by Thom Lane
It wasn’t being clean that made the difference. He knew that as well as I did. But we both pretended, shaking ourselves dry like puppies and rubbing hands through each other’s hair to squeeze out the worst of the water. Then he gripped my head between his two hands and kissed me, and said, “Don’t worry. Master Luke’ll sort it all out, he always does. You’ll be fine.”
I knew his master’s solution to my master’s problem, and I’d be the opposite of fine. I’d be a shadow of myself, brain-burned, maybe nothing at all left of me. I shivered, which had nothing to do with cool breeze on chill wet skin; and followed him regardless, because what else can you do, when someone has hold of your leash?
Back at the fire, my master looked less than comfortable. So did his, crouched over the pan, prodding uncertainly at broken ruined eggs.
“Mas-ter…!”
I’d never have thought to see Master Mage Lucan look abashed, still less by his slave boy. Nevertheless, there he was, with a slight whimsical smile on his lips as he said, “I just thought I’d show you that I’m quite capable of frying myself a couple of eggs. Myself and my guest. I thought it would be a lesson worth the learning.”
Tam dropped down to his knees beside the crouching mage, and almost—almost!—pushed his master out of the way. Actually what he did was nudge at him with a wet shoulder, half affection and half exasperation, no respect at all as far as I could see.
Master Lucan snorted. I didn’t see what he did then, I only had eyes for my own master as I trotted swiftly to his side; I did hear the slap of a hard hand on wet skin and a young man’s yelp, followed by his muffled giggle.
My master looked at me with much that same wry smile. “Sorry, lad,” he murmured, as I knelt beside him. “I seem to have led us straight to what I was trying to escape.”
“At least you’ll get your breakfast now.” I didn’t mean that to sound quite as sharp as it came out. I was trying to offer him some crumb of comfort, I suppose; he sounded unbearably rueful, and a master shouldn’t ever be apologizing to his slave. Whatever he’s done, whatever trouble he’s led his boy into. But I was suddenly ravenous, and not so much terrified as despairing; there’d be no escape now, no hope of it. Master Lucan would see my little magic burned out of me, and Master Jensen wouldn’t be interested in the shambling ruin that remained. He’d sell me to some gangmaster and be gone, and my heart would break if there was even enough of me left to remember how I’d felt before.
It really didn’t matter, then, if my tongue slipped up. Even if it made my master angry. One more beating, what was that? I ducked my head and waited for his discipline.
Instead, I felt his hand close lightly on my neck and simply rest there, a touch of reassurance, warmth against the chill of my skin and the worse chill of my fear. I heard Master Lucan say, “I don’t think that’s fit food for free men. Better scrape it out and start again.”
“Yes, Master.”
I didn’t lift my head to look. Why watch food wasted, when you’re starving? Even my hunger didn’t matter now, though. Nothing could, except maybe my master’s touch on the back of my neck. I kept very still, while I listened to the sounds of fresh eggs being broken into sizzling bacon fat, while I heard Master Jensen say, “I suppose we never had a hope of getting away?”
“Not a hope of it, no,” Master Lucan agreed equably.
“So did you fix me with some kind of magic tag, or was it a spell under our feet, or what?”
“A simple lure.” He was laughing at my master, and I hated him all over again. “The smell of bacon, on a young man’s empty stomach. That was all. If you cared about your boy at all, of course you’d make a run for it, sooner than hand him over to the Guild. The hardest part was being on the road half an hour before you were. My poor Tam had to get me out of bed in the full dark, and I’m never at my sweetest in the morning. He’s carrying bruises for it, aren’t you, lad?”
”Yes, Master.” Tam sounded unworried. He probably carried bruises most days, and they wouldn’t all be earned. No owner ever lost sleep over being fair to a slave. Tam obviously thought there were compensations, serving his dark master.
“Wait.” Master Jensen just sounded bewildered. “Are you saying this was an ambush? Did you hoax me last night, with that tale about what your Guild would do to my boy, and what state he’d be in afterwards?”
“Not at all. Every word was true, and it’s still what you ought to do, take him to the Guild and see him neutered. He’s dangerous, out in the world untrained. But what young man ever did what he ought to, where his heart’s all tangled up with his duty? Of course you’d make a run for it instead. I should have known; I did eventually guess. And perhaps I nudged you into it, that too. I don’t have your boy’s abilities, but the right word, the right gesture at the right time can have the same effect, even without magery behind them.”
“Why? Why do that? You could just have come out with what you wanted last night, without any need for this charade.”
Master Lucan wasn’t the only one who could be grumpy in the mornings. Master Jensen slurped his kaff and glowered at the mage across the rim of the cup. Inside, I thought he was feeling as hopeless, as helpless as I was myself, but he wasn’t going to let that show. I touched his arm lightly, warningly—don’t forget he’s a powerful mage, don’t anger him—but he only swatted me away without a glance.
Well, then. Let the free folk squabble over my fate. I had small choice anyway. I’d made the only choice I ever could, to stay slave, not to try for my freedom. Master Jensen was right: I couldn’t make that choice with reservations. It was all or nothing, slave or free. I knew which I wanted; now I had to live with it.
I knew who I wanted for a master, lifelong if he would have me. If he could keep me whole and healthy. These next few minutes would decide that, maybe. Free folk would decide that. All I could do was try to please him, try to keep him wanting me and wanting me, day after day after day.
It was no easy life I’d chosen, and it never got easier. I knew that.
It was still what I wanted: the pure thing, submission to the man of my dreams.
Who was sitting just there, taking risks on my behalf; his heart tangled up in his duty, according to Master Lucan. Oh, I did hope that was true. Even as I agonized for him in case he went too far, provoked the mage, brought judgment down on his own head.
“I could,” Master Lucan said, “but then I wouldn’t have known for sure that you were the man I was looking for.”
Not a charade, then: a test. Master Jensen didn’t look any happier about that. Nor did I, probably, all indignant on his behalf. Not that the free folk noticed, of course. Neither of them was paying me any attention at all—but Tam was suddenly there at my side, a warning hand laid on my shoulder. Just hold still, don’t interfere. Let our masters sort this out between them.
Of course. He didn’t need actually to say anything; it all went without saying. And I couldn’t swat Tam away, the way Master Jensen had me when I tried to give him the same kind of silent warning. Really, I didn’t want to. I leaned back into his warm strength instead, grateful for the support. There’s a lot that free folk never notice and never need to know; the way we slaves look after each other is high on that list. Right underneath the way we look after our masters, in a hundred ways they never realize. It’s not all polishing boots and opening doors and making sure their kaff is fresh and hot.
Poor Master Jensen’s was neither, but there was nothing I could do about that right now. I wasn’t sure I could actually move even if I wanted to, even if he wanted me; my whole life might hang on this one conversation, and Tam’s arm wasn’t the only thing that seemed to pin me down.
“Last night,” my master said slowly, “I thought you were just trying to recruit me for a game.”
“Last night, I was,” the mage said. “Well, something more than that. I wanted to use you, I confess it—but you would never have known. Last night, I didn’t know what you were.”
“Oh, and what’s that—a
wastrel, a fool? An innocent, a mark, a gull?”
“No, that’s what I thought you were: any of those, perhaps a little of them all. Someone I could use, at any rate.” He didn’t hesitate to admit it. At my side, his slave snorted soft amusement; when I glowered at him, Tam rolled his eyes in a long-suffering way. I’m sorry, he will say these things. What’s a boy to do? Masters are all the same. You just can’t train them to behave…
So then I had to swallow my own abrupt bubble of laughter, painfully sharp, while Master Lucan went on, “What you actually are is much more important than that. You’re a man with an untrained mage at his heel.”
“You mean it’s my boy that’s important, not me?”
Master Lucan shrugged. “The boy is a tool, no more. It’s up to you to use him, if you will. On my behalf, if you will. I confess, I would have gulled you when I thought you were just a young man on the take. When I first understood what your boy was, I would have sent you straight to Amaranth with him, to the Guild. Only then I saw how you might serve my Guild and your city and the empire too; and, yes, I tested you. That was impertinent, and I apologize for it,” though he didn’t sound very sorry, “but I needed to know how much you cared for the boy. You may have to risk him; I can’t afford to let you waste him.”
“I don’t understand,” but he was reaching out blindly with that same hand that had knocked me away a minute earlier. Not looking, not even thinking about it with any clarity, all his attention still fixed on Master Lucan: he just wanted me there, gathered in close, where he could be sure of me.
Tam gave me a little push, but I was already moving. Nestling in under my master’s arm, not ready at all for whatever this was but feeling a surge of relief anyway. Whatever this was, we would face it together.
I risked a glance up at Master Lucan, half triumph and half defiance. Just for that moment, as our eyes met, I thought a brief smile touched his thin lips.
A smile of satisfaction, I thought it was, as between us we proved him right, ourselves just exactly what he thought we were. Master and slave, but bound by a stubborn affection.
Or you could turn that around, say it the other way, it would still be equally true: bound by a stubborn affection, but we were still master and slave. Neither one of us was going to forget that. The mage was counting on it.
He said, “I know you don’t understand me yet. How could you? Forgive me; this is a complicated story, and I am out of the habit of explaining overmuch. Tam, this kaff is disgusting.”
“Yes, Master.” His boy sounded quite unworried. “It was brewed hours ago, and then sloshed around while I carried it all this way, and then reheated. Of course it’s disgusting.”
“Well, what are you doing, idling there, the two of you? Break out my pot and make fresh, and look sharp about it.”
“Of course. If masters are still hungry, I could cook pan bread in the bacon fat…?”
My master shook his head abruptly; Tam’s looked at him askance, half-amused, utterly unfooled. “What you mean is, if we’re not, you could cook pan bread in the bacon fat and eat it between you, am I right?”
“The pan does need to be cleaned, and it would be a shame to waste that nice grease. And we’ve a long day ahead, and—”
“That,” his master snapped, “is not decided yet. Let free folk make free choices.” Then his voice was softened by what I thought was a chuckle he didn’t quite let out. “In the meantime, I suppose we do have to feed you something. Make your bread. And throw that mess of eggs in the pan with it; you may as well eat it as chuck it away.”
“Yes, Master,” Tam said brightly, as though he’d never so much as thought of that himself, let alone laid the rejected eggs ready on a broadleaf by the fire there.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten eggs. Any free man would have hurled them back at our sorry heads and likely had us whipped besides, for serving such a leathery burned reheated greasy mess. Tam and I scoffed them down between us, almost fighting for the last stray scrap, wiping the pan out scrupulously with flaps of warm, soft chewy bread.
Then he took my hand and led me over to his master’s pack. He rummaged briefly, and came up with a little bottle of smoked glass.
He touched his finger to his lips, worked out the cork and gestured for me to turn around.
I didn’t need telling twice. The distinctive smell of numb-oil was already cutting through the fire smoke. I felt his slick fingers trace gently along the welts of my lashes; before he was done, the first of them was already insensible.
It didn’t take long, but in that little time that we were focused on cooking and eating and cleaning up, our masters had put their heads together and come to an agreement. I don’t suppose they deliberately talked in soft voices—we were only slaves, after all; what did it matter, if we overheard their plans?—but we were both distracted. Tam knew it all already, anyway. Only I missed the whole point of this trap we’d walked into, why Tam’s master wanted mine, or more particularly why he wanted me. How I could conceivably serve the Guild of Mages before they ripped the magic out of me and left me neutered, dim and hollow…
Well, someone would tell me sooner or later, what I had to do. I didn’t really need to understand why. Obedience is all that matters, simple and instant and total.
That much I thought I could manage.
Maybe it’d be easier, even, once my magic was gone. I used to envy other slaves; their lives were so uncomplicated, when they had no hope of influencing anything. I’d be one of them soon enough. If it felt like being lamed, losing something precious and inherent, that was just the price I paid for the choice I’d made long since, to stay slave and not even try to steal my freedom.
So I knelt back on my heels and waited quietly, like the good boy I did so try to be, while the free folk finished their good fresh kaff with everything settled between them. Then my master was on his feet, tossing his dregs into the fire and his cup to Tam, snapping his fingers to get me up beside him. His pack on my back—and at least this time I felt nothing, all my soreness numbed away, and I only wished my fears could be eased so easily—and my leash in his hand, we were away again: only this time not running for freedom or survival, no. Now we were part of a conspiracy, working for the Guild.
I was half expecting Master Jensen to turn us around and head back the way we’d come. One light tug on my leash, though, taught me differently. We were going onward, following the road into unknown territory.
Another sharper tug puzzled me for a moment: I was already padding neatly at his heel, not pulling, keeping a little slack in the chain. What more did he want?
A third tug answered that. This time he shortened the leash and hauled determinedly until I was right up beside his shoulder, where I wouldn’t dare to walk ordinarily. He slipped the loop of the leash over his wrist and settled his hand on my neck, just above my collar.
“Master?”
“You don’t have the first idea where we’re going, do you?”
“No, Master.”
“Greedy little slut. Just thinking of your belly, while big decisions are made over your head…”
He wasn’t really angry; his grip was warm and comforting, and he was only shaking my head gently, teasing me. I took a risk, then, saying, “Isn’t that how it’s meant to be? So long as I think of my master’s belly first…”
He laughed aloud then, and kissed the side of my head, and said, “Don’t you trouble to think at all, slave boy. I’ll do all the thinking for both of us.”
“Yes, Master,” though I didn’t think his record was very good. He wasn’t such a prize thinker, left to himself. He needed looking after, I thought; he needed me, the way I needed him. Slave and master, we were only good together.
He tucked me more comfortably under his arm and went on, “Now listen this time, you need to know this. And keep your pretty ears pricked in future. I expect you to stay alert to what’s going on. I don’t want to be always having to explain myself to you.”
I was astonished that he was prepared to explain anything at all. I blinked up at him, all attention—or almost all: a little recalcitrant part of my mind was thinking he needs his hair brushed, it looks utterly wild, while another louder part was skipping delightedly, he thinks my ears are pretty! I would probably have waggled them, if I’d been able.
Mostly, though, I really was listening. He said, “There’s a roadside settlement up ahead, which looks no different from any other traders’ camp. Half a day’s journey from the last guildhouse, half a day’s journey to the next, a well and good pasture: no reason not to stop there, if you’re too cheap to pay guild prices. And if you’re lucky you can win more than you save, because of course there are games going on. There are games that have been going on for months,” and of course he was keen to join them, because he still had that gambler’s heart. He always would have; risk was like mother’s milk to him. Or like brandy, better: fire in the mouth and fire in the belly. “It’s why Amaranth seems so empty of players, why someone as lowly as me could get into a game with your old master and his cronies. Half the city’s games have moved out here.”
Why Master Lucan wanted him to join them, where the mages came into this, I still didn’t understand, until he spelled it out for me.
“Something’s happening there, that’s more than simple gambling. People join the game and…just stay. Stay for weeks, for months. Give up their journeys, abandon their families and friends and business, just to stay and play. And it’s not just gambling fever, Lucan says: there’s something else, a focus of power that’s distorting all the magery for miles. His guild has no idea what’s going on, but it’s strong and dangerous and they need to understand it. He was going to have me join the game and just watch, see what happened, treat me as a test. Then he found out about you and what you’d been keeping from me, you sly little animal”—and his fingers flicked my ear painfully, a warning, don’t you ever hold out on me again—“and now he’s hoping that between the two of us, we can be a lot more useful to him.”
