But the barbarian ringleader would endure no solicitude. He reached with one huge fist and, despite the restraint of cuffs and strap, moved fast enough to catch the tally keeper’s wrist. What he said could not be overheard from the gallery, but the servant abandoned both rag and basin, as if his fingers were burned.
The factor glossed over this disobedience with a smile of nervous improvisation. He had no wish to try Mara’s patience by ordering reprisal against the slave. He tried to behave as if everything had gone according to plan as one of the barbarian’s fellows stepped forward and briskly began cleansing the whip wounds of his companion.
‘Lady, the purchase papers can be drawn up at once, in the private comfort of my office. I’ll send for iced fruit for your thirst while you wait to sign. If you would be so kind as to join me in my office . . .’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Mara said crisply. ‘Send your scribe to me outside, for I wish that these slaves be removed to my estates at once. The instant I have a bill of sale, my warriors will take them into custody.’ She made a last study of the compound and added, ‘That is, I will sign for my purchase after these slaves have been provided with proper clothing.’
‘But —’ spluttered the factor in dismay. The tally keeper looked sour. Although the hamper brought out from the storerooms had originally held enough trousers and shirts to clothe three incoming coffles from Jamar, many of these men still stood naked or half-clothed. There should be a proper inquiry over that, and no doubt a round of beatings, but the Lady’s impatience ended the matter. She wanted to sign and buy at once. With a furious gesture, the factor urged the tally keeper to overlook the lapse and be done. At thirty centuries, these slaves would bring little profit, but worse was the risk that they would linger unsold, swelling the holding pens and eating thyza that might be better used to fatten more amenable slaves – each worth five to ten centuries alone.
Aware of which shortfall he would rather report to his investors, the factor regained his poise. ‘Send my runner for a scribe to draw up the Lady’s document.’ He snapped something under his breath as his underling began to protest, surely an urge to make haste lest the Lady come to her senses and change her mind.
The assistant rushed off. The Lady in the gallery paid his departure no heed; her own gaze turned toward the redheaded barbarian acquired on impulse and intuition. He in his turn stared back, and something about the intentness of his blue eyes caused her to blush as Hokanu of the Shinzawai had not.
Mara suddenly turned away and without a word to her Strike Leader hurried down the steps from the gallery to the street level. The Strike Leader needed but a step to overtake her and resume his position. He wondered if the speed of her departure resulted from her impatience to return to her home or from another discomfort.
Putting aside speculation, Lujan bent to assist Mara into her litter. ‘Jican’s going to be thrown into a dither.’ Mara studied her officer’s face and found none of his usual amusement. In place of mocking humour she saw only concern — and perhaps something more.
Then the factor’s scribe appeared with documents to finalize the sale. Mara signed, impatient to be away.
A noise of alien chatter and grumbling, and the slaves were herded out of the gate from the holding area. Lujan gave the barest motion of his head, and Mara’s company of guards busied themselves with readying two dozen Midkemians for the journey back to the Acoma estates. The task was made difficult by the slaves’ poor comprehension of the language and an unbelievable tendency to argue. No slave of Tsurani birth would ever think of demanding sandals before being required to march. Stymied by seemingly irrational defiance, the soldiers first threatened and finally resorted to force. Their tempers grew shorter by the minute. Soldiers were not overseers, and beating slaves was beneath their station. To be seen manhandling chattel in a public street shamed them and reflected no honour upon the mistress now ready to depart.
Mara’s too-straight back as she sat motionless on her cushions showed her discomfort at this coarse display. She gestured for her bearers to shoulder the litter poles. The pace she commanded from them at least assured that passage through the streets of Sulan-Qu would be brief.