  How? But it didn’t matter. The plan was ruined. It had all been for nothing. Despair rose in Bensin.

  “You don’t know all the information that can be accessed by scanning your tag, do you?” the man asked, his deep voice almost gentle.

  Bensin couldn’t manage to force any words out, but he jerked his head to one side in the tiniest of shakes.

  The Skeyvian indicated his computer, though Bensin couldn’t see what it said from this angle. “Information about you is just the first part. When your owners’ names show up, we can click on them to open up a separate page that tells us all we need to know about them as slave owners. How many slaves they’ve had, the dates the slaves were purchased, any known family relationships among them — and of course we can click on each of those slaves’ names to read their files as well. The fact that your sister Ellie doesn’t have a collar yet doesn’t mean that she isn’t on file. Her information was recorded in the system by the hospital where she was born, and then updated along with yours when the Creghorns purchased the two of you from the Coastal Coconut Corporation three years ago. Her data requires a couple of extra steps to access, that’s all.”

  The room seemed even colder than it had before. Bensin had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering, clench his clammy hands together to stop them from shaking. It was for nothing. It was all for nothing. Ellie will never be free now.

  “I understand that you wanted a better life for your sister,” the man was saying, “but there are legal ways to pursue that. Have you considered saving your money to eventually purchase her freedom?”

  Of course I’ve considered that. But how many years would it take when I can only earn money by doing odd jobs on my one day off a week? Bensin wasn’t sure how much a slave cost, but it was probably an awful lot, otherwise every slave in the Krillonian Empire would be saving up to buy their own freedom. He did know of a few who had managed it, but not many. And none of them were young.

  Still, there was no point in trying to explain all that to this free man, so he merely nodded. “Yes, sir.” He could hear the defeat in his own voice. “I’ll do that, sir.” And he would probably have to, assuming he didn’t die of old age before he could save up enough. Once Ellie got her collar, there would be no other way to free her. But who knows what could happen to her by then?

  “In the meantime,” the officer continued, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to face the consequences of your actions. Since this has happened before, I assume you know the penalty for attempted escape or for attempting to help another slave escape.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bensin swallowed again. “Twenty lashes.”

  “That’s for the first offense. It goes up by ten each time; and of course that’s in addition to any disciplinary action your owners might see fit to implement.”

  And they would, that was for certain. But Bensin had bigger worries. “Is that just for me, sir, or my sister too?” Last time they had let Ellie off with a warning. He had heard one of the female officers comment about how little and cute she was, with her blonde curls and big green eyes. She wasn’t quite as little anymore, but surely a father could be persuaded to have pity on a helpless little girl. He looked up into the man’s eyes, desperate with the need to convince him. “Please, sir, she’s so young, and it wasn’t her idea. She was just doing what I told her to, and she didn’t really even want to come. Please, sir, please think about if it was one of your daughters in trouble for something her brother made her do. I’ll take her lashes as well as my own; I’ll come on my day off and work for you for free; I’ll — I’ll — I’ll do anything you like and not complain. But please, sir, please —” He ran out of words and turned away, biting his lip at the thought of his little sister under the lash.

  The officer’s face softened. “That won’t be necessary; we don’t normally lash children that young. But we’ve talked to her about the seriousness of the offense and given her an official warning, which will go on her record as it did last time. She understands that regardless of her age, there will be no more warnings now. If this ever happens again, she will receive due penalty according to the law.”

  Bensin slumped over, weak with relief. “Thank you, sir,” he whispered.

  The man pulled a business card out of his pocket and slid it across the table to within reach of Bensin’s cuffed hands. “My name is Officer Shigo, and my phone number is here on the card. If your owners ever deny you or your sister your day off, or work you for longer than eleven hours a day, give me a call. Those are your rights, and your owners are required by law to grant them to you.”

  He cares about slave rights? “And if they let you hire out on your day off and you’d like to earn a little money toward freeing your sister, give me a call about that too. We can always use a hand with the yardwork around my place.”

  Bensin stared at him, startled. He wants to hire me in?

  At his expression, the man’s lips twitched in a hint of a smile. “You shouldn’t have broken the law, but I respect your motives just the same. If you want to mow lawns and rake leaves, I’ll pay the going rate.”

  As if I would ever consider telephoning a Watch officer, let alone arrange to go to his home and work for him! Bensin couldn’t imagine many prospects more terrifying. But he picked up the card and nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  Officer Shigo closed the computer and rose to his feet. “And now I’m afraid we need to finish this up. My colleague out front is going to take care of the thirty lashes while I give your owners a call to come get you.” As if on cue, the door opened. Officer Shigo picked up his computer and walked out of the room as another Watch officer strode in. He was holding a long, thin whip, and Bensin’s heart began to thud faster again.

  “Take off your shirt,” the man ordered.

  He couldn’t remove it all the way; not with the lock fastening his wrists to the table. But Bensin leaned over until he could reach a handful of the fabric. Fumbling, he tugged it over his head and off his shoulders, leaving it draped over his forearms.

  “Stand up.”

  Bensin obeyed, though his bindings left him unable to stand erect. Bent over the table, he couldn’t resist turning his head for a quick peek at the whip as the officer pulled the chair out of the way. It can’t be any worse than the Motivator. But he ducked his head and clenched his teeth around a mouthful of T-shirt just in case. It was easier to keep from crying out when you had something to bite down on, and Ellie might be within earshot.

  Don’t make a sound, he ordered himself, as he always did. Don’t give the man the satisfaction.

  Whether this officer would have derived the same satisfaction from a cry of pain that Mr. Creghorn did, Bensin didn’t know. What he did know was that the man hit almost as hard. And the whip may not have been worse than the Motivator, but then, Bensin didn’t usually g
et thirty lashes at once from Mr. Creghorn. At least the officer didn’t make Bensin count the lashes out loud as he administered them.

  Only by locking his knees did he keep them from buckling when the man finally set the whip aside. Pulling out a ring of keys, the officer bent and fit one into a lock out of sight under the table, and the semicircle of steel clicked open. Loosening his clenched hands from their grip on his shirt, Bensin rose slowly, bracing himself against the tabletop, his back and shoulders screaming in agony with every movement. The officer waited while he regained his balance, stuck his feet back into his shoes one after the other, and then, even more slowly and painfully, pulled his shirt back over his head. He supposed they would have let him keep it off, but he couldn’t let Ellie see him like this.

  “Brave kid,” was all the officer said as he took hold of Bensin’s elbow and led him back into the hallway. Rounding a corner, they came up to a row of cells, their fronts barred and easy to see into. They must be designed for prisoners to stay overnight in if necessary, because each one contained a narrow cot with a thin mattress that reminded him of the floor mats at the CSF, as well as a plastic chair, a toilet, and a sink.

  Most of the cells were empty, but Ellie lay curled up on the cot in the farthest one, her thumb in her mouth and her head pillowed on Bunny.

  The officer unlocked the door first and then his handcuffs. Bensin stepped inside quietly, hoping not to wake his sister, but she sat up as he came in. “Bensin!” she exclaimed sleepily as the officer locked the door behind him. “I’m not gonna be free, but I’m glad you’re here.” She stumbled to her feet and wrapped her arms around him, and Bensin had to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp of pain.

  “I’m glad to see you too,” he managed. “Let go, all right?”

  “Did they lash you?” She looked up at him, worried.

  Bensin glanced out into the hallway. The officer was gone. “Yeah, and I let them think it hurt.” He forced a grin and winked at her.