Hello! I am back after an extended holiday break. I hope you all had a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Here is Chapter 13. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!
Susan was surprised once reaching the selling block. Despite the hordes of people milling about the streets of Tashbaan, this open court yard with its wooden platform was almost empty. Almost like it wasn't a selling day.
Larsenilo dragged her along to the side of the platform where the holdings were. There she saw the group of young boys and girls, all between the ages of Lucy and herself, being kept. By the looks of them, they all hailed from different countries, some with the distinctive look of Calormenes, others with the features of Galma, Terebinthia, and elsewhere.
Susan shivered, reminding herself that this was a trade spanning much farther than she'd like to believe. Peter and her may have heard news that this was something being eradicated. But they were wrong or lied to. Trafficking was thriving in Calormen, and clearly other places, even if the dealers had to be sneakier about it.
Susan wanted to be sick – no, she did feel sick. But she saw way too many others who felt the same way. Most of them were younger than her, and she felt the older sister in her coming out. She wanted to go to them, to comfort them, but Larsenilo still had his grip on her arm.
"You aren't going anywhere." He gritted into her ear at feeling her tug away from him.
Before she could respond, a voice came from the other side of the holdings.
"Larsenilo, my utmost friend!"
The Captain turned.
"Ah, Bengory. I see you have my stash." Larsenilo looked out over the group of children with an upturned nose. "Is this it?"
The man – Bengory – was dressed in a mix of dirty silk and fine satin. His skin was beaded much like Larsenilo's and his hook nose looked like it had been broken a few times. Still, he greeted the Captain with the same high airs that all Calormenes seem to breathe like fumes.
Bowing, he replied, "Alas, it is it. Unfortunately, Tash has not been bountiful to me in this season, friend. Still, they are worth more than you paid." Here his gaze and tone turned darker. "You are certain you will be able to attain more for them, aren't you?"
Larsenilo straightened himself and sharpened his own gaze. "I gave you my word as a Calormene. You need no more proof than the honest dealings of a businessman and man of Tash."
Bengory looked to the side, fingers twitching. "Of course, of course. Not all pirates are men of truth, but you, friend, are trustworthy. If it were not so then you would not have turned to our great god as you have. I've seen you entering the temple in the morning hours, while your feet do not leave again until after dusk."
Susan watched as Larsenilo puffed out his chest, trying still to make his spine straighter than before. He liked being praised, even if it was from a worm such as the one before them now. But slowly, the worm took his attention off of Larsenilo, and grazed over Susan with hunger.
"Is this her? Is this the one who's...spell seems to have enchanted you, Captain?" Bengory reached out, lacing a stubby, dirty finger around a lock of Susan's hair.
Out of instinct, Susan smacked at his hand.
Bengory pulled back but continued to smile at her in a most uncomfortable way. "Oh yes. Bewitching, indeed."
Larsenilo shoved himself forward, yanking Susan with him, refusing to let her get away. "It is more than a spell; it is a curse! No foreign woman this beguiling would be so if it were not for some evil. It would serve you well to remember that." He hissed, spit surely getting onto Bengory. "I want the witch gone-"
"–I would be happy to take her off your hands, frien –"
"– And I will not send her to curse the one who helps supply me my riches! Now get the other slaves ready. We are leaving."
Throughout the day, Susan wanted so badly to wrap Peter's cloak around her, if it would only hide her from Bengory's lustful eyes and the appraising one's of those she was presented to. She didn't care about the heat at all anymore. It wasn't her worry. Not when they had been making numerous house visits to many a grand Tarkhaan and Tarkheena.
She lost count as to how many homes they had gone to, but almost all of the other children they had started with were gone. Sold. It broke Susan's heart to watch as children Lucy's age were forced into such an awful life. It made her sick to see the girls her age be trotted off into the deeper parts of the homes they were given to, unsure of what would be their fate. Susan wiped her eyes many times through the day, and found herself balling her fists into the sides of the cloak. She would get through this, by Aslan, she would. No matter how scary or sad it was.
As the day progressed, more and more of their numbers dwindled, but still no one ever bought Susan, no matter how interested they may have at first seemed.
Susan saw the agitation that it left Larsenilo with, every time anyone turned his offer of her down. He would always present her first of all in the group, talk about her in length, throw every salesman pitch out there in order to get her sold and away from him. But every time, each Tarkhaan or Tarkheena thought it suspicious, as if Larsenilo was going to overprice her by Calormene standards. Which, to be fair, was exactly what he had been doing since first taking her from the Archenlander ship.
But he was quickly losing hope, so much so that he actually lost his determination for a pretty penny for her. You see, the Captain started trying to sell Susan for as cheaply as one of the much younger children.
But that too, proved to only make the Tarkhaans and Tarkheenas even more suspicious, because they expected her price to be more for her age. It left them believing that if she was priced so low, that Susan must somehow be damaged goods or too much trouble for her worth.
It caused Larsenilo to switch between a look of dark, brooding anger, and utter and complete desperation. It seems he couldn't decide which best suited his current mood. He started babbling under his breath and constantly looking over his shoulders. His eyes would stay peeled and his breathing audible. And he would go between wanting to have a hold on Susan's arm, to wanting to keep her as far away from him as possible.
It was now that Susan truly saw what the men on board his ship had. He seemed almost mad. And she heard him at least twice quietly begging Tash to not let her curse continue to hang over his head.
As funny as it was at first, Susan actually started to worry that if Larsenilo couldn't sell her to anyone else, then he would just leave her with Bengory. That man held none of Larsenilo's fears of Susan's 'curse'. Though it did seem he was under some sort of spell himself, the kind that makes a bad man want to do worse things.
Susan avoided his gaze.
By the time the sun was setting, their group had made it to the upper echelons of Tashbaan, where the richest and most revered Calormene's lived. When they had left the last house, the Tarkheena bought two young ladies near Susan's age and a younger boy.
They were the last of the group of children they had started with. That left only Susan.
Larsenilo tried his hardest to charm the lady, but when that didn't work he started almost groveling in order for the Tarkheena to take Susan, too. He even offered to throw her in for free, but the lady did not like the Captain, and his actions made her wary of Susan.
So when they finally left the home, after having to be escorted out, Larsenilo cursed and raged at Susan, before cursing and raging about himself and his foolish actions of keeping her. Bengory tried to calm him, leading him to sit by a fountain whose clear water was flowing in an open courtyard. The Captain did eventually calm down, if only because there were many other high ranking Calormene walking about or lifted high up in their litters.
But Larsenilo still looked sick and angry and vile. He started just watching Susan with a stare that made it clear he would like nothing more than to slit her throat. It left her feeling exposed and vulnerable, knowing that if he were to hurt her, all he had to do was say she was a slave acting out of turn. No one would bat an eyelash. In fact, they would probably commend him for whatever punishment he saw fit.
Bengory saw his look to, and turn his own lustful gaze on Susan for the umpteenth time that day. Susan felt herself wanting to slip back, further into the courtyard and away from the men. Especially once they started whispering about her. She took a few steps away from them, never turning her back. She didn't want them to think she was running, but suddenly it felt right to. She knew she was in the center of Tashbaan, and she stood no chance, but her heart started beating hard and her instincts told her to run. She felt one of her own arrows for defense digging into her skin near her knee, and though she knew they'd never be enough, it still felt like something.
Bengory looked to Larsenilo as they talked, but the Captain never took his dark expression off of her, not even blinking. As the sun continued to fade over the surrounding buildings, it casted the man in an odd light, shadows dancing over his face.
Susan didn't like it.
Aslan please, she thought.
As they continued to whisper, Larsenilo finally nodded to Bengory, then slowly stood. His frame seemed much bigger than before and he stalked towards her. Susan took a few more steps back, then a few more. Larsenilo followed with the wickedest of gazes.
Before she knew it, Susan was speeding up her pace, tripping over her own feet. Her mind was playing through a million thoughts in under a second. She knew what she had to do. She would run. Anywhere. So long as it was away from the men she was with now.
Managing to not trip over her dress, Susan turned, planning to bolt, when she was suddenly jolted to a stop.
She instinctively looked up to see what, or rather, who, she had just rammed into.
The man, who instinctively put his hands on her shoulders to steady them both, was tall with broad shoulders and a pointed beard that was stained crimson. He looked at her oddly with his dark brown eyes, before looking back to Bengory and Larsenilo, who were also jolting themselves to a stop.
Susan looked back at them just in time to see the look of murder wipe itself from Larsenilo's face. It was replaced by a scheming one. He smiled wide.
"By Tash, look who stands before me now," The man holding Susan said. "Larsenilo, it has been some time since you've dragged your slimy self up the hills into the better part of our grand city." The man looked down at Susan, adding, "What be your business here, hmm?"
Larsenilo sauntered over. "Why if it isn't my old friend! I am ever delighted to run into one as exalted as you. I was just making a few deliveries to some of your esteemed neighbors."
"Deliveries?"
"Yes, indeed. And it is by such great fate that Tash would have us meet tonight."
"Is that so?"
"Oh, yes Master Tarkhaan. For I know that it can be difficult for you to make it down to the docks and brothels as you would like, especially for man of your status and renown," Larsenilo smiled slyly. "So, for your great pleasure, old friend, I have just so happened to bring them to you." Here he nodded at Susan, who was still locked in the man's grasp.
The stranger looked to her with as much greed as Bengory had, his dark eyes glinting. "Seems you have. I give you my thanks. Maybe you are not of such a worthless breed as I had previously thought. Old friend."
"Yes, yes, of course. But ah, it will cost you, as any good friend knows the other will need reimbursement when his pockets need mending."
The man huffed, looking over Susan once more. "How much?"
The Captain smiled. "Shall we go to see your family? I know it is your brother who handles your finances."
Peter was running himself ragged, or rather, the Calormenes were. First, Hargeph and his men woke them up early to break rocks after he'd spent a late night with the sheep. Then, once the sun was getting low and they were allowed to drag themselves from the fields, he'd been forced to help in the kitchens with preparing and serving dinner because Edmund had been too preoccupied with the Tarkheena, who, apparently, was not in a good mood. From what Peter overheard in the kitchens, she'd been in a tizzy all day and demanded that the cooks prepare a very specific meal that required the head cook to go to the market to retrieve extra meat, ripened fruits, and a wine corked for fermentation exactly seventeen years and four months ago.
When the cook brought back eighteen year old wine Tullah was worse for wear.
Peter had seen Edmund here and there throughout the day, but he never got the chance to talk to him. When his brother wasn't pushing Tullah around in her wicker wheelchair, he was running back and forth from her study to bring her books and trinkets; gathering her a pitcher of fresh water and a tray of specific fruit with coordinating colors; bringing an assortment of ointments with certain oils and scents that helped her hands and feet to loosen up; or some other thing that led him on a wild goose chase. Edmund felt she was purposely not letting him have even a moments rest, and what was worse, he was having to put up with her constantly snapping and complaining about him getting things wrong. Her mood was truly foul at best.
Peter could tell that Edmund wanted so very badly to be annoyed, but he was taking everything with patience and in stride because Rineeda was gone, and he thought that might be the reason that Tullah was upset. That, or because Edmund just wasn't very good at being a lady's maid. For all his smarts and skills of mediation, he lacked the grace, the tact, the very prospect of understanding a lady well enough to serve one as a maid. Particularly when one was an angry and bitter old woman.
But it seemed that Tullah wasn't the only one in her family that was not having a good day. In the early afternoon, Oraleth had received a letter signed and sealed with the Tisroc's signet. The man tore it open with little delicacy and then, after reading it, was in more of a tizzy than his mother. Peter and the rest of the household and staff had overheard him barking at the top of his lungs about some unenlightened man working on the Tisroc's, may he realize he cannot live forever, court.
After that, certain of Oraleth's slaves had been sent running about the home and property, checking with Hargeph and other overseers to make sure everything was running smoothly, that deadlines were being hit on time, that the store houses were filled to expectation, that his money payments had been sent, etc. etc. etc. The man seemed endlessly concerned about every ounce of his property, down to the last crescent.
In the wake of all of this, everyone was rushing about, unsure of what was the true reason for such upset of the Tarkhaan, but there were whispers. Malicious ones Peter only caught bits and pieces of, but what he put together was that Oraleth's wealth was flushed, and he was worrying over his dignity and future standing in Calormen society because of it. Then there were those who said the Tisroc was merely displeased with him and he would be booted from his court and council any day now.
Regardless of such rumors from the staff, they were all on guard, doing all they could to avoid angering their masters any more. The kitchens were a flurry of flour and people and dishes and every vegetable, fruit, desert and smell you can imagine. Supper had to be up to the highest standard, so Peter was sent running to fetch some of the silver for preparing the table.
The silver that was used for the family was boastfully put on display in a great glass cabinet in one of the many halls that fed into vast chambers for hosting guests. The silver was polished often and was so clear and reflective you could see your face in it. Everything from serving platters bigger than your head, to large goblets with diamonds studded into it could be found forged with the greatest detail. Even the utensils had intricate flourishes ingrained all the way up their handles.
When Peter rounded the corner to the hall that held the cabinet, he saw someone had already beaten him to it. Petr groaned internally. It was Arovi, the taskmaster who had been attacking Edmund the day Peter found him.
The man had yet to notice Peter standing at the end of the hall. Peter stopped, not wanting to be anywhere near the man and knowing that if he were to see Peter, then he'd either send him on another errand or spit out an erroneous comment. He didn't like him or Edmund at all.
As Peter wondered over what he should do, he saw the man looking at all the silver with lustful eyes. His dirty fingers unlatched the glass doors and started grabbing at pieces of the silverware, stuffing them into a burlap sack he had tied onto his belt. It dawned on Peter what he was doing just as he snatched up a few small saucers and a goblet.
"I don't believe those are yours." Peter's voice rang out, strong and steady down the corridor.
The man jumped at hearing him, turning in Peter's direction. His look of shock and sudden fear turned dark and boastful when he recognized who it was.
"And I don't believe that a poor, insignificant slave as yourself would have any right to even speak to one as far above you as I am."
Peter stepped forward. "Those aren't yours. Put them back."
The man squinted at him. "Listen to the slave give orders. Not surprising. You above all the others who labor so tirelessly do still value yourself with such high regard, as if you bore any right to speak from a place of authority. I can tell in the way you walk. It's not good for a slave, you know, to stand so upright." He sneered at Peter, leveling him up. "How do you know that I am not simply retrieving these pieces for my master?"
"Because I was sent to do so by the kitchens. They are responsible for preparing your master's tables, are they not? And even so, your master wouldn't want you to carry such fine treasures as these in a sack such as that. Unless he didn't want anyone to know that it held anything of value. And I doubt that would be true. Boastfulness is one of a Calormene's favorite sins to commit."
If looks could kill, surely the High King would have been dead where he stood. But a glare, even one as fearsome as this, did not shake Peter.
"You will learn that boldness is akin to foolishness, Rat. Especially when it is coming from a Northerner." Arovi said, reaching for his whip.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Peter said.
"And why not? For I will be hailed as a wise judge and victor having not only stopped, but also punished a thief. Our Tarkhaan is very wary of disobedient slaves. No one will believe your word over mine."
"I do not take what is not mine. The cooks sent me to fetch these for the tables. They know I had business here, while you do not."
"It does not matter an ounce, Rat. It simply makes you more available to perpetrate such treason against your owner. I, on the other hand, am a faithful servant and one that has proven myself to be above reproach." He raised the whip, flicking it backwards, preparing to strike. "I am trustworthy, loyal, and -"
"And a thief." Came a harsh, commanding voice.
Peter's eyes shot from the whip to further down the hall, just as Arovi reeled on his heels, turning around.
Emerging from the doors at the end of the hall, his shoulders squared and his expression harsh, was Oraleth Tarkhaan himself.
"You are, above all else, a thief. And one who would spread lies and falsities about another, a truly faithful one, in order to save your own head." Oraleth's brooding form hulked out of the doorway, coming closer.
"Tarkhaan...I swear, it is not true, I -"
"Do you take me for a fool? I know you, Arovi. I have been suspicious of your dealings and squabbling's for some time."
"I would never betray you, my master!" Arovi cried.
"Silence!" Oraleth grabbed Arovi by his shirt. "You over step in your lies! You not only partake in the bald thievery from me, your master, but are you not also the one who was responsible for the injury of one of my slaves? To such extent that my Mother, our gracious Tarkheena, removed him from the fields when I need more hands than ever put to work?! I would imagine you are also to blame for influencing Hargeph to have this slave," he jabbed a finger at Peter, "worked from dusk until dawn, braking rocks before sending him to tend to sheep for half the night! And your excuse? You find his stride to not be up to your standard of humility! But it is as clear as the reflection in my silver that your filthy fingers now stain. You are the one who is in need of humbling. And I, after all the burdens that have fallen upon my head this day, as weighty as a yoke, am cursed to have to see to that as well!"
Oraleth suddenly let him go and Arovi stood with a dumb look on his face for only a second before he was on his knees, begging for Oraleth to believe he wasn't at fault, that it was Peter who was to blame. Oraleth sent the man sprawling onto the floor with one hard slap across the face.
"Do not insult me, foolish one! I heard your words with my own ears!"
Arovi crawled back towards the feet of the Tarkhaan. This time, he begged for forgiveness. Looking up into the dark eyes of the Tarkhaan, he saw what Peter did, and that was the sheer fire that was lurking just underneath the surface of the man. Oraleth was boiling, his eyes wild and his shoulders heaving with anger. He kicked Arovi once, twice, three times. The man curled in on himself, holding his middle.
Peter watched on horrified. He thought Arovi vile but he'd never think it right to beat the man.
Oraleth simply stared with disgust at Arovi's anguish before yelling, "I will not have my slaves disobedient or disloyal! I will not entertain liars and fools! I will not meet my father's fate!" He kicked Arovi a couple of times more, his turban falling off of his head in the frenzy as his dark hair fell in a mess across his eyes. Peter felt his blood pumping loudly in his veins the whole time, having to restrain himself from intervening. From having to remember he could not act like a King here.
Oraleth took a few heavy breaths once he found his foot aching too much to go on. Finally, he spit on the man before yelling for other slaves to come carry him away. Peter was unsure of where they'd take him, but he knew it couldn't be somewhere good.
It was when running was heard that Peter noticed Oraleth's discarded turban on the floor and quickly bent to pick it up. He straightened the feather and gem that sat upon it and looked to Oraleth.
The Tarkhaan looked on with a mix of disdain and pleasure as other slaves hurried down the hallway. They took not precautions or kindnesses as they forced Arovi to stand. They did not ask any questions either, for there really wasn't a need to. All that mattered to them was that Oraleth was furious and that Arovi was coughing hard and had blood coating his teeth.
Oraleth looked pleased about having the man out of his sight, listening as Arovi's cries of pain echoed down the hall.
Then and only then did the Tarkhaan turn his eyes upon Peter. His jaw muscle was bulging and it was clear the fire was still raging in him as he dragged his eyes up and down Peter. The High King stood firm, not haughty or proud, simply strong and unwavering. He then held out the turban to him. Oraleth looked between it and Peter before snatching it forcefully.
"Get this silver to the dining rooms. I expect my diner to be the very best Calormen can provide, blessed by Tash himself. I trust I need not warn you about making sure every piece finds its way there."
"No, sire, you don't." Peter said, ignoring the fire that burned in him at what he'd just witnessed.
Edmund hated that he had to stand by for Tullah at supper. He always thought the idea of multiple servants stationed around a room, pretending not to hear or be listening in on a conversation while also being at the ready the second a glass wasn't full to the brim or a napkin fell was absurd. Surely people, even those with a rank, could be expected to help themselves to more than wiping their own mouths.
But this was different. He didn't mind helping Tullah by filling her plate with food or her glass with drink. With her hands being the way they were, he knew it was more than difficult. The woman allowed his help, but only to an extent. She refused to have anyone feed her. It made Edmund smile a bit, thinking of how she sounded when she said, "I am not some slobbering, ill mannered child, Edden. I will do it myself." He had only asked about getting her utensils.
No, he didn't mind waiting on her as she ate, because she could use the help, no matter how much she might abhor it. What Edmund minded was the awful mood she'd been in all day and that Oraleth, who was joining his mother, was in a worse one. Though, he would be lying if he said he was above enjoying hearing some of the gossip that this dinner brought. Upon hearing the taskmaster was caught stealing, Edmund unconsciously rubbed at the bruises Arovi had left him with.
But other than what little he'd learned, the dinner was altogether unbearable. The tensions were high, as Tullah seemed unhappy with Oraleth, which Edmund could only assume was because he had sent Rineeda away. Not only that, but Oraleth was still calming over his awful day. Tullah asked her son about what exactly the letter from the Tisroc's court had said, but he chose to keep her in the dark. It only helped in souring his mother's mood to the point that both stopped talking altogether. The only sound to be heard was the raking of forks across one's teeth and heavy breathing.
Edmund was relieved when news came that Ariondi requested his family's presence. They had visitors. But Tullah, who was a very slow eater due to her impediments, refused to join until her supper was finished. Oraleth huffed and went on, leaving Edmund alone once again with the woman.
By the time she had decided she was done, more of her food was on the table than on her plate or in her mouth. Edmund thought she had actually eaten very little, but Tullah was too crotchety to trifle with utensils any longer.
So, after mumbling a few curses under her breath, she told Edmund to wheel her to their guests.
Edmund's back ached as he pushed her along. He was so tired and he had been standing for so long, that all he wanted was to sit. In a chair, on the ground, it didn't matter. But now he worried that since there were visitors, he would be up later than usual attending to them. He sighed out loud, causing Tullah to snap at him for the one thousandth time that day, telling him to hurry up, that people were waiting on her.
Edmund picked up the pace just a bit and was glad once he realized he was close to the sitting room Ariondi had told them to meet in. He could hear Oraleth before he even saw him.
"These are the friends you brought to our home, brother?" Oraleth was standing in front of a low couch that was made of a fine material and carved wood. Right around him were large potted plants and other sitting areas full of piles of pillows. Ornate lanterns with colored glass panes threw the middle of the room into reds, blues, yellows, and greens, leaving the rest of the space in shadows.
"I wouldn't call them my friends, simply mere acquaintances that have chosen our family to serve. They offer the girl as a slave. I think her well fit to appease me and my services." Ariondi said, standing tall and imposing before his brother. Three people stood further behind him, but they were just out of the lantern light so Edmund couldn't make them out clearly. As he and the Tarkheena entered from the other side of the room, they too, were just out of the lantern light.
"And just what services do you speak of, Ari?" The elder brother asked.
"Anything I see fit, but if you so please to question my honor, then I will tell you outright. She will do well to service me in my work for the Tisroc, may he live forever, and his sons. She is sure to be pleasing to his eye and as good as any to show him that our slaves are not as unruly as Father's reputation would have others think. What say you, wise brother? Surely you cannot deny such words of truth?"
The older huffed and looked at the younger hard and long, before moving his eyes to the girl. "I cannot deny she is as lovely as a jewel...but we've not the need for such frivolous expenses. Besides, I am the one working for the Tisroc, may he live forever. His sons hold little sway over him in times such as this, so your friendships with them will not be of much use."
The brothers went on bickering back and forth. Edmund tried ignoring them as he finished pushing Tullah towards the low couch Oraleth was standing by. But Tullah thrusted her hand up, nearly smacking Edmund in the face, to signal to him to stop before she got there. Clearly, she was still irritated with both of her sons and was fine with keeping her distance.
Edmund held in a huff, and pulled his eyes up. The brother's disagreement was loud enough to be heard by their guests, which Edmund was sure was considered rude in any culture. He didn't care though. Edmund had a good idea of what these people's business here was and he knew what Ariondi wanted out of it. It made him sick and his heart felt for the girl.
Edmund's eyes looked to her. She was standing between, but still slightly behind, the two men who brought her. Though one of them kept ever the grip on her wrist. Her face was still just out of reach of the lantern light, but Edmund could see the lengths of her green cloak and the long strands of her dark hair easily enough...
Edmund's breath caught in his throat and his fists gripped the handles of the wheelchair tighter.
He knew that cloak, those locks of hair. Or, he surely hoped he did. Edmund squinted, trying his hardest to peer through the shadows. This was such a large room, and the edges of which were so barely furnished that there was no need to illuminate the rest of the room. Not to mention, he was further back than everyone in the room thanks to Tullah's resentments.
Edmund squinted harder, focusing as best as he could on the girl, forcing his eyes to adjust to the dim lantern glow. He could make out the lengthens of the ties hanging down from the cloak. They were short, obviously cut and fraying.
Edmund took a sharp intake in. It couldn't be.
"Look at her more closely, brother!" Ariondi said, going to the girl and yanking her forward.
If there was any doubt in Edmund's mind, it was gone now. Thank Aslan, he'd know that annoyed look anywhere!
Susan.