She giggled. “They don’t know how strong you are.”
“No, they don’t. Now why don’t you lie down and go back to sleep until one of the Creghorns gets here to pick us up.”
She lay down obediently. “The big black man gave me water and crackers. I saved some for you.” She pointed to the chair, on which a half empty plastic bottle stood beside an open package of salted wheat crackers.
“Thanks. Actually, I’m not hungry right now.” As a matter of fact, he was starving and his throat was parched. But the mere thought of bending to pick anything up sent streaks of pain shooting across his back. Even sitting down was more than he would be able to manage without letting his sister see how much it hurt.
And so he stood there stiffly in the middle of the floor while her breathing slowed and deepened and she fell back asleep. A selfish part of him had to admit that he was glad they were still together. But I’ll get her free eventually, he vowed. No matter how long it takes. And in the meantime, I’ll be here for her, and I’ll help her learn to be strong and brave. Maybe he would teach her some of his exercises from the CSF. He would put together a little workout for her, and the two of them could make it into a sort of game to play in their room before bed at night.
At last he heard the door at the end of the hall opening, and the officer who had lashed him appeared with Bensin’s jacket and a key. “Your owner’s here. Out you come.”
Ellie shuffled along behind him as they preceded the man down the hall and through an open doorway. There in the lobby stood Mr. Creghorn, filling out a form and talking to a Watch officer behind the desk while Officer Shigo waited nearby.
“You!” their owner exclaimed, whirling to glare at Bensin as they entered the room. He marched toward them, angry finger pointing at Bensin’s nose. “Grang you, you worthless, good-for-nothing, piece-of-garbage collar. I thought I lashed this stupidity out of you last time! Didn’t learn your lesson after all, did you? Well, don’t worry, I’ll make sure you learn it right tonight.” Shoving Bensin aside, he glared down at Ellie, who had been trying to hide behind her brother. “And you were stupid enough to go with him, you disobedient little runaway. Again.” He reached out and slapped her across the face so hard that she lost her balance and crumpled sideways onto the tiled floor.
Ellie burst into sobs, and Bensin’s blood boiled. He drew himself up, fists clenched, but reconsidered as he saw all three officers in the room reach toward their weapons. “Please,” he gritted out instead through clenched teeth, “don’t hit her, sir. This was all my fault.”
“Oh, I have no doubt about that, boy.” Mr. Creghorn turned on him. “You and I have a date with the Motivator as soon as we get home. Then first thing in the morning, I’m taking this sniveling little wretch to get her collar. Next thing after that, I’m writing out an advertisement to put you up for sale.”
Bensin stared at him, everything else forgotten in the horror of that statement. “For — for sale — sir?”
“You heard me. This nonsense tonight was the last straw. Being woken up at two in the morning to hear that my slaves have run away — for the second time? I’m not putting up with any more of it. We’ll keep the girl because she’s good with the baby, but you’re just not worth it, boy. You don’t win big enough to be worth the money I’m putting into your training, or the talking back, or the laziness, let alone this. Hilda and I will take what we can get for you and cut our losses.”
Stunned, Bensin couldn’t think of anything to say. It can’t be true. He can’t mean it. He’ll change his mind in the morning; surely he will.
Ellie scrambled to her feet, shocked out of her sobs. “You’re gonna sell Bensin away, sir? Oh, no, please, sir! He’s all I have, except for Bunny.” She flung her arms around Bensin’s waist, and fiery spasms of pain shot up his back. He staggered, clutching at his sister for balance, and his knees finally buckled as his world collapsed around him.
Chapter Three: Too Young for a Midlife Crisis
Steene stared at the bank statement, unwilling to believe what the numbers told him. He closed his eyes and looked again, as though that could change the facts.
I knew my account must be getting low. I didn’t realize it was this low. That worthless divorce attorney had cost far too much and had gotten him practically nothing out of the deal. Serra had just been too good.
Then again, she had always been too good. Too good for him to believe she was really his, at first. But eventually, too good for him, too good for the life they had built together. And now, too good a lawyer to settle for much less than everything she wanted.
And then there had been the expenses of moving: two months’ rent in advance, the security deposit, the few pieces of furniture purchased for the new apartment, and now the cost of eating out every day since he still didn’t have any cooking utensils or food in the kitchen besides energy bars.
“And payday is still nearly two weeks away.” His words echoed in the empty apartment, as though even his new home were mocking him.
Home. Would this place ever be home? This soulless living space that held no memories or meaning. This collection of boxes and suitcases that he couldn’t quite muster up the motivation to unpack because that would mean he really lived here now. This extra bedroom that he hadn’t wanted and couldn’t afford but had no choice about because all the one-bedroom units were taken.
At least I live closer to work now. That was the only good thing that had come out of the mess his life had degenerated into.
Work. Oh, no! Steene jumped to his feet. He had forgotten his appointment with Mr. Drogum. Serra always recorded all our appointments on the calendar in the kitchen, he realized. That was why he hadn’t remembered. He didn’t have a kitchen calendar anymore.
He didn’t have Serra, either.
It was probably just the usual start-of-the-year meeting, to go over his schedule and discuss any changes in classes or noteworthy new students. But it might be something more. The boss had not yet announced who the new Employee of the Year would be, and Steene knew he was a strong contender for the position.
If it’s not me, who else would he have picked? Steene mentally ran through his colleagues’ names. Markus Brinks, maybe. He and Markus had been rivals as boys, back when they were both training in cavvara shil at the Center for Sports and Fitness themselves. Now, as coworkers, they were rivals once more, their own students competing in many of the same tournaments. But Steene had had a great year last year — or at least, most of it had been great. As usual, he had scored high on the student satisfaction surveys, but then this business with Serra and Aron had come to light and his life pretty much fell apart. Needless to say, his job performance had suffered in the midst of it all. On top of all the rest, one of his best pupils had moved away, which meant Steene could no longer get any credit for her victories. Markus, on the other hand, had had a successful year all the way to the end.
So maybe Mr. Drogum didn’t pick me. In any case, Steene had better hurry and get to that meeting. Employee of the Year or not, it didn’t do to be late when the boss was expecting you.
Stepping forward, he nearly tripped over the pile of empty pizza boxes he hadn’t gotten around to taking out yet. Something small, flat, and black scurried out of one of them.
“Is that a cockroach?” he exclaimed aloud, indignant. He was barefoot, and he looked around in vain for something to kill it with. He couldn’t remember where he had left his shoes, so he reached into an open box of books and pulled out the top one. The roach had found a hiding place between another box and a suitcase, but Steene thrust them apart and smashed it with an illustrated hardcover copy of Martial Arts in the Pre-Imperial Era.
“Okay, this is getting out of control. I’ve got to find someone to come in and clean.” He and Serra used to hire in a neighbor’s slave two afternoons a week to cook and keep the house presentable, but Daisy’s owners surely wouldn’t want her coming this far. Steene had yet to actually speak to any of his new neighbors, but
if he asked around, maybe he could find someone in the area with a slave they were willing to hire out.
But that’s a problem for another time. First he had to get to that meeting with the boss.
He hurried to his bedroom and fished through the open suitcase on the bed for something presentable to wear, since he was still in the shorts he had slept in. Everything was wrinkly, but he found two matching socks and a pair of pants that weren’t as creased as most. Digging through a pile of suitcases and boxes, he located his work backpack under the duffel bag and tugged it free. Thank goodness the CSF opens again on Monday. Once he got back to work, life would return to some semblance of normal. It had to. He couldn’t take much more of this.
His shoes had vanished, but after a few minutes’ search, he discovered them peeking out from under the armchair in the living room. Finally Steene escaped from the frustration that was his new home, locked the front door after him, and jogged down the stairs to the parking lot. His trusty blue pickup truck sat waiting for him like an old friend.
Reminding himself that getting a ticket would be one of the few things that could possibly make his life worse right now, Steene kept his speed hovering just a few miles per hour above the limit. Screeching through a left turn just as the light changed to red, he was startled by the chirp of his phone and nearly clipped the curb. Steering with one hand, he fumbled in his pocket and pulled it out, almost swerving into oncoming traffic as he saw the number.
“Serra? Hi, what is it?” He had long since ceased to hope she was calling to tell him she had changed her mind and wanted to get back together. That ship had sailed. Sunk, actually, as of Tuesday.
A car honked and he swerved back into the center of his own lane. “Steene? Are you driving?” Serra’s voice demanded in his ear.
“Trying to. What do you want?”
“That’s dangerous. You know how you get when you’re distracted. Put it on speakerphone and use both hands before you get in an accident.”
“I don’t take orders from you about how to talk on the phone. Anyway, why should you care?”
“Someone innocent might get hurt, that’s why.”
“Yeah, well, you forfeited the right to criticize my driving on Tuesday. Was there some other reason you called?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Aron and I are getting rid of a bunch of things from the house, and I figured I’d see if you wanted to take any of it before I pay someone to haul it all off to the dump.”
“Things? What things? What are you getting rid of?”
“Oh, the guest room furniture, for example. He’s got plenty of that in his place already. Junk from the laundry room, the cupboard under the kitchen sink, that sort of stuff.” Her voice turned sweet. “I know the court decided I had a right to everything else, but since it turns out Aron and I don’t need it after all, I thought I’d share. You can come by this morning and haul what’s left back to that rat hole you call an apartment if you want it.”
Steene bristled. “You haven’t even seen my apartment. How do you know it’s a rat hole?”
“Because I know you, that’s how. You’ve probably got a mountain of unpacked boxes in every room, and I bet the kitchen counter is piled with trash from every fast food restaurant in the neighborhood. You say you’re into eating healthy, but when you get busy or stressed, you turn hypocrite and eat whatever junk is handy. I’m sure you haven’t cleaned once since you moved in, and the rats and roaches are probably about to take over.”
“Well, you’re wrong.” Steene stomped on the brake and the truck screeched to a stop just in time to avoid hitting the car in front of him as it stopped for a red light. Angrily, he slammed his fist against the horn the way he would have liked to slam it into Aron’s face.
It was just like Serra to lord it over him with a humiliating defeat in court just because she could, and then decide that it didn’t even matter and she didn’t want the things she had fought so hard for. And of course she couldn’t have told him about this before he had gone out and spent over a thousand imps on new furniture. The guest room furniture would have been perfect for his room in the new apartment. Well, some of it would still be handy; he hadn’t bought all that much.
“Was that you blasting your horn just now?”
“None of your business. Anyway, I can’t come by this morning. I’ve got a meeting at work.”
“Let me guess. Considering the way you’re driving, it probably started half an hour ago. Well, come soon if you’re going to. It’s all getting thrown out tomorrow. We’ve got to empty the house before we can get it repainted and ready to sell.”
Steene jabbed viciously at the “end call” button and pounded both fists on the steering wheel. When the light turned green, he jammed his foot down on the accelerator and swerved around the car in front of him. I need a straightaway where I can floor it. But there were no straightaways between here and the CSF. Screeching his way around one more corner, Steene pulled into the parking lot of the West Jarreon Center for Sports and Fitness, still seething. He drove up close enough to the building to park in the shade so the truck wouldn’t feel like a furnace when he returned. Even with the slightly cooler temperatures of January, the middle of the day in Jarreon was no picnic. If I get picked for Employee of the Year, I’ll have a reserved parking spot in the shade with my name on it.
The lobby was stuffy and warm since the center wasn’t officially open for business during the two-week New Year break. Steene hurried through it and around the corner. Marj, Drogum’s secretary, sat behind her desk in her air-conditioned office, tapping away at her computer.
“Oh, hi, Steene.” She looked up with a smile as he came through the door. “There you are. The boss was expecting you twenty minutes ago.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry, something came up. Is he free now?”
“No, he’s in another meeting at the moment. If you can wait around, it won’t be long.” Adjusting her glasses with one finger, she gestured to a chair. “How’s your New Year been?”
Let’s see. I didn’t get to exchange gifts with any of my family or even spend time with them, my marriage of seven years officially ended, I ordered fast food for my New Year’s supper and ate it alone, my new apartment is a wreck, and, actually, so is my life. Yep, it’s been quite the holiday. Aloud, he said, “Oh, it’s been all right. How was yours?”
He flipped through the pages of a sports magazine from the rack on the wall while Marj gushed about the ski vacation she and her husband and kids had taken and how wonderful holidays were when you could make memories as a family. At last the door behind her opened. He glanced up as someone strolled out of Drogum’s office, a sheaf of papers in hand.
“Hey, Steene. How’s it going?” It was Markus.
“Hey, Markus.” Why did it have to be him? “Happy New Year.”
“Thanks. I don’t know about you, but I’m expecting a great year.” Markus was beaming — glowing, almost.
Did he just hear good news? Is he the Employee of the Year? Steene couldn’t bring himself to ask.
“Last year was a really great year for me, too, you know?” Markus continued. “Had a lot of really talented students. Of course, I think they’d tell you I had something to do with their success.” He chuckled in false modesty. “I’m looking forward to some great new ones this year, too, especially among the youth. Yep, it’s going to be an awesome year.”
“Glad to hear it.” Steene tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Markus knew what Steene’s last couple of months had been like.
But 154 is a new year, he reminded himself. Everything’s starting over. Loanne may be gone, but there’s still Jayce. Jayce was on a roll; the boy had taken first place in several youth tournaments recently, and he had a great shot at qualifying for the Grand Imperial Cavvara Shil Tourney. Markus doesn’t think I’m as good a trainer as he is. Well, I’ll show him. Wait till he sees how Jayce does this year.
“Is that Steene Mayvins out there?” Mr. Drogum called f
rom the inner sanctum that was his office.
“Better go on in,” Marj advised. “He’s got someone else scheduled in ten minutes.” Steene stepped inside and closed the door.
Kane Drogum’s office reminded him of a small throne room. His desk chair was the largest Steene had ever seen; of course, it needed to be, to support Drogum’s bulk. Steene had always wondered how someone so out of shape could possibly be the public face of a sports and fitness center. Drogum could use some personal training himself.
He pushed the thought away and sat down in the much smaller chair across from the vast, empty desk. What’s the point in having a desk if you aren’t going to keep anything on it? “Sorry I’m late. Something came up at home.”
“I was wondering. You get everything squared away now with all that divorce paperwork?”
“Yes, it’s all finished as of Tuesday.”
“Good. Good. Glad to hear it. Sometimes it’s better just to make a clean break, you know? Start fresh and move on with your life.”
Nothing seemed clean or fresh about the way his life had fallen to pieces, but Steene supposed Drogum, who had been divorced three times, ought to know.
“Well, if you have my schedule for the semester, I’d love to take a look,” he prompted, since the boss didn’t seem about to bring up the Employee of the Year issue at the moment.
“I do indeed. Pretty similar to last semester’s, but I had to switch a couple things around. I gave you a few more general fitness classes.”
Great, Steene thought as Drogum opened a drawer in the filing cabinet beside his desk and began riffling through folders. My least favorite class to teach. Finding the right folder, his boss pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it over.
Steene scanned the schedule, noting that his days off were Mondays and Tuesdays this semester. The coveted weekends off usually went to parents with kids, and to the Employee of the Year, of course.
The Collar and the Cavvarach Page 4
