The Collar and the Cavvarach

by Annie Douglass Lima

  “Lots of people have two thousand imps,” Wenn pointed out. “You just gotta have the right connections.”

  “But who would lend a slave that kind of money?” No one. Bensin was absolutely certain of that.

  “Who said anything about asking them to lend it?” The man chuckled once again. “Anyhow, that part’s up to you. You decide to rob your owner or hold up a store, I don’t want to know about it. If you get the money and figure out about your sister’s collar, come see me again. But it’s cash in advance, no credit or promises or your owner’s gold jewelry. Though there’s pawn shops all over this part of town that’ll give you money for that. Oh, and if you even get tempted to say a word about this to anyone, just remember you got no way to prove anything. And when it’s a slave’s word against a free person’s, we both know who they’ll believe.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Bensin sighed. “Do I at least get paid for all the work I did here today? I’m going to be late getting back because of it.”

  “Paid? I just paid you with information, kid. I’m the only place in town will cut off collars this cheap. Consider yourself lucky to have had the chance to talk it over with me. Now you better get outta here and let me get back to work before the other guys start wondering what we’re up to.”

  Bensin followed him back down the hall, still feeling angry and discouraged. He picked up the bag with his lunch from the shelf where he had left it and stalked out of the garage without a word. He was hungry, but he felt too filthy to even be tempted to pull out his sandwich. Did he have time to go home and take a shower before work at the CSF?

  Of course he didn’t. When he got on the bus, the digital clock at the front said 4:22. I was supposed to be there nearly an hour ago! What must Coach Steene be thinking? His Youth Intermediate Cavvara Shil class would have just gotten out, and Bensin should have been there before it started.

  Sometimes when he was drilling the students, Coach got so into what he was doing that he didn’t even notice if a student walked in late or stepped out to get a drink without asking. But it will be more than an hour and a half before I arrive. He’ll be in the middle of his last class of the day by then. There’s no way he won’t notice I wasn’t there. Besides, Bensin knew he smelled like cleaning chemicals, motor oil, and mold, so much so that other passengers were giving him dirty looks as they got on and choosing seats far away from him. He was lucky no one had ordered him off the bus.

  I have to go home and get cleaned up before I can let Coach see me. And I have to figure out something believable to tell him. That was the part that worried Bensin the most. Coach Steene wouldn’t scream in his face or lash him like Mr. Creghorn would have done. But he would certainly want to know where his slave had been, and he had made a big deal of how important honesty was to him.

  He won’t sell me for one little lie even if he does realize I’m lying, Bensin told himself. Coach wouldn’t do that. Not when we’ve been getting along so great all this time and I’ve been winning him money and everything.

  At least, he hoped.

  And then there was the matter of the two thousand imperials. Bensin leaned back in his seat and sighed. So far he had earned fifty each time he had worked for Officer Shigo. He had been spending a little every week on his outings with Ellie; perhaps it was time he started only doing free things with her. She would be disappointed, but buying her freedom was more important than fast food or bus fare to distant playgrounds.

  Even if he saved every sliver from now, on, though, it would still take – he did the math on his fingers — forty weeks to earn enough. But since he already had over three hundred fifty, that brought it down to — let’s see — thirty-two weeks. How long was thirty-two weeks? About eight months, right? Of course, whatever prize money he could win in that time would bring the numbers down more. There was another tournament coming up next weekend; if he placed, that would probably mean another hundred imps or so.

  I’d better start winning a lot. Otherwise Ellie wouldn’t be free till at least October. Hopefully the Creghorns wouldn’t decide to sell her before then. The fact that they had started hiring in another slave made Bensin nervous.

  He sighed again. There was nothing he could do about that problem right now. The really urgent issue was figuring out what to say to his owner in a couple hours. What excuse could he possibly give for getting back so late? And if Coach Steene doesn’t believe my story, might he actually sell me?

  Chapter Fourteen: Downright Entertaining

  Steene was worried as he crossed the parking lot and unlocked his truck. Where was Bensin? The boy had never been late by more than a few minutes before, and now here it was the end of the working day and he hadn’t shown up at all. He had missed three whole classes.

  Pulling out of the parking lot, Steene turned onto the street. Maybe whoever he was working for this morning had extra tasks for him. But they wouldn’t have assigned a whole day’s worth of jobs. Not without calling Steene to ask. And he had checked his phone: no missed calls or messages.

  Sunday was Bensin’s day to hang out with his friends for a few hours after his morning work. Perhaps he had been having fun and had lost track of time. But for three hours? That was uncharacteristic of Bensin, who was probably the most responsible teenager Steene had ever met. Certainly more responsible than Steene himself had been at that age.

  Maybe something happened. Maybe the City Watch picked him up for being out without a pass. But Steene was sure he had remembered to write one that morning, and Bensin never left home without it. Maybe he lost it. No, not likely; and in any case, the Watch would have called his owner.

  Maybe he got hurt. That could have happened in the course of either his yardwork or play. But unless he was lying half-dead in some deserted place, it didn’t explain why no one had contacted his owner. Anyone who found the boy could easily have called the number on the back of his collar tag.

  There was one other possibility, Steene realized, as he pulled into the apartment parking lot. But it seemed just as unlikely as the others. Surely no slave would try to escape in broad daylight. And why would Bensin run away in any case? I’ve been treating him well, haven’t I? He seems happy enough.

  Would you be happy as a slave? his conscience countered. Regardless of how your owner treated you? He didn’t have a good reply.

  As he mounted the steps to his apartment, Steene realized that the kitchen light was on. Then, through the window, he saw Bensin standing by the stove, and a load seemed to lift from his shoulders. He’s at home. Why didn’t I think of that? But that didn’t solve the mystery of why he hadn’t shown up to work.

  When Steene walked in, he was greeted by the smell of chicken cooking and the faint rumble of the dryer in the laundry closet. Why is he doing laundry right now?

  Bensin looked up from the saucepan he was stirring and smiled guiltily over his shoulder. His hair was damp, as though he had taken a shower recently. “Oh, hi, Coach.”

  “Hi.” Steene tossed his backpack onto the desk that served them as a kitchen table and leaned on the counter. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m making dinner, sir. That chicken and broccoli dish with the brown rice that you taught me last week.”

  “Good for you. You know that’s not what I meant.”

  Bensin busied himself scraping at the bottom of the pan with the wooden spoon. “Sorry I didn’t show up at the CSF, sir.”

  “I was worried about you. Where’ve you been all afternoon?”

  He didn’t turn around. “I, uh, I was so tired out from my work this morning that I fell asleep on the bus and missed my stop. When I woke up I didn’t know where I was.”

  “Really?” That didn’t sound very likely. “I thought you knew the city pretty well, with how often you take the bus all over. And you have a map.”

  “I know some parts, sir. But not the area past your apartment in that direction. And I didn’t have my map with me.”

  “I see. Well, so what happened when you woke up?”


  “I didn’t know what to do, so I stayed on the bus until it got to the station at the end of the route. It was further than I thought.”

  “And it didn’t occur to you to just get out at the next stop and wait till a bus came by in the other direction?”

  Bensin stopped stirring. “Oh. Yeah, I guess that would have been smarter. I, uh, I’ll do that next time.”

  “Next time, huh? That still doesn’t sound like a three-hour delay. So, what happened at the bus station?”

  “Well, uh, I had to get out while they refueled the bus and everything, and, uh, since I was there when passengers weren’t supposed to be, they said I had to help clean it.”

  This was getting downright entertaining. “So, I’ve always wondered. How long does it take to scrub an entire city bus?”

  Bensin shifted the spoon from hand to hand, wiping his palms on his shirt. He still didn’t turn around to face Steene. “I don’t know, sir. I don’t have a watch. But it was a long time.”

  “Isn’t there a clock at the front of every bus?”

  “Um, yes, sir, but, uh, but this one wasn’t working.”

  “Really. So you washed the whole bus while its driver waited, and you didn’t think to mention that your owner was expecting you back for work?”

  “Yes, sir, but he, uh, he didn’t listen.”

  “I see. So then what?”

  “So then I rode the bus back and got off at the stop down the street from here.”

  “Why didn’t you get off at the CSF and come to work for at least part of the afternoon? I could have used you in my last class. You know there’s an odd number of students, so without you there, somebody doesn’t have a sparring partner. Not to mention that you need the workout and the practice.”

  Bensin turned off the stove and busied himself inspecting the contents of the saucepan. “Sorry about that, sir. I just — I knew the class was already partway through by that time. It wasn’t that long ago that I got home, sir. I figured it would be better if I made myself useful by fixing dinner instead.”

  “Somehow you seem to have had time to do laundry. Those clothes are in the dryer, by the sound of it.”

  “Yeah. I, uh, I just took them out of the washing machine a minute ago, sir. It was a small load so it didn’t take long.”

  “As I recall, you did laundry two days ago. Why another load so soon?”

  There was a pause. “I — I was running out of clean socks, sir. I forgot to wash them all last time.”

  Steene rolled his eyes. This had gone far enough. “Do me a favor and turn around so I don’t have to keep talking to the back of your head.”

  Slowly, Bensin turned around, his eyes lowered. He clutched the wooden spoon in both hands as though it gave him a sense of security.

  “That was quite a story. Now let’s hear what really happened.”

  He froze. “Sir?”

  “You have many talents, but lying convincingly isn’t one of them. Plus the fact that you keep calling me “sir” instead of “Coach,” which you only do when you’re nervous or uncomfortable about something. So, let’s start again. Whatever happened today, or whatever you did, I’m going to take it a lot better hearing the truth straight out than being lied to. I told you that the day I bought you, if you recall. I don’t appreciate dishonesty.”

  The boy finally looked up and met his gaze, and his green eyes were troubled. “Are you — would you — you wouldn’t sell me, would you, sir?” The spoon trembled in his hands.

  Steene held his gaze, letting him sweat for a moment. “I told you at the beginning that I didn’t want to live with someone I couldn’t trust. I had to deal with one major betrayal in my life just a couple months ago. Trust is a big thing for me, and you’ve just shown me I can’t trust your word anymore.”

  To his surprise, the green eyes welled up with tears, and abruptly Steene was reminded that Bensin was just a kid. Am I being too hard on him? He remembered a few instances when he himself had lied to his parents after missing curfew as a teenager.

  “Tell me the truth now and I’ll give you another chance,” he relented, “but you’re going to have to work hard to earn my trust back after this.”

  “I’m sorry, Coach,” Bensin whispered, staring at the floor again, blinking hard. “I really am. I have such a great life here, and I’ve never had another owner who treated me this nice. I should’ve told you the truth. I just — I — I was afraid you’d get mad.” He sniffed. “Please don’t sell me, sir. Please.”

  “You were afraid I’d get mad about what? What, did you spend the afternoon playing with your friends or something and just not bother to come back to work?”

  Another sniff. Bensin kept blinking. “Y-yeah. Yeah. I was, I was hanging out with my friends, and we were shooting baskets in the park, and nobody else had to leave, and I — I knew I should have, but it was so fun, and — and, yeah.”

  “I see.” Was it shame at his tears that made the boy keep his eyes lowered, or was he still lying? How would slaves afford a basketball? But Steene decided to let it go. It didn’t seem that he was going to find out anything more from the kid at the moment, and he had no proof Bensin was being dishonest. At least this story made sense.

  “I’ll skip my free time next Sunday and work for you extra to make up for it,” Bensin offered.

  “I think that would be fair,” agreed Steene. “That would make up for the work you missed today, but we still have to deal with the dishonesty issue. I guess I won’t sell you for it since it’s your first offense.” At least, as far as I know, he added silently. “But there will have to be consequences. I think it would be reasonable if you spend your free day tomorrow around the apartment instead of going out.”

  Bensin stared up at him. “But — but Coach, I promised I’d meet someone in my old neighborhood tomorrow morning. And then I’m supposed to go work for Officer Shigo again. I told him yesterday that I would.”

  “Well, if you have a phone number for your friend, you can give him a call and let him know you’ll hang out next week instead. I know you have Kalgan’s number; you’ll have to call him up and tell him you won’t be able to make it after all.”

  The boy’s eyes widened with horror. “Cancel on Officer Shigo? What am I supposed to say?”

  “Tell him the truth. Always a good habit.”

  “He’ll kill me, Coach!”

  Steene couldn’t help but smile. “It’s not as though you’re breaking parole or anything. And you never signed a contract promising you’d be there every week.” But the boy looked genuinely terrified. “You can tell him I won’t let you come,” he conceded. “If he asks why, just say you spent too long out with your friends today.”

  Bensin rested his elbows on the counter and buried his face in his hands. “Do I really have to call him?”

  “Of course you do. He isn’t going to be happy waiting and waiting for you tomorrow and wondering why you aren’t showing up. Take it from me.” Steene pulled the phone out of his pocket and slid it across the counter. “Might as well get it over with before we sit down to dinner.”

  With trembling fingers, the boy keyed in the number he had memorized. “Hel-hello, sir. This is Bensin.” He swallowed hard. “Well, um, that’s why I’m calling, sir. I — I won’t be able to come over and work tomorrow, sir. I’m sorry.”

  The poor kid was so pale he nearly matched the countertop he was leaning on. “No, sir, I’m fine. I didn’t get any real injuries yesterday. It’s just that, well, my owner just said I can’t, sir.” He cast a wretched glance at Steene. “I, uh, I stayed out too long with my friends, and, um, I didn’t quite get to work on time today. I won’t do it again, sir, but that’s why I have to stay home tomorrow.”

  There was a long pause. “Yes, sir, I know. You’re right, sir.” His voice was meek. “I’m going to be more responsible from now on, for sure. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Okay, thank you, sir. And yes, sir, I think next Monday should work fine.” He cast a questioning glance at S
teene, who nodded. “Yes, sir, and I’m sorry about that. I will, sir. Okay, bye.”

  Setting the phone down, Bensin buried his face in his arms and groaned, and Steene felt a twinge of remorse. Am I being too hard on him? he wondered again.

  “Well, you survived,” he said, trying to be encouraging. He clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. That chicken you made smells great, and I’m starving. Why don’t you go pick a movie from my collection while I dish up the food and bring it over. We’ll watch while we eat.”

  Bensin nodded. Wordlessly, he went over and crouched down by the box beside the TV where he had arranged Steene’s movie collection.

  But Steene turned to follow him with his eyes, wondering how much Bensin still hadn’t told him. What had the boy really been up to that afternoon?

  Bensin spent most of the next day pacing back and forth in the hallway or staring out of the windows with a glum expression. He watched a little TV with Steene and thumbed through a couple of his sports magazines and then went back to pacing and sighing. Though he didn’t complain out loud, his expression said it all.

  When Steene went out to run errands — deposit Saturday’s prize money in the bank and buy groceries — he relented and asked the boy if he wanted to come along. He was thankful that Bensin accepted, since he wasn’t sure now if he could trust him to stay put in his absence. The boy seemed relieved when the day was finally over and he could go to bed.

  On Tuesday he was up early, cleaning the bathroom first thing and getting ready to leave for work as soon as he had washed the breakfast dishes. “See you back here by eleven,” Steene reminded him as he signed his pass. “We’ll get some cavvara shil practice in before lunch.”

  “Yes, Coach. I won’t be late this time,” Bensin promised. And he wasn’t. He returned on time or a little early the whole next week and threw himself into his chores and practice with extra dedication. It was as though he was trying to make up for his lie and prove to Steene that he was worth keeping around.

  There was another competition coming up on Saturday — just an evening one this time — and Bensin trained hard for it. It was difficult to say which of them was more relieved when Markus mentioned over lunch on Friday that Jayce would not be there. His parents were planning to pull him out of school early that afternoon and take him to the capital again to compete in a bigger tournament that was to last all weekend.