The Collar and the Cavvarach

by Annie Douglass Lima

  He asked the Creghorns and a couple of their neighbors whether they had any work they could hire him in to do on his day off. But none of them did, and he had no chance to talk to anyone else before it was time to go to Mrs. Endison’s for his regular Sunday hiring out.

  He mowed the lawn, weeded the flowers along the walkway, watered the potted plants, swept the porch, walked the dogs, and cleaned leaves out of rain gutters for the elderly woman. “Is there any other work I could do for you tomorrow, ma’am?” he asked at the end as she gave him the twenty imps he had earned.

  “Nothing I can think of right now, honey,” she replied. “I already hire a girl in for the housework and cooking every afternoon.” As usual, she handed him a cookie before he left. “See you next Sunday.”

  What am I going to do tomorrow? Bensin, mindful of the time, knocked on three more doors, only to be told that there was nothing anyone could think of on such short notice or that they already hired in or had slaves of their own.

  He knew he ought to get going, but he wanted to make one more stop before he caught the bus to the CSF. Coach Steene always got really focused when he was teaching, so hopefully he wouldn’t notice if his slave walked in a little late.

  Bensin jogged over to the park, where he knew Ricky usually hung out on his days off. Sure enough, there he was, shooting baskets with a group of other boys. How his friend managed to get himself chosen for teams when free kids were playing was beyond Bensin. No free kids ever invited him to play anything.

  Ricky saw him coming and excused himself from the game. “Hey, Bensin, how’s it going?”

  “Hey, Ricky. Not bad. How come free guys always let you play?”

  His friend laughed. “Rule number seventeen: Make as many friends as possible, especially among free people. It pays to have them like you.”

  Ricky was always coming up with useful “rules” and assigning random numbers to them. He claimed that someday he was going to put them all into a book, publish it under the title “Ricky’s Rules for Surviving Slavery” and make enough money off of sales to buy his freedom. The trouble with that idea, Bensin thought, was that the people likely to benefit most from his rules were the ones with the least money to spare for buying books.

  “But don’t forget rule number eighteen,” Ricky went on. “Don’t make the mistake of actually trusting your free friends, and let them think you know you’re not as good as they are.”

  “You told me number eighteen was learn how to pick a lock,” Bensin objected.

  “Yeah, well, I reorganized. Hey, so whatever happened with that?” His friend glanced around to make sure no one else was close enough to hear and led Bensin a little further from the basketball court just in case. “I stopped by your old place last week and heard you’d been sold. Saw your sister in a new collar, so I guess your plan didn’t work too well, huh?”

  “Unfortunately not,” Bensin admitted. “I got the locks open like you showed me, but the Watch caught us later. I wanted to talk to you about that, though. I’ve got another idea, but I’m not sure how to make it work.” He lowered his voice. “I want to get her collar removed.”

  Ricky stared at him. “Removed, as in illegally?”

  “Well, I can’t afford to buy her freedom, so yeah, it would be illegally.” Bensin hooked a thumb in his own collar. “It’s only steel, right? I know there’s tools that can cut through steel. There’s got to be some metal factory or something where I could pay someone to do it.”

  “Dude, why are you asking me about that? Do you have any idea what the consequences would be if you were caught?”

  “I’m asking you ’cause you always seem to know how to do everything, and if you don’t know, you know people who do. And yeah, I can imagine the consequences, but I’ve got to take the risk. It’s better than Ellie growing up in slavery. Do you know the kinds of stuff slave girls have to go through when they get to be, like, our age?”

  “Yeah, bro, I do. I’ve been a slave six years now, and I may not have a sister, but I hear stories about these things too. But I’m not sure your idea will work. First off, I think you’d have a hard time finding someone to do it. Rule number fifty-seven: know about laws and their consequences so you can decide if it’s really worthwhile to break them — or to try to get other people to break them for you. The consequence for a free person attempting to illegally remove a slave’s collar is slavery! How many people do you think would be willing to risk that? And for you it would count as another attempted escape, which would mean, what, forty lashes this time? Dude, you’d end up half dead!”

  “There must be people who do it,” Bensin insisted. “Offer enough money and someone’s always willing to break the law. There’s a black market for everything, didn’t you once tell me that?”

  Ricky shook his head. “Even if you could find someone, I don’t think it’s any more likely to work than your last plan. Say you do get her collar removed; you’ll still run the same risk of being caught out on the streets that you did before. Are you sure it’s worth it? The Creghorns don’t treat your sister that bad, do they? Not like they treated you.”

  “Not yet, they don’t. But how do I know they won’t start lashing her too when she’s older? How do I know they won’t sell her to some guy who — who’ll do worse things? Please, you’ve got to help me.”

  “What do you think I can do, exactly?”

  “Ask around! Maybe one of the guys where you work would know, or they can ask around too. Somebody must know somebody who knows where I can find someone to cut her collar off.”

  His friend sighed. “Well, okay. I’ll ask around, but don’t get your hopes too high. Even if you find someone who would risk it, it’s got to be insanely expensive.”

  “But cheaper than buying her freedom, which would be my only other choice now.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I’ll ask, bro. But you’d better start saving your money.”

  “Thanks, Ricky, you’re awesome. I owe you.”

  “You want to come shoot some hoops? I could probably get the other guys to let you play for a while.”

  “Wish I could. I’m late already. My new owner’s not as strict about that, but I’d better not push my luck. See you around.” With a wave, Bensin set off at a jog for the bus stop.

  Coach Steene was busy overseeing his Advanced Kickfighting students while they sparred, and he barely glanced up when Bensin slipped into the classroom. He didn’t look at his watch, and Bensin breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Well, what are your plans for tomorrow?” his owner inquired on their way home from the store that evening. “Did you find yourself some work?”

  “No, Coach,” Bensin admitted, wiggling his toes in his new just-the-right-size shoes. “I guess it was too short notice. So I’m not sure what I’ll do tomorrow. Nobody else I know has the day off.” He supposed he could always hang around the Creghorns’ house and do odd jobs in exchange for time with Ellie. But he wanted to earn money for the day he hoped they would have together next week, and now he was more eager than ever to start saving up to have her collar removed. Prize money or not, it was going to be a long time till he had enough, if Ricky was correct. He had better start right away.

  “You could ask around the apartment complex,” Coach suggested as they pulled into the parking lot. “There aren’t any yards, but maybe someone here has housework to be done. Of course, most people would be at work on a Monday.”

  Bensin carried in the chair they had bought and put his new clothes away. After they had eaten a late dinner and he had washed the dishes, Coach wrote him a pass. Bensin pulled on his new jacket and went out to start knocking on doors.

  It was always uncomfortable talking to free people he didn’t know, but he tried to act friendly and respectful at the same time, as he knew Ricky would have advised. Three neighbors were annoyed at being bothered and told him to go away. Two weren’t home, five owned slaves of their own, eleven said they already hired in for housework, and three more told him
that although they would be at work during the day tomorrow, they might be open to hiring him in sometime on an evening or weekend when they were home.

  Bensin gave Coach Steene’s apartment number and phone number, which he had made sure to memorize, to everyone who seemed remotely interested. But he was discouraged when he trudged home over an hour later with no prospects for the next day.

  Coach sat in his armchair watching the sports channel, but he muted it when Bensin came back in and tried to help him think of a solution. “I guess we could put an ad on the community bulletin board at the CSF, but of course that wouldn’t be in time for tomorrow. There must be someone else around here who works odd hours like I do and can use some extra help.”

  Bensin perched on the edge of the desk and sighed. “Actually, Coach, there is one more person I could ask.” He had been reluctant to consider it, trying to exhaust every other possibility first.

  “Yeah? My phone’s on my dresser if you want to give someone a call.”

  Bensin chewed on his lip, trying to decide if it would be worth it. Would it be that bad to spend the day washing dishes and vacuuming for the Creghorns, talking to Ellie while she kept an eye on the baby?

  But that’s not the life I want for my little sister. And without money, I can’t get her anything better. He took a deep breath. “All right. I guess I’ll call.”

  He wasn’t sure why he had even kept the business card, but he had. He knew right where it was: sitting under his T-shirts at the bottom of the cardboard box by his bed. Bensin dug it out, crumpled but intact, and stood looking at it for a moment.

  Kalgan Shigo, City Watch Officer, South Jarreon Precinct, it read. Below was a phone number with an extension and the address of the Watch station where Bensin and Ellie had been taken.

  He found the phone in Coach’s room. His mouth had gone dry, so Bensin went into the kitchen to get a drink before he dialed. What am I supposed to say to a Watch officer?

  “So who’s this person you’re calling?” Coach wanted to know, muting the TV again as Bensin pulled a cup from the cupboard.

  “He’s a Watch officer.” Just saying the words made Bensin’s heart thud a little harder. He filled the cup from the tap and took a big gulp.

  “No wonder you look so nervous. Let me guess: he’s the one who arrested you the other week?”

  “Yes, Coach. He gave me his card and said to call him if I ever want to hire out.” Bensin downed the rest of his water and refilled the cup in case he needed it partway through the conversation. “I guess I better get it over with.”

  He rubbed his sweaty palms dry on his shirt and then punched in the numbers. For some reason, calling a Watch officer was scarier than talking to one in a Watch station. What am I supposed to say to him?

  He cleared his throat once and then again as he heard it ringing. A female recorded voice said, “You have reached the South Jarreon Precinct City Watch Office. If you know your party’s extension, you may dial it at any time.”

  Taking a deep breath, Bensin entered the three-digit extension on the card.

  The phone rang once. Maybe he won’t be there.

  Twice. It’s late in the evening. He can’t work the night shift every night.

  Three times. Maybe I should just hang up in case he is there.

  “Officer Shigo speaking.”

  Bensin’s heart lurched and lodged itself in his throat. He opened his mouth but couldn’t seem to get any sounds out.

  “Hello?” came the deep voice in his ear.

  “Um — hello,” he managed, barely above a whisper.

  “Yes? Who is this?”

  His mouth felt like a desert. He grabbed the cup of water, sweaty hand slipping on the slick plastic, and took another gulp. “Um — it’s, uh — my name is Bensin, sir. I was — I was there a couple weeks ago. Y-you gave me your card and said I could call you.”

  “Oh, yes. I remember you, Bensin. Brave kid, willing to sacrifice yourself for your sister. How are you both doing?”

  Coach Steene was listening, but surely he couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation. Bensin pressed the phone harder against his ear. “Uh, f-fine, sir, thank you.”

  “Got yourself sold, didn’t you? How’s it going with your new owner? He doesn’t work you more than those eleven hours a day, does he?”

  “No, sir. And he gives me a day off every week. Actually, I — I was wondering if —” He swallowed hard and started again. “You said if I was allowed to hire out, that you might have work I could do. I — I know it’s kind of short notice, but I’m off tomorrow, and — well —” he faltered to a stop, switching the phone from hand to hand so he could wipe both on his shirt again.

  “Tomorrow. Well, that is pretty short notice, but I think I could put a few jobs together for you. I’m not off tomorrow, but I work the late shift all this week. Why don’t you come over at eleven in the morning? I think I could probably find about four, five hours’ worth of work you could do.”

  Bensin snatched another sip of water, nearly dropping the cup. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or dismayed that this was working out.

  “Are you still there?”

  He jumped. “Yes, sir. Yes, um, that sounds good.”

  “Is your owner around right now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let me talk to him for a moment, would you?”

  “Yes, sir. Just a second.”

  He held out the phone to Coach Steene. “He wants to talk to you, Coach.”

  It was a relief to give up the phone. Bensin’s palms were clammy. He pressed them against his face, which felt burning hot.

  “Hello?” A pause. “Yes, officer, I’m Steene Mayvins, Bensin’s new owner. Yes. Yes; it’s his day off, so I told him he’s free to hire himself out if he wants. He’ll be taking the bus. Yes, he’s a hard worker; very responsible. I haven’t had any problems.” Another pause. “Yeah, I will. Thanks, same to you. All right, here he is again.”

  Reluctantly, Bensin took the phone back. “Sir?”

  “You have a map of the city bus routes, Bensin?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All right. I’ll give you my address and the cross streets and you can look up how to get there. Do you have something to write with?”

  “Um, just a second, sir.” Bensin cast frantically about for a pen.

  Coach Steene, guessing what he needed, pointed to his backpack in the corner by the door. “Use a sheet from one of my notebooks. I’ve got pens and pencils in there somewhere too.”

  Bensin fumbled with the zipper and winced as he dropped the phone onto the carpet. He ripped a blank page out of the first notebook he found, stabbed his finger painfully on a sharp pencil, and scrambled to pick up the phone and carry everything to the desk.

  “Sorry, sir. Okay, I’m ready now.” He jotted down the address and street names as he heard them, the numbers and words crawling out of his trembling hand and across the page in a spidery scrawl.

  “All right. I’ll see you at eleven tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

  “No, sir, I won’t. Thank you, sir.”

  Bensin pressed the “end call” button and collapsed in the chair, his knees weak. He slumped across the desk, his collar thudding against the wood as he rested his forehead on its smooth surface. What have I just done? What have I done?

  Coach Steene, watching him, chuckled. “Talking to a Watch officer can’t be all that scary, can it?”

  Bensin closed his eyes. “Oh, yes, Coach. It can.”

  Chapter Nine: Watch Officers are Regular People Too

  Bensin didn’t sleep well that night, waking up again and again imagining what the next day would hold. What had he been thinking, hiring himself out to a Watch officer?

  But he seemed like a decent guy. Sort of. Yeah, a decent guy who was dedicated to his job and wouldn’t think twice about arresting him and Ellie if he caught them trying to escape again.

  Well, there was nothing Bensin could do about it now. He had
committed himself, and he had no choice but to show up.

  When he woke up in the morning, the first thing Bensin did was leap out of bed and dash down the hall to check the clock in the kitchen. He had a dreadful fear that he had overslept and that he was going to be late to Officer Shigo’s house. But the yellow numbers on the microwave said 7:23. So much for sleeping in on my day off.

  Coach Steene’s door opened and he stuck a sleep-tousled head out. “What’s going on? I heard running.”

  “Sorry, sir. I thought I was late.”

  “No, you’re early, and it’s my weekend.” He sounded grumpy. “I don’t appreciate being woken up at the crack of dawn by what sounds like a charging buffalo galumphing down my hall.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Bensin repeated meekly. “I’ll walk next time.”

  The door shut. For lack of anything else to do, Bensin went back to bed, but there was no question about getting back to sleep. Finally he got up again, pulled out his bus map, and studied the colored lines until he was sure he knew where he would be changing buses, what stop to get off at, and which way to go from there.

  When he heard Coach Steene get up, he made his way back down the hall. Coach was dumping this and that in the blender. “I’m about to go out for a run. You want to come, or would you rather sit around and enjoy your morning off?”

  “I’ll come, Coach.” What else was there to do? Maybe he could work off some of his nervous energy. Bensin hurried back to the bedroom for his new shoes and socks and his baseball cap.

  After a run, a smoothie, a shower, and breakfast, he could stand it no longer. “I guess I’ll head out now, Coach. You mind writing me a pass?”

  “’Course not. Especially since that officer reminded me to. I wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the City Watch for sending my slave out passless.” Coach filled in the information on one of the slips and signed his name at the bottom. “Don’t forget to pack yourself a lunch. You could make a sandwich with some of that beef from last night’s dinner if you want, and there’s plenty of fruit and energy bars. Better take a bottle of water, too.”