The Button Girl

by Sally Apokedak

Repentance's knees went weak. She would go back to the fog and the gray. Apparently the healing the overlords sought in her village entailed more than soaking in the hot springs. Apparently it was a brothel of some sort. She'd seen overlord women walking in the woods near the Hot Springs healing house often enough. She'd always assumed they had come down for healing. Maybe they were providing services rather than being served.

  This was Providence's idea of a joke, no doubt. She should have known that she could not rebel against her assigned place in life. He had made her a breeder and planted her in a muggy, gray village, and no matter how much she was willing to sacrifice to escape, to the swamp she would return.

  She bowed her head. She had given up her beloved Comfort and the sweet, funny, little boys for nothing.

  No, not for nothing. She lifted her head and stared defiantly at Jadin's back. She would never have children. She would never have to watch as her bawling weanlings were taken away in the slave carts. The prince wanted refreshment and Repentance understood what that meant. It did not include children. When he was ready for children, he'd leave his concubines behind and button with a royal overlord woman.

  An old man—a slave—shuffled across the dock, followed by a fat overlord woman. They stopped by Sober's pole. "He's a big, strong, healthy fellow," the slave said.

  He felt Sober's muscles. "Yes, indeed, Providence has smiled upon us this day. I never hoped to find such a fine one after Buttoning Day. Usually them as fail the buttonings are weak or sickly."

  "Maybe something else is wrong with him, Calamity," the fat woman said. "I don't want a mean one, remember. Providence knows disciplining the spoiled ones takes so much time and energy, and we're not in a position to spare either commodity just now."

  The slave nodded. "That's true, Mistress Merricc."

  "What's wrong with his face, then? He's been hit. He's probably disobedient."

  The old slave chuckled. "That's nothing on his face, there," he said. "I still remember the day I stood on this dock—what was it?—sixty years ago or thereabouts."

  "Yes, Calamity, but there's no need to go back all that way, is there? Can you tell me why his face is bruised or not?"

  "As I was saying, Mistress, if you are real big and strong, like this lad is, and like I once was, the slavers hit you even when you never provoke them. They do it to prove to the buyers that you can take a beating. They do it to show that they can mistreat you and you won't hit back." He paused and guided his mistress around the back of Sober's pole. "See his back, here?"

  The woman gasped. "Do you mean they beat him like this and he'd done nothing wrong?"

  Repentance, horrified, looked over at Sober. The slavers who guarded Hot Springs never beat anyone. They left you alone as long as you minded your own business and didn't try to run away.

  Sober lifted his head and Repentance flinched, expecting to see hatred in his eyes. Instead she was met with only sorrow. He held her gaze until she had to look away, as waves of shame and despair crashed over her.

  Never is a man so rich that he needs no help from others. Humble yourselves, therefore, and accept the blessing, though it be offered by the hand of a fellow you hate. It's all from Providence, in the end.

  ~Precepts of Providence, 34.6

  Chapter 8

  Mistress Merricc stood on the slave dock inspecting Sober's back and tut, tut, tutting. "This is not the way. Not the way to treat a man. Are you sure he did nothing to deserve this?"

  "This young man is gentle, Mistress," the old slave said. "I'm speaking straight. If he'd hit back when they beat him, he wouldn't be standing here now. They send the ones as hit back over to the fighting ring."

  The woman held one hand over her mouth as she continued to stare at Sober's back. "I had no idea."

  After a moment, she walked around and faced Sober. "My name's Mistress Merricc. I own a farm down the mountain a ways. Grow a little bit of everything, but potatoes are my bead crop, for the most part."

  She paused.

  Sober kept his eyes respectfully averted and said nothing.

  "I am in need of a young man," Mistress Merricc continued. "My man, here, has gotten old and while I have several other workers, none of them are quick enough to take on the job as overseer."

  She paused again. Then sighed. "And I suppose you are not smart enough either. Why do you not look at me when I speak to you?"

  "He's not allowed," the old slave, Calamity, said quickly. "Mistress, maybe you'd best leave the talking to me, this being your first time at a slave market and all."

  She scowled, but stepped back.

  Calamity moved in front of Sober. "Now boy, look at me."

  Sober looked.

  "I am old and I been a slave on Mistress Merricc's farm for sixty years. I served her father until he died last year. Now I serve her. It's a good place to live. Hard work, good food and never a beating unless you deserve it."

  Sober nodded.

  "We need a smart man, you understand?"

  "Yes, sir," Sober said.

  "You smart?"

  Sober threw a quick glance at Repentance. "I make my share of bad choices, but I try to gain some wisdom on the other side of each one."

  Repentance winced.

  The old man cleared his throat. "We'll soon find out how wise you are, young man. Answer me this:

  When dragon breath and Harthill meet,

  Icy tower, searing heat,

  I roll down the city street,

  And make my enemies stumble.

  What am I?"

  "What is that supposed to be, Calamity?" Mistress Merricc asked. "You ask him a riddle to test his intelligence? Wouldn't it be better to ask him how many chignets of potatoes are in a bashful? Or how many beads he'll earn if he grows eighteen bashfuls of potatoes on each of thirty parcels of land? Something along those lines?"

  "All due respect, Mistress, but I'm not interested in the boy's mathematical ability. I been here with your daddy many a time buying slaves. Let me do my job."

  She held up her hands in surrender and stepped back, again.

  Repentance checked Sober's expression trying to see if he knew the answer to the riddle. His face held no emotion as he stared at the ground.

  He didn't know.

  He had to know.

  If Repentance could see Sober on a farm working for Mistress Merricc—she offered up a quick prayer. If he had a fair mistress, he might be able to forgive one day and Repentance might find her load of guilt a little lighter. Besides, he deserved to have a good position on a farm with a mistress that wouldn't beat him. He'd done nothing wrong. He was suffering through no choice of his own.

  She stared at Sober, willing him to know the answer to the riddle.

  The old slave shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  Mistress Merricc, looking skeptical, opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it again when Calamity shook his head.

  "Give him a trickle of time to work it out, Mistress," Calamity said. "It's good that he pauses. A wise man does not rush."

  Repentance tried to work out the riddle herself. When dragon breath and Harthill meet—icy tower, searing heat.

  She didn't know what would happen if a dragon breathed on Harthill's towers, because she'd never been around ice. Or dragons, for that matter. Maybe chunks of ice would crack off and crash down onto the street to make men stumble. More likely, rivers of water would flood the streets.

  She was so intent on the riddle that she didn't notice the two troopers until they stood in front of her.

  The big one set to untying her hands.

  Her legs trembled. This was it. She was headed back down the mountain. Back to the gray life. Only her new gray life would be even worse than the old.

  She, the one who hated the overlords so much, was destined for their entertainment. If it weren't so sad, it would be funny. It was sad, though. The thought of an overlord man touching her, turned her stomach sour.

  "Repentance," Sober said.<
br />
  She couldn't look at him.

  "May Providence give you a torch for your right hand and cast a solid path before your feet," he said.

  Repentance didn't understand. She heard Sober pronouncing the ancient blessing on her, but it made no sense. He hated her. Didn't he? She glanced up to search his eyes.

  He smiled a sad sort of smile.

  The trooper, one giant hand encircling her upper arm, yanked her away from her post.

  "May thick fog hide you, Repentance," Sober said. Then he turned to look at Calamity and continued, "even as it causes your enemies to stumble."

  "You see!" Calamity shouted. "I knew he was a smart one."

  "Is he? How do you know?" Mistress Merricc asked.

  "Fog, Mistress. The answer to the riddle is fog."

  A fat grin spread across her face and her chins wobbled as she nodded.

  Repentance reluctantly pulled her gaze away from Sober. He was safe. That was something. And he'd forgiven her. Her heart lifted at the thought. He didn't hate her. She hurried after the trooper trying to catch her body up to the arm he was yanking.

  He pulled Repentance off the slave dock and turned into an alleyway which ran beside the building. "Why are we taking this one so early?" he asked.

  The other one turned to answer, and Repentance saw that he was missing an ear. "Dockmaster's afraid she'll come to harm," he said. "She's bought and paid for and he don't want anyone messing with her."

  Repulsed, Repentance tore her attention off the earless side of his head. It had probably been bitten off in a fight. They were no better than animals.

  The trooper yanking on her arm smiled at—no, he leered—at her. "Who's the lucky fellow with the pocket full of beads?"

  "The pocket that was full of beads, you mean. His pocket is a trickle lighter after paying for this one, I can guarantee."

  "Whose pocket are we discussing?"

  The big trooper tripped on a crack in the ice. He jerked her arm while regaining his balance and Repentance cried out.

  "Careful with her," Earless said. "She's going to the whore house ... I mean the healing house at Hot Springs, but I don't think Jadin bought her for regular service. I hear this one is reserved for the prince himself."

  "Yoiks!" The big one jerked away from her as if her arm had become a hot coal. "I hope I haven't left a mark."

  "Your life's not worth two beads if she's bruised."

  Repentance rubbed her sore arm and shoulder. If it wasn't for the bit about the prince, she wouldn't mind going back. She hated the gray swamp but from the healing house she might be able to catch glimpses of Comfort and the little boys every now and again. And she wouldn't have to worry about having sons. Ever. She could almost make herself feel glad about her fate.

  Almost.

  Except for the prince.

  If Providence was fair He wouldn't send her to the healing house.

  Was he fair? Every fiber of her lowborn soul screamed the answer. Providence favored the overlords. She could expect no help from Him. If she was to escape the prince, she had to find her own way. She dropped her hand into her pocket and worried her buttons around in her fingers as she considered her situation.

  It came down to making a choice, really. She could walk docilely along beside the troopers and let them take her down to the fog, down to Jadin, down to the prince. And she'd be no better than the girls in the swamp, breeding for the overlords like a herd of dumb cows.

  Or she could run.

  The troopers were afraid to bruise her. What could they do if she ran? They wouldn't dare beat her as they had done to Sober.

  She dropped the buttons, extracted her hand from her pocket, and picked up the skirt of her robe. She didn't know what kind of distraction she was looking for, but when it came, she'd be ready.

  If they caught her—and they probably would—what then?

  She saw in her mind's eye the dead boys on ropes and shuddered.

  Determined, she clutched her skirts tighter. She'd rather die than entertain an overlord prince.

  She tested the ground, dragging her feet, trying to slide. The ice was dry and sticky. Fine for running. She took that as affirmation from Providence that her plan was a good one.

  Halfway down the block, the troopers stopped next to a skim carriage, this one very different from the open-bedded wagon that had carried her up the mountain. She climbed in to find cushioned seats covered with buttery-soft, warm material. She sank into the seat by the door. The troopers took places up front—the big one, moving levers, sat looking out the wide, front window, and Earless, holding his dragon stick at the ready, sat by the side window.

  The carriage lifted off the icy street and set off with a whisper. Repentance pulled aside the curtain and peered out. As they turned into an alley in back of the slave market and approached an intersection, a boy darted from behind a stairway, screeching.

  Both troopers tensed. The driver banked to the right while Earless took aim. A second boy charged out from a gate across the alley, hitting the first boy with ice pellets shot from the muzzle of a toy dragon stick.

  Earless cursed, but relaxed. "Get on out of here, you alley dogs," he shouted out his side window. "You came this close to losing your heads this day."

  The next street their narrow alley crossed was a wide, busy thoroughfare. The driver stopped the wagon. Repentance blinked at the sunny scene. A man on one corner played a mountain pipe, a bowl in front of him. Men walked by, few stopping to give the man any attention at all. Some women stood, swaying to the music. One, her hair tucked into a fur-lined hood and her body sheathed in a velvet cloak, dug in a handbag, extracted some beads, and dropped them into the bowl.

  Skim carts of varying shapes and sizes sped up and down the street, swishing back and forth to pass one another. The movement made Repentance dizzy. She'd never seen so many people at one time.

  One wagon seemed to be disabled just in front of her alleyway. It blocked the street partially. Two men lay next to it, studying the underside. A tendril of smoke twisted out from underneath on the street side.

  Repentance's driver leaned out his side window. "Move that pile of dragon dung! I'm on the king's business."

  One of the men crawled out from under the disabled wagon and approached. "Sorry, sir. We're trying." He leaned around the driver slightly so as to get a view of Repentance. He was a handsome overlord with sky blue eyes and a scar across one eyebrow.

  "Mind giving us a hand?" the man asked the troopers. "We'll push our piece of dragon guano back into the alley and be out of your way."

  The wind shifted and Repentance smelled something delicious. Juicy broiled meat, perhaps. Or maybe a thick, hot stew. She spotted the source of the smell across the street. An eatery—The Plump Partridge. A sign in the window claimed they served the most succulent squabs and cheepers on the summit—flash-fried to sear in the juices.

  She sniffed greedily. Her stomach felt all caved-in.

  And that made her mad. They hadn't even fed her but one bowl of thin soup in two days.

  The troopers had their attention on the man with the broken wagon. Repentance grabbed the lever on the door. But where would she run too? She couldn't go home even if she did know the way, and she had no friends on the mountain who would take her in.

  The big trooper and Earless, both cursing, climbed out and followed the man with the sky blue eyes.

  Repentance sat alone in the wagon. If Providence wasn't giving her the perfect chance to run, what was He doing? Maybe He'd changed His mind and was going to be nice to her for once. Maybe He'd show her feet the way to go, if she'd only start out. She whispered the fifth Guidance Precept to herself. Walk and you will see what's around the bend. Stay still and you will never know the places Providence would have taken you.

  She opened her side door, sprang from the seat, and took off running.

  She ran past the man playing pipes, knocking a smartly-dressed overlord lady on her rear end, as she flew by. She ran past a s
hopkeeper who was raking a grid-pattern into the ice on his front stoop, past a nanny with a baby stroller, and around the corner into an alley.

  Angry shouts followed her, drowning out the sound of the pipes.

  Repentance ran.

  Where she was going, she didn't know. She wanted to head toward the small houses on the edge of the city. Once she found the wall, she'd figure out how to get over it and away. But she was running too fast to be able to study the houses.

  She bolted out of the alley. Turned on a busy street. Darted into the next alley on her left. Zig-zagged across another street. Into another alley.

  Behind her, shouts gave indication that she was still being chased. She didn't slow down to look.

  Her lungs burned. She ran on. Twisting, Turning. Taking whatever path opened in front of her.

  "Stop running, girl." The voice sounded right behind her.

  A hand touched the back of her robe but didn't manage to get a firm grasp. She put on a burst of speed, darting out of the alley and into a sun-flooded square. A square with a frozen fountain in the center. She skirted some boys playing skipball.

  Repentance looked wildly around. The slave market sat at one end of the square. Sober was still at his stake. Her heart slammed against her chest.

  All for nothing.

  She was right back where she'd started.

  She ducked into an alley on the right.

  Feet pounded the hard ice behind her.

  This time the hand, instead of grabbing at her, slammed her between the shoulder blades. She stumbled. She was recovering from that when something hit her behind the knees and she went down. Hard. Her bare hands hit the ice, and she felt an immediate burn. One shoulder crunched against the ground.

  Big hands grabbed her. She squirmed and kicked as she was thrown over a broad shoulder. She beat on her captor's back.

  He ran down the alley carrying her as if she were no more than a sack of grub roots. He turned a corner and skidded to a stop behind a staircase. "For the love of Providence, hold still," he said. "My first rescue and it's all gone wrong."

  She stopped hitting him.

  Rescue?