Disclaimer: Lewis first put these ideas into the world; they entered my head and took over, and I'm not paid for playing with them.

Beta'd by trustingHim17, with my thanks!

WARNING: unpleasant (sometimes sickening) things happen in this chapter; both spoken of and in actuality. This is another T-rated chapter.

OOOOO

Unlocking the door was relatively easy for Patterfeet; Peter left it mostly closed, open enough to slip into easily but not enough to draw attention from either end of the hall, if anyone checked. They hung the keys back on the hook in the adjacent hallway, a small affair barely Peter's height, scored repeatedly by tool marks. Peter quietly followed the most recent footprints in the dirt through the short length of the man-made cave and into another, larger, one, Patterfeet quivering on his shoulder. Peter checked around; there were subdued voices echoing through the open area, but no people in sight. Peter slid along the wall, smiling grimly. Edmund usually took the lead when they walked like this, and sad he was to miss his younger brother's presence.

The cave narrowed and split into smaller openings in several places, but Peter did his best to follow the sound. They went down one wrong turn, but the noise died quickly and Peter retraced his steps, rubbing off the mark he'd scraped as high above eye level as he could reach, as he'd done on every turn they'd taken.

Fortunately there were but two more turns before the voices grew distinct. "Everything a man could want, see? Now, then, breakfast is served once the sun sets, in about an hour or more. Good day, your Tarkaanships, then." Peter glanced swiftly around, then backed as quickly as he could to the last turning and shoved himself down the opposite path. He waited, barely breathing, for the footsteps to come closer. Aslan, let them go back the way they came, and not down this turning. He lifted Patterfeet from his shoulder, silently motioning the Squirrel to climb the wall. They would not both be caught, if their enemies' path told against them. Patterfeet began to scurry up the wall, claws scratching, and Peter grabbed the nearest paw, putting a single finger to his lips once he had the Squirrel's attention. Patterfeet nodded, and climbed once again, setting paws carefully and silently. Peter breathed a sigh of relief, then stiffened. They were talking.

"...don't see why we 'avn't just taken them five and the king and sold 'em off. Them three soldiers 'ud be easy to take, what with all of us. Six in a swipe? It's as good as our last month!" a gravely voice grumbled.

"Aye, a good payday, it is. But stop and think, gull-head! We've taken six, and only six, an' why? Narnia ain't as helpful as Archenland or Galma. There's fewer men. Or women. There's a lot of other meat, to be sure, but that don't sell. But Calormen - if Calormen takes Narnia, why, what happens then?" A pause, and Peter could hear the footsteps more clearly; they were at the meeting of the tunnels. They stopped for a moment, and Peter tensed. Which way would they head? He heard a smack, and thought Dagguer must have hit his companion.

"Calormenes live in Narnia," the graveled voice rumbled, though a note of it protested.

"And Calormenes are men, aren't they? The race of men. Not quite so much they'll be common pickings, but enough we can catch those we please, right?" Peter breathed out. Their voices were fading; he hesitated. Should he follow them? It at least explained another reason why Dagguer was helping the Calormenes. But what did Dagguer need the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve for? And five others; that meant Uvayeth and the sheep-like Igteroth were here with three soldiers; that shouldn't be too difficult to escape from, once they left.

Peter silently made his decision. He meant to scout out the rest of the tunnels that night, and would find Dagguer when there was less chance of the man noticing footsteps following him. For now, he wanted to see what the Calormenes' plans were - and how best to overset them. He held his hand up towards where the wall curved into the roof, and Patterfeet's paws gripped his hand a moment later, the weight pushing as the Squirrel jumped, then ran down the arm to sit once again on Peter's shoulder. The King retraced his steps to the turning and went down but a few steps before another opening appeared, covered with a rich curtain of scarlet interwoven with golden thread. It did nothing, Peter noticed dryly, to hinder sound. He set Patterfeet on the wall once again, gesturing to the small opening between the curtain and the top of the opening. The Squirrel obediently ran up the wall (silently this time, Peter noted approvingly) and crouched at the top of the shadowed doorway.

"By the altar of Tash, I've enough of your snivelling! Have you forgotten the courage and glory of our venture, which even the gods must approve? A knife held to your throat and you crumble as if water ran in your veins instead of Tarkaan blood! Would I had Lamash here instead!"

"Then you should have asked him, my lord, and not a humble third son who only wanted what you guaranteed was an easy venture! I was brought up in the enlightened ways of the priests of the Southern Temples, chosen by Zardeena herself, with none of your blood and blades. Was not Lamash taught the ways of Tash at his temples? As the poets have said, fit the tool to the task, and the training to the challenge."

"Silence!" Uvayeth snarled, and Peter smiled. It did so make his day when things didn't please Uvayeth. "I am no fool. I fell into conversation with Lamash on the way here. I found him soft. His sentence in the prisons of Tash did not teach him Tash's temperament, but things more suited to merchants and philosophers. Fool he! He would take Narnia's gold by effort, her silver by cunning, and her food by a trade of spices. Marked you not how he respected that second King? And Lamash with the cunning that could please Tash Himself! If he had been by my side, we would already be sailing into Tashbaan's harbor, the High King bound and beaten below, and the Queen cowering before our words, ready to be the slave of the donkey-son of the Tisroc (may he live forever). All the others would have been easy to fool, if I had but Lamash by my side. But you!" and Peter heard the muffled sound of a blow, probably a kick, and a muffled sound of pain. "You, as obedient and idiotic as a sheep, are all I have to rely on! If we fail, it will be your fault!"

"We may not fail, oh nephew of the Tisroc, for is not, as you have said, Tash himself on our side? You have but to give the fifteen slaves when they arrive, and the High King will be ours, and we may sail swiftly home, the blessings of Tash and Zardeena filling our sails."

There was a pause. Peter frowned; was this not the Tarkaan's plan? Patterfeet, curious, squirmed all the way through the opening and into the other room.

"Fifteen slaves?" Uvayeth echoed, and Peter could hear his footsteps beginning to pace. "And where am I to have gotten fifteen slaves? Ikelken, may he be kicked and scorned by all those with the blood of Tash, forbid our bringing slaves to Narnia. Diplomacy, he called it, quoting the lesser poets about living the life of our enemies! But the higher poets speak of enlightening them, and I insisted, as my right as the Tisroc's (may he live forever) nephew, but still the fool denied me! How, pray, was I to smuggle fifteen slaves into the borders of a country with that foolish fault-finder hanging over me?"

"You do not have the slaves?" Igteroth asked, his voice shaking. "We are finished! The light of Zardeena is not among these craven flesh-dealers, and their leader is mad! We are ruined, ruined, our graves will lie beneath the sea!"

"Hush, you son of a dog! I am tired of your endless, craven wailing!" and from the sounds Peter guessed that Uvayeth strode back and kicked Igteroth several more times.

In the cover of those sounds, Peter had not heard other ones - footsteps, almost silent, creeping up behind him. But he noticed the cold metal of a dagger at his throat, and he heard Dagguer's whisper in his ear. "I warned you, King. But one over others never tends to listen, does he? Ah, but you've found other things to listen in on, haven't you, things I wanted to know myself." The dagger pressed against Peter's neck, and Peter stopped breathing, willing his throat to be still and not press against the blade when he breathed in. "Up, then, up. It seems I'm not to rest today." Fingers gripped his arm, hard enough to bruise, and they yanked, angry and strong. "Would you know about that, I wonder? People thwarting you at every turn. I'm done with it! Inside!" Dagguer's voice was rising, and the sounds from the room cut off just before Peter was pushed through the curtain. There was no exit, Peter noted quickly, just eight beds made with rich but mismatched clothes and pillows, and water-stained dressers at the foot of each. Three of the beds at the far end had small, worn bags resting on them, and men with weapons near them. The two nearest the door (foolish, Peter thought, foolish of Uvayeth to stay where he is most easily overheard) had richer belongings, but Peter barely noted them, or the two men standing at one end. Patterfeet was not in sight, and the dagger was still at his neck.*

"Now then," Dagguer said to Uvayeth, ignoring the glare the man was trying to incinerate him with. "Let's bargain, shall we?" His grip tightened harder on Peter's arm. "I've got what you wanted, and, why, you just said you hadn't got what I wanted. Now that's upsetting." He paused. "You should ask my men what happens when I'm upset. Should have told you before this, but it wasn't good manners. Now I don't care about good manners, now that you haven't got what I want. Siseke! Helkath! Beten!** You lot, get in here!"

Peter heard running feet from outside their cave, saw the Calormene soldiers tensing and coming forward to stand near Uvayeth, and tensed in readiness, though the dagger cut into his throat as Dagguer felt his muscles harden. Behind them Peter heard the rustling of the curtain and heavy breaths, and heard men spilling into the room.

"Now listen, you foreign lot, for I'm saying this once, and once only. Bargains with me are signed in blood, and blood's what I take, if the other side ain't kept. Now 15 slaves is a nice payoff for us, a lot of gold, nice enough I won't just treat you like I treat the other bird-brained folk who cheated me. I'll give you five days, see, to go and get twice your side of the bargain. Five days, to sail to Calormen and be back. Or then, well, you needn't worry about watery graves and all that," he said to the cowering Igteroth. "No, that's not what we do with those who steal from us." Grating laughter echoed from the men behind them - Peter guessed there were at least ten, a few spilling into his peripheral vision - "No, we sell them to our buyers. We have very special buyers, very, very large ones." Peter frowned - that sounded like giants, but - "And these giants, well, they regard humans as rare. A delicacy, one might say. A very, very delicious delicacy."

"Liar," Peter said in a low tone. "The Giants at our Northern border kill and pillage, but they do not desecrate the corpses of their victims. You lie!"

Dagguer chuckled, and Peter's hair lifted along his neck. "Now, that would be right, King Peter! But these giants, well, they're a bit different. I'm not mad enough - not quite enough, you understand - to tell you where they are, but the giants of Harfang, they're a treat to deal with. Always keep their side of the bargain, they do, and pay well for Man. Make them into pies,*** they do, if they get enough of them, and right well they pay for it. And that's my job. Just enough they'll pay high, see, but enough for a nice bit of wealth."

Igteroth leaned over and vomited. Peter's own stomach was churning; this, this was what his Narnians had faced? This is what had happened to the eight who had gone missing from the Northern border?

"Now, that's not nice! And in our guest room and all!' Dagguer mock-complained from right behind Peter's ear. "But we'll clean it up. And you'll go and get us our slaves, or take their place." His humor vanished, and Peter knew he wasn't joking. Uvayeth nodded stiffly, stepping towards the bed on the other wall. Dagguer shook his head.

"Ah, ah, ah, not you. You, you've grand ideas, see, and plans, and if you left, why, I doubt you would care about your poor friends enough to come back. No, you we keep, you and the other three. You," and the dagger lifted from Peter's neck to point at Igteroth, who was still sweating and wiping his mouth, "you go back to Calormen and get us our slaves, see?"

"I - I - I can't sail," Igteroth stuttered, backing towards his own bed.

"Now, don't worry! Safe sailors, my men are! A few of them will go with you, just to see you safely there and then, see, safely back!" Igteroth nodded quickly, blindly scrambling behind him for the bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He faltered when Uvayeth called his name.

"Do not think to go and leave us here once you are back in Calormen," the Tarkaan hissed. Peter felt Dagguer's hair brush his neck as the man nodded.

"See, you'd be breaking the bargain again then, and, well, we've gone over what happens then, see? So you won't be breaking it, will you. Because we know how to get to people; kidnappers, see? And, well - we know you now." Igteroth looked about ready to cry, and Peter wanted to shake his head. It was just, and he wished people believed in justice enough they didn't make these choices, for they became both villain and wretch. "Off with you now. Helkath, Beten, see to it, right? Nice and easy. He ain't gonna give you trouble, I can see it." Two burly, ill-dressed men stepped forward, Igteroth hastily moving towards them, and nearly running out the door. "Right, then, be our guest for five days more, and pray to that Tash of yours he comes back with 30 slaves. In the meantime," and the dagger pressed back against Peter's neck, "I've a captive to deal with." He pressed Peter's arm, turning them, and Peter saw nine men. They parted to let the two leaders through, and then the band fell in step behind, if the footsteps Peter heard were anything to go by. Dagguer marched Peter back through the turnings, the large cave, the small, man-made connecting one, and into the barred corridor. Dagguer's must have signaled someone, because one of the band slipped in front of them and opened the cell door. Dagguer threw Peter into it, Peter rolling and coming back to his feet, facing the cell entrance. Six men behind the bars, and Dagguer standing in the entrance.

Peter was grimly glad for the numbers. Oath or not, resisting seven armed men without a weapon usually made situations worse, not better. Dagguer wouldn't kill him yet. Speaking of which...

"You broke your oath, High King," Dagguer drawled.

"I have not escaped nor resisted. My oath stands intact." Peter widened his stance, lowering his center of gravity, and placed his arms to protect his ribs. He doubted Dagguer would agree with him.

"Well, now, you weren't headed towards an exit?" The High King shook his head; whether Dagguer believed him or not, he would speak the truth. "See, now, I believe you. I saw your marks, see, above the door. You meant to get back here. But my men," Dagguer shook his head, lips pursed, "they won't think that. And I can't have them questioning my authority, see? I let those Calormenes get off with no punishment, and I can't do that twice, now, can I? Sorry though I am, but, well, I kind of enjoy it, truth told! And they've been aching for a go at a King anyway, and the giant King is a bit much to handle. Besides, they're both clients, see? Can't go whaling on them! But captives, now, that's something else." He turned towards the men behind him, grinning on the other side of the cell. "Don't break anything, for we can't fix it," he commanded as he walked out of the cell.


His men were quite thorough, Peter thought grimly. Obedient, too, for there were no broken bones. But every part of Peter hurt, and he hadn't hesitated to lay down on the least-bruised side once the band left the cell. He closed his eyes. Aslan, he thought, breathing through the pain like he'd been taught. In You are the ref-

He broke off as he heard a familiar sound, opening his eyes. Hope flared at the sound of scurrying claws.

"Patterfeet."

OOOOO

*The evil part of me considered ending the chapter there, by the way. Considering all that happened after it, maybe "are you happy I didn't" isn't the right question, though.
**After reading through Joshua I've decided to start naming people in my stories after towns in that story. Just in case they were familiar to anyone (though the first one is modified), or someone else wanted to use the same trick.
***For those who don't remember, the King of Harfang shouts, "After them, after them, or we'll have no man-pies tomorrow" in The Silver Chair.

Response to Anonymousme: I have heard of Webtoons - though it was the Japanese version of the site. I avoided it as I'd far rather, at the time, live and explore outside. :) And I would have gotten sucked in. There was a pretty big hint in the chapter as the general location of the caves, and I'm kind of curious if you caught it? Since almost all of the story building is done, all that's left is the few chapters left of the climax and resolution, so you should have the answers to all your other questions soon!