I, Dacien

A Story by Onyx Tao

© 2011

Released under the Creative Commons

Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike License

Chapter Thirteen: Affirmation

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Saffron perfumed the air with its sweet and exotic scent, despite the best attempts of eight house slaves, and even after the stained tablecloth had been hurried away. Some of the fragrant saffron-imbued lobster bisque had spilled on the delicate upholstery of the chairs, and more had spilled onto the deep green carpet, staining it indelibly with an uneven, brown stain. Another two house servants scrubbed at it with a white powdery paste that turned an agreeable saffron yellow, but failed to lighten the stained carpet. Socks, of course, was crouched in a corner, not moving, where he'd been for the last hour. It was too much to hope he'd actually been forgotten.

But wasn't his fault! He'd been so careful; he was carrying the tureen of saffron lobster bisque into the dining room, and it had been his task to hold it while a footman served the Master and his guests. He wasn't a regular footman, of course, but the Master was having guests, more guests than usual, and Socks had been drafted. All he had to do was hold the tureen.

It should have been so easy ...

Instead, he'd stumbled, tangling his foot with one of the chairs, sloshing the hot yellow soup onto the pure white tablecloth, spilling almost the entire tureen, which had spilled over the Master himself, who had not noticed the oncoming inundation until it was too late. Surprised, the Master had leaped from his chair almost before the spill had subsided, and perhaps that had been worse. Bright yellow-red creamy bisque spilled over into the chair, and then onto the emerald-green rug. Guildmaster Iudas had set his teeth, and somehow managed to cordially invite his guests into the music room. The swarm of footmen and servants had somehow managed to continue serving there, while more servants, and the Master of House, Evert, a pristine minotaur, oversaw the attempted remediation of the disaster. The chef, a brown, and Sock's own overseer, had been called out to help, and everyone had ignored Socks.

The other humans occasionally glanced at him, and then quickly looked away, as if whatever punishment waited for him might somehow be applied to anyone who got too close to him. The Master of House had ignored him completely, and his overseer had spared no more than a moment to tell him to stay there and don't move.

"Evert," the word came, a low deep voice that nevertheless filled Socks with fear. He knew it; all the slaves knew it. It belonged to Warlord Dellios, Master of Slave to Guildmaster Iudas. "Do you have matters in hand?"

"Yes," the minotaur said.

"What is the actual damage?"

"The tablecloth is ruined," Evert said. "The chair will need to be reupholstered, I think. The real damage is the carpet; there's no way to remove the stain." The minotaur shook his head. "Saffron! Of all the terrible things to spill on a carpet!"

"Blood?" suggested Dellios innocently.

"Oh, no, that would come out," Evert said blankly. "Cold water and paste, lift it right out."

"I stand corrected," Dellios said. "Nevertheless. Did either of you see what happened?"

"No," Evert said, and Sock's overseer Lampert shook his head.

Dellios nodded. "Very well. I'm taking Socks now."

"Sir?" asked Lampert. "Pardon me, Warlord, but ... Socks means well. He's ... a little clumsy. maybe, but a good solid worker. There is no doubt in my mind, Warlord, that this was an accident." Lampert nodded to the human. "I'd stake my honor on him."

"That's good to know. Thank you, Lampert," Dellios said. "The Guildmaster is still a little upset, though, so I wouldn't defend Socks to him, if I were you, just now." Dellios made calming motions as Lampert's expression changed. "No, no, I'm just saying that now is not the time to have the discussion. It won't do you any good, it won't do my cousin any good, and it certainly won't do Socks any good - and that's the point, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Lampert. "Well, I won't say anything, unless I'm asked."

"That's what I would expect. And Evert?"

"Yes?"

"I am hoping that you have not yet had time to finish a cost estimate."

"But ..."

"I am hoping," Dellios said softly, "that you have not. That you are determined to get this ... stain out, and so you will not put any significant note in front of our Master tonight." Dellios paused. "Or even tomorrow morning. I would hope you would wait until you are absolutely certain that the carpet is unrepairable. And I am hoping that you will not reach any certainty until tomorrow afternoon."

"I ..." Evert looked affronted and said, "Warlord Dellios, I do not tell you your duties."

"No," said Dellios. "You don't. And I'm ... just expressing my hopes, for things that would make my duties easier. All of our duties are to the Guildmaster, are they not?"

Evert nodded. "Truth. And ... yes, I do understand. It is surely to everyone's benefit that the best decisions are made."

"I had wondered if, perhaps, you might understand matters so," Dellios said with a smile. "Since matters are under control here, I will take Socks."

The last thing Socks wanted was the penetrating attention of the Master of Slave. Coming to his attention generally meant a slave had made some kind of unpardonable error that required ... sort of like spilling hot soup at a dinner, Socks thought. "Yes, Master," he managed to say.

"We'll ... no," Dellios corrected the thought. "We'll go out the back, through the garden. Lampert, I'd like something to eat. Would you have a plate sent to my rooms, please?"

"Of course."

"Oh," Dellios added, as if in an afterthought, "and since it's such a nice night, have the footman open the patio up."

"I understand, Warlord," Lampert said. "And ... well. As you say. I commend you to your duties."

Dellios flashed him a quick smile before addressing the still-crouching human. "So, Socks, get up, and come with me."

Socks got up, a little stiffly. He was still in the footman's outfit, which hung loose on him. Another inch or two, and another twenty or thirty pounds, and it would have fit him well. As it was though, he felt small and uncertain in it, especially looking up at the Master of Slave. "Yes, Master," he said again.

Dellios didn't say anything, and the one time Socks made a noise as if to speak, the minotaur had shushed him. The trip to his rooms wasn't a long one, if they'd stayed in the house, but since Dellios had decided to go out through the gardens, it took several long and silent minutes before they walked up a few stairs to a wide patio. Two huge glass doors were thrown open, and soft pale-green curtains glowed with the candlelight behind them as they fluttered in and out. A small table was set, with a number of covered dishes, and a chair pulled up to the table. A gray-and-blue striped blanket sat, neatly folded, on a low stool. Dellios paused briefly as he picked up two of the dishes, and continued on towards the curtains.

"Bring something in," he said, and Socks carefully picked up two of the dishes, and carried them in. Carefully. Very, very carefully.

A room with four large chairs lay beyond the curtain, and the chairs and the fireplace defined a comfortable space. A little large for humans, of course, but then, just right for minotaurs. A low table sat in the middle, and Dellios had put his dishes there, so Socks did the same. "Should I get the rest, Master?"

"I suppose," said the minotaur, poking at the fire with a thick stick until it blazed up. "Yes. Bring the blanket in, too." He tossed the stick onto the fire, and settled back in the chair. Socks went in and out several times, carrying things back inside. "Close the doors. Lock them."

"Yes, Master." It was, after all, the only safe thing to say. When Socks had done that, he saw the warlord coming back from the next room, and then Dellios closed the door, and sat back down on the chair, the one closest to the fireplace, and that had a view of the patio, or would have, when the curtains were open.

Maybe ... "Master?"

"Yes, Socks?"

"Am ..." he started, but of course that was silly. "I know I'm in trouble, Master. I'm sorry. If that helps."

"It may," Dellios said. "I've talked to the other servants. They don't describe it as an accident, Socks. One of them describes you as dumping the soup on Iudas. And ... that's what Iudas saw, too. So, was it deliberate? Or was it really an accident?"

"The first part was an accident, Master."

Dellios looked up from the fire, interested. "The first part?"

"I ... tripping was an accident, Master," Socks said. Should he tell this? "But spilling the soup on the Master wasn't, well it was, but , but ..."

"Just tell me what happened, Socks," Dellios said. "Tell me the truth, because anything else is going to make it a lot worse for you, and it's not good now."

"Uh ... yes," Socks said miserably. "I'm sorry, Master, I'm really, really sorry."

"Good," said Dellios. "Tell me what happened."

"I'd tripped, Master, and the soup was going to spill, and it was going to spill all over the Master's guests, Master, and so I yanked it around, and ..." Socks paused, and then completed the damning sentence. "that's where he was. I did throw it on him. I didn't mean to through it on him, I didn't think about it, I just didn't want to spill on anyone, I should have known better ..."

"Is that so, Socks?"

"Yes, Master," Socks said miserably. "I'm really sorry. I didn't ... that's not what I intended, and if I hadn't tripped it wouldn't have happened at all ..."

"What did you trip on?" asked the minotaur.

"Master?"

"What did you trip on?" the warlord repeated. "A chair, the carpet ..."

Socks thought about it, replaying the event in his mind, the weight of the tureen in his hands, the slow steps following the serving footman, and then the sudden awareness of disaster, with just enough time to wrench the cursed thing away from the Master's dinner guests ... only to spill it on the Master himself. What had tripped him? What had he tripped over?

"I'm not sure, Master," Socks said. "It wasn't the carpet, and it wasn't a chair, and it wasn't the server in front of me. All the guests were seated, so ... I didn't trip on myself; I didn't step on my clothes, or ... I don't know. I ..." What could he have tripped on? "I can't imagine, and then it was ... too late, Master."

"Hmmm," said Dellios, his bovine face crinkling in thought. "Really. You're sure it wasn't a chair?"

"No," Socks said. "I'm sorry, Master, I don't know what it was. I don't think it was a chair, but ... I tripped, so it must have been something ..."

"Do you stumble often when you're walking? Have you ever tripped, before?"

"Sure, Master, of course, but ... on rocks, or ..." and then Socks paused. "You don't believe me, do you, Master, that I tripped."

Dellios shook his head. "Socks, I just want to hear what you remember ..."

"Master, I swear I tripped! I'd never, never, do that on purpose, I'd do anything not to, Master!" Sock's voice had risen to full panic.

"Calm down, Socks," and that was slightly louder, and Socks stopped, and dropped to both knees.

"I'm sorry, Master, I didn't do it on purpose, it was an accident ..." Somehow, Socks had to make the Master understand that!

"Socks," Dellios said, "I find it hard to accept that you did a-purpose. I am just puzzled as to who tripped you, and why."

"Tripped ..."

"If it wasn't a chair, and it wasn't another footman, and it wasn't a guest - because, as you pointed out, they were all seated - and it wasn't the carpet, or something on the carpet, what does that leave?"

"I ... but there wasn't anyone else," Socks said.

"You didn't see anyone else," Dellios said. "But something tripped you, didn't it?"

"Yes ..." Socks said, thinking back. "It was ... I don't know. Hard. But ..."

"Then, if you are telling the truth," and Dellios held up his hand to stop Sock's protestations, "then whatever you tripped over either moved, or was moved."

Socks considered that, and then nodded, cautiously. "So I tripped over someone invisible?"

Dellios nodded. "Either that, or you deliberately spilled hot soup over the dinner table."

Socks' face fell, and he dropped his face to the floor. "Master, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'd do anything to make it better, but I didn't do it on purpose, please Master."

"Socks, I can either believe in an invisible someone in the dining room, or I can believe that a slave with an excellent work record whose overseer personally vouched for him randomly decided to spill soup over his Master at a dinner party," Dellios said, rising gracefully from his chair. "And, I know something you don't."

"What ... what's that?" came the response from the floor.

"I know how someone can be invisible," Dellios said calmly, walking towards the door.

"Lurking," said Iudas, dubiously, later that night to his cousin and Master of Slave, Dellios. He looked over at Brandon, his Master of Guard (if his only guard). "Really. I've never heard of such a thing," he said accusingly.

"It's ... possible," Brandon said, carefully, not wanting to offend either of the cousins. "But it's a grandmaster-skill. I can't imagine why a grandmaster would, ahem, invite himself to your dinner party."

Dellios shrugged. "I can. You do discuss business there, don't you?"

"Yes," said Iudas. "But nothing, you know, sensitive."

"How do you get to be a grandmaster, anyway?" Dellios asked.

The emerald minotaur stared at his cousin for a long moment, uncertain as to just why he was defending this human so irrationally, but rose to the bait anyway. "I don't know. Tell me. How?"

"Talent," Dellios said. "And practice."

"Practice," said Brandon, picking up on the idea, and considering it carefully.

Iudas looked blank for a moment before he followed the thought. "You think a ... a ... grandmaster or a master was ... practicing this ... this lurking ... at my dinner party."

Dellios shook his head firmly. "No, Guildmaster, I did not say that. I simply find it easier to believe there was a lurking bull rather than some fit of temporary insanity seized the slave. I suggested two reasons, good and solid reasons, why a bull might be lurking there. There are probably more."

Iudas shook his head. "It seems a very complicated explanation."

"And what kind of explanation fits the slave doing it, as you think, on purpose?" Dellios said. "He gains nothing. He loses everything. He's never been defiant - his overseer vouched for him. And there's no defiance in him now, no justification, just apologies and regret, and if he's faking it, then he's doing it well enough to deceive me, which ... well, I think that's unlikely. It's an unusual explanation, I grant that. But there's not even an unusual explanation for it being an act of defiance."

"What do you think, Brandon? Could you detect someone lurking?"

"No," Brandon said with certainty. "I couldn't. Not without bumping into him."

"Can you learn to?" asked Iudas, pensively. "I don't like the thought of it, someone hovering over us."

"I ... I don't know," Brandon said. "Del? Do you?"

"It's a master-level skill," Dellios said. "And none of us are masters. Evert's probably the best of everyone in the house, if anyone has a chance to learn it, he might."

"Evert? But he's not, I mean, you're a warlord!"

"Yes, and he's better at tempus than I am," Dellios said patiently.

"You're really serious about this," Iudas said. "You really think that that ... that ... human tripped over a lurking bull."

Dellios nodded. "I think that's the most likely explanation that has occurred to me, yes." A smile flashed through the pale green of his face. "Although I am willing to consider others. If you have any."

Iudas sighed. "You're my Master of Slave, so ... it's your responsibility to make that decision. As long as discipline is maintained."

"Of course."

Iudas smiled. "It would be helpful if I had a couple of broken ferals. Pony-trained, that's exotic enough. Two, just two. I know it's not your favorite task ..."

No. Breaking humans into dependent toys and giving them away as presents isn't any trainer's favorite task. But you'll say no more about Socks if I do it for you, thought Dellios with a sigh. "At least with all the ferals flooding the markets, they'll at least be cheap, and I can get good stock. Unless you have some in mind?"

Iudas shook his head. "No. I wouldn't dream of second-guessing you, Del. Buy what you think best, and ... well, price is a concern, but as long as it's reasonable, no more than a few thousand suns, it's not at issue."

"Good," said Dellios. "You need them as presents? When do they need to be ready?

"Take the time you need, to find them, to train them."

Dellios was nodding. "I can do that."

"Good," said Iudas lightly. "And add the human to that training, I think."

"I ..." and Dellios stopped, considering the request. It wasn't all that bad an idea. Training was hard, of course, but it wasn't punishment, not as such, but it would still be seen as discipline ... which, of course, it was. "That's a great idea," Dellios said slowly. "Iudas, that's ... brilliant." He nodded. "I don't think I could come up with something better, and I don't know if I'd of thought of that myself. Although three at once ... that's a little ... no, it can work," Dellios said. "I'll make it work."

"You like it?"

"It's perfect," said Dellios. "Just the right thing. Makes it clear he's not getting away with anything, gives him some valuable training, no, it's a great idea."

"Then you can you get started right away?"

"Yes," said Dellios. "Is there something else I should know? Something you're not telling me?"

"No," said Iudas. "I just need ..."

"For whom? If I know who I'm shopping for ..."

"Senior Master Adjudicator Fallows, and Guildmaster Johannes," said Iudas.

"And sooner would be better than later?"

"Only in the general sense that sooner is almost always better than later," Iudas said, with a chuckle. "Really. Only that. Why are you so ... suspicious?"

"I don't know," Dellios said, sounding almost surprised. "I am, though, I agree. Maybe it's the thought of a lurking bull. But ... yes, I am feeling suspicious. I hadn't realized it. I'll let you know if I figure out why.

"Yes, do that," said Iudas.

Dellios returned later to his rooms, and found Socks asleep, curled up on the floor near the fire, a towel wrapped around him and his stained livery soaking in a small handbasin. A glance over at the table showed nothing had been touched, and Dellios wondered if that were because the human was so upset he couldn't eat, or he hadn't been told he could. Defiant. No. Even assuming Socks was on his best behavior - which Dellios would assume - he might have at least taken two towels. The one he had barely covered him, and even close to the fire, he was shivering. That, at least, had to be cold rather than fear, and ... he still smelled of saffron, too cowed to even wash it off.

Dellios went back into the bathroom, and started running a shower. He stripped, went back into his bedchamber, and cautiously picked Socks up. It woke him up, of course, but he stopped struggling as soon as he realized it was Dellios, and the green minotaur carried him into the bathroom, and then directly into the warm spray of water. Dellios washed him, and although the human looked uncertain about it, he didn't say anything.

Socks was lovely to look at, Dellios thought, pale golden skin, smooth skin with fine straw-yellow down that was almost invisible, the same color as his close-cut hair. The minotaur took a visceral pleasure in rubbing soap into Sock's hair, lathering it across the skin, tracing it down his arms and chest. Socks started when Dellios rubbed soap against the charmingly small human maleness, and the soft wrinkled sack that loosened and expanded in the droplets of warm water from the nozzle above. Socks didn't say a word, just turned obediently as Dellios washed the firm muscle of his back, then down to the cleft of his legs, and he even traced the soapy water to the very bottom, and then down hard, shapely legs. Humans, thought Dellios, were so graceful and so clumsy at the same time. Maybe their beauty and the strange attraction they cast over minotaurs was somehow related to that fundamental contradiction.

Socks let Dellios dry him, and even pick him up again, the two of them faintly damp from the water. Socks made no motion to resist until Dellios pulled the crisp covers of his bed back, and put Socks down. The human looked apprehensive, and Dellios just chuckled. "No, we're just going to sleep tonight. I don't have another bed, and ... you don't mind sharing with me, do you?"

Socks just shook his head in an uncertain no that made Dellios want to kiss him, but that probably wouldn't have reassured the young human, so the minotaur just extinguished the lamp, and then got into bed, too. He pulled the human against him, as much as to feel the welcome sensation of human skin against his pelt as to keep Socks warm. "Sleep, Socks. Go to sleep. You're not in trouble, it's all going to be fine, I've taken care of it."

"You ... it ..." the human started to say, but the minotaur cut him off.

"Shhhhh," said Dellios. "Yes. Go to sleep. It's all going to be fine." Dellios listened to the human's breathing smooth off into the steady relaxation of sleep, and hoped he hadn't just told his first lie. No, he thought. The training wasn't punishment, and ... Socks would take to it, very well. And he wouldn't let just anyone have the human afterward - no, Socks would be his.

Dellios couldn't think of anyone else who might take close enough care of him.

Socks woke from muddled dreams to find himself pressed up against a minotaur, and not just any minotaur, but the Master of Slave himself. Socks woke, as he usually did, hard, but having a minotaur close his hand around his maleness, and gently encourage him into an aching tightness was ... was something that had never happened before, and even his most muddled dreams, not something he'd expected. Between the wonderful herbal-pine musk of minotaur and Dellios' expert touch, Socks couldn't resist - even if he'd wanted to - and if his Master wanted it, well, Socks had no reason to hold back, and somehow, it was even better with the huge solid slightly fuzzy warmth behind him. Daringly, he reached back to discover Dellios was just as hard as he was, but Socks was disappointed when Dellios did nothing else.

As surprised as Socks was to wake up in Dellios' bed, he was even more shocked when the Master presented him with a set of plain clothing, nothing like the Guildmaster's usual much finer livery. The fabric was thick and coarse, although clean and serviceable. "Put that on and have some breakfast," Dellios said. "We're going into Maze."

They took a carriage into town, and left it at a huge stables near the gate, with the driver. Socks found it odd to travel inside a carriage; but The slave markets formed their own labyrinth, down near the docks. Sock's first thought was that he was going to be sold, but Dellios had said no, he wasn't going to be sold, he was coming along for a different reason. Unfortunately, the minotaur hadn't actually told him why he was coming, and after a few days spent ... well, hiding, he supposed, in the minotaur's rooms had convinced him that Dellios was, even more than his old overseer, aware of everything. Even after four years serving in the house rather than the yards, so close to so many of them, it just seemed strange. They didn't know everything, of course, but it seemed like they did, and even when they didn't ... they seemed to anyway.

At first, the slave markets seemed like just townhouses, like the Guildmaster's, at least from the outside. Dellios had given him a plain tunic, lacking the Guildmaster's livery, plain trousers and sandals, clean and in good condition, of course, but hardly the dress for the Guildmaster's slaves. The fabric was coarse and undyed, and if was presentable, it wasn't new by any means - that's when Dellios had said, as Socks had started to fret, that he wouldn't be sold, that Dellios needed him for some other reason. But, he hadn't said what. It might be that the Warlord just didn't think he needed to know; minotaurs were nothing if not high-handed. Slaves were given orders, not explanations, and that's just the way it was.

Socks hadn't even realized they were in the market, at first, until Dellios had walked up to a discrete door and pushed his way in. A human, a heavily muscled man wearing only a loincloth had bowed them into a private room where, a moment later, a tiny minotaur, no larger than the human at the door, joined them. His pelt was a soft gray, with short, curled horns, although Socks knew enough to call him white.

"Warlord," the minotaur said, and glanced at Socks appraisingly. "It is, alas, something of a buyer's market at the moment, even for the well-trained."

"Even for your wares?" Dellios asked.

"No," said the white. "But I do not deal in the usual. Although ..." he looked at Socks again. "You're not here to sell, are you?"

"Am I ever?"

"No," said the white. "But who is? And yet bulls come to me, and I help them."

"Is that what you call it?"

The white shrugged. "Not all of us are related to brilliant merchants whose ventures rain monies like a thunderstorm. Sometimes, families fall on harder times. There are buyers, so there will be brokers, to make sure that the best price is had, the best deal struck. Believe what you will, the world is a better place with me in it."

"Oddly enough, I do believe that. Two things, Travis. First ... I know your answer, and yet ..."

"No," the white said. "I have no news for you. I would send a runner, I know what you'd pay, but I have had no new leads in years, and no hint nor rumor of his location." The white sighed. "You would be better off giving this up."

"Yes, I'm sure I would. Please continue looking. The second is, if I wanted to buy a ferociously barbaric feral, who should I go to?"

"Lord Tarragon," the white said, which made no sense to Socks.

"Seriously, Travis. I don't want to crawl through the lower markets. Someone will have the best of the worst, and I know you'll know who."

The white shrugged. "Nesbitt and Marley, Buck and Son, and Swifter Sojourn."

"In that order?"

"Maybe. Nesbitt and Marley sell to the arenas, Buck and Son ..."

"I know what they sell," Dellios interrupted. "But Swifter Sojourn?"

"They stock for the galleys," Travis said. "Ruly, uncooperative slaves - ferals, mostly, but strong, healthy, and inured to the conditions on a galley. What are you looking for?"

"Pony stock."

"You want to know what the profit will be?"

"I'm not training them for you," Dellios said, his motion shaking the soft green hair.

"You should. I could sell ... well, every one you could train, at least," Travis said. "More. Come work for me, Dellios, I'll pay you better and ... I'm not promising anything, but you'd make connections, personal connections, and you might have better luck than I've had."

"Do you really think so?"

"No," said Travis. "To be honest, I think whoever has him knows you're looking, and doesn't want to talk to you. Or the Guildmaster."

Dellios nodded. "Probably. But somebody has to know something."

Travis spread his hands. "I'm sorry, it's not me."

"Fine. Nesbitt, Buck, and Swifter Sojourns. Anyone else?"

"Maybe ... Corin," Travis suggested. "Although he's training for his own stadium."

"He is? What?"

"Wrestlers," Travis said. "Apparently it's quite the rage in Lycaili and Venrir. No injuries are allowed to the wrestlers, it's all about skill and strength, and supposedly quite mesmerizing. Corin imported a couple of wrestlers from Venrir, and is staging demonstration bouts."

"No blood?" asked Dellios skeptically.

"I am told not," Travis said. "Oh, there are injuries, but ... they appear to be accidents, and rare accidents. It may not sound exciting, but I'm told it is extremely so, even without the blood. I keep meaning to go see one myself, these wrestlers are supposedly highly trained and prized, so they might just be a market that interests me but ..." the white smiled. "I'll get around to it, next year, or maybe after."

"Let me know what you think when you do."

"If I drop your name, you'd get an invitation for yourself," and Travis paused, considering. "Do you think Iudas would be interested? Could you get him to come? That ..."

"Is there money in it?"

"Please! Isn't your cousin interested in more than money?"

"Not noticably," Dellios said. "And please, call it trade."

"Well, there is some serious gambling. He keeps book, doesn't he?"

"A little," Dellios said. "But if there's gambling, then ... yes, I can get him to go, if only to check out who else is there. Is that enough for the deal? Do I need to sweeten the pot?"

"A pony would put me in your debt for a long time," said Travis, leaning forward. "But ... to be fair, no. Nothing I've told you is secret, and getting Iudas to one of Corin's bouts is more than fair recompense for telling you about them." The white snickered. "Or at least, it will be by the time I'm done with Corin."

"Everyone loves you, don't they?"

"I hope so," Travis said with a smile.

"Everything we talked about ... I trust you can keep a secret?"

"Iudas is training ponies, that's news," said Travis carefully. "There will be some serious interest."

"They're already spoken for."

"All of them?" asked Travis.

"Just three," Dellios said. "And yes, they're spoken for. All of them?"

"Three?" Travis shook his head. "Why do you love that miserable miser so?"

"He's not a miser, and you mistake him if you think so," Dellios said. "And he's my cousin, and yes, I do love him." He paused, "I'll tell you what, though."

"What?"

"Find Xerxes for me, and I'll train you a pony. Get Xerxes for me, and I'll train ... twenty, one every two years. Deal is good for the next, oh, five years. Does that sweeten the pot?"

"Oh, yes," Travis said. "But ..."

"But?"

"I'm already looking for him as hard as I can, I swear." Travis looked thoughtful.

Dellios nodded. "I believe you. Still ... there's not much I wouldn't do."

"Suppose you train one for me," Travis said. "That might ... let's just say it might provide more leverage than money alone."

Dellios just looked at him. "Really?"

"Yes," Travis said. "There are ... well. You don't want to know, and I don't want to tell you."

"I suppose not," said Dellios. "Well, it's ... it's a serious and extreme time commitment, but if you really think it would bring results, and I mean, something I can actually see, not just you telling me it's better, then ... I'll train one for you, but you won't have him for at least a year, and maybe two."

Travis nodded. "I ... will make inquiries based on that, Dellios. It will make a difference, and though I wish I could promise you something, I can't."

"That's fine," Dellios said. "I won't deliver him until you do have something for me."

"That complicates things, but ... I respect it," Travis said. "Agreed. Done."

"Not quite," said Dellios. "You pay full price, too."

"I ... yes, fine," said Travis, sounding irritated. "That's the least of it."

"I know," said Dellios, getting up. "It will make the transaction more palatable to Iudas."

"Why do you work for him?" asked Travis, curiously. "He's ..."

"He is who he is," Dellios said, rising. "And I work for him because I am who I am. And the conversation is over."

The white minotaur rose, too, and bowed. "I beg your forgiveness. Your loyalty to your cousin is not merely remarkable, but ... it has often been remarked, and more bulls than I wonder at it. I am a silly gossip, and sometimes I forget myself in my own curiosity. I mean nothing by it."

"I take no offense, Travis," Dellios said. "You have exerted yourself greatly on my behalf, and I am remain deeply appreciative."

"I will continue to do so. Please give my regards to Iudas."

"Of course," said Dellios, turning away. "Come, Socks."

The discrete doors marked with plaques vanished as they moved deeper into the market. Slaves were displayed openly, male and females. Most were unchained, but here and there a presumably feral human was locked into some restraint. Twice, Dellios was approached by another minotaur asking if he was selling, and looking at Socks. The warlord demurred with the polite murmur of, he's spoken for.

Socks knew the Master had said he wasn't going to sell him - he'd said so, and Socks had never heard of a minotaur ever lying to a slave - but that made him wonder why he was with the Master at all, and the uneasy sick feeling in his gut grew stronger with each step they took. After they walked past a line of cages down to a warehouse near the docks, he finally said, "Master?"

"Yes?" Dellios' thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

"I know you're not going to sell me, Master," came out in a rush, "but ... why am I here? I don't ... I don't want to do it wrong?" Socks wondered if maybe he'd said too much. It wasn't his right to question his overseers, much less to question his Master. "I ... I'm sorry, Master, I ... if I don't need to know, then ... I just want to do my best. Master."

"You're here because it gives me an excuse to wave off the merchants I don't want to do business with," Dellios said quietly. "It's just easier if I look like I'm here to deliver than to buy."

"Thank you, Master," said Socks, gratefully. That made sense, and it was a relief to know.

"Here," said Dellios, stopping at a warehouse. He knocked at the unmarked door, and a brown minotaur wearing clothes as plain as Sock's own answered it. "Sir?"

"I am Warlord Dellios, Master of Slave to Guildmaster Iudas," the pale-green minotaur said. "Does your Master have stock available?"

"Always, Sir," the brown said. "I am deeply regretful that Master Nesbitt is out, but the stock is available for inspection."

"Is there someone here to conclude business?"

"Ah ..." the brown said, and then, "No, Sir. Only Master Nesbitt or Master Marley transact deals. I can show you our fighters, and even pair them for you, however."

"Are they expected back today?"

"Yes, after dinner. They are at the fields."

"After dinner," said Dellios thoughtfully. "Well, I may be back, if I have not filled my order."

"Sir, we have the finest, best-trained fighters, and ..."

"Not what I'm looking for," Dellios said. "I was looking for ferals, untrained, preferably unruly. I was directed here ..." he paused. "In error?"

"Ah ..." the brown said, "well, Sir, the Masters do purchase a draft, and then resell the unsuitable. They've already disposed of the rejects, though, just yesterday. Perhaps that was what you were thinking of?"

"Presumably," Dellios said. "To another dealer? Dealers?"

"Dealers," the brown said. "Swifter Sojourns bought most of them; I don't think any other broker bought more than one. I'm sorry to disappoint you, Sir."

"No, no, that's just what I needed to know. Thank you, and please present my compliments to your Masters."

"Thank you, Sir. Perhaps there is something else I might assist you with?"

"No," said Dellios. "That is all my business today; I'll keep your Masters in mind for my future needs."

"Thank you, Sir," the brown said, and Socks noticed he waited until Dellios had turned back to the street before closing the door. He'd heard rumors ...

"Master?" asked Socks, about a half-street later. "I have a question, and I'm ... I'm not sure it's one I should ask."

"Then it is very right you should bring it to me," Dellios said, "so that I may instruct you."

"Was that ... the minotaur who opened the door ... a slave?"

"Yes," said Dellios. "And although it is a proper question, in the sense that he is a slave as you are, I suggest you not discuss the topic again, with anyone else, as long as you are part of the Guildmaster's household."

"Master? Why?"

"The subject irritates the Guildmaster," Dellios said, and stopped walking to look at Socks. "We need not add to his many troubles," he said. Dellios continued walking, leaving Socks to wonder about what possible problems a minotaur, much less a Guildmaster, might have.

"Yes, Master. Thank you."

Swifter Sojourns was another warehouse, almost on the docks, and as they'd descended closer and closer to the water, the smell of the slave markets intensified. The smell of unwashed humans, of human waste, and it caused Socks to wrinkle his nose. Dellios seemed not to notice it, although Socks knew from experience that minotaurs had a far keener sense of smell than humans. Socks couldn't think of anything, actually, that a human might do better than a minotaur. But then, that's why the minotaurs were their masters.

The door to Swifter Sojourns was open, and it let into the top level of the warehouse; the middle of the floor was open, allowing a view into the rows of small, cramped cages filled with humans. The smell was terrible, and Socks was amazed that minotaurs would tolerate it. None of the minotaurs he'd worked with would have.

But apparently these were either more tolerant, or just didn't care. A series of desks were situated around the floor, and an ebon or pristine minotaur worked at each one. Below, a number of ebon-pristine minotaurs with their attractive marque noir were working the cages, making sure the humans were watered and fed, and trying (if apparently ineffectively) to keep them at least somewhat clean.

A massive pristine minotaur headed over to them, nodding in acknowledgment. "Welcome. Warlord Dellios, I presume?"

"Yes," said Dellios. "I am surprised; I do not think I know you."

"There are exactly eight copper minotaur in Leviathan," the pristine said. "You stand out, Warlord."

"I do not know you by sight," Dellios said. "I beg your forgiveness."

"It is I who should plead for yours; I am Guildmaster Scythos. I know your Master."

"I have heard him speak of you," Dellios said, courteously.

"I hope you're not here to sell this one," Scythos said. "The market groans with stock this year."

"No," said Dellios. "I'm not. I am here to buy."

"Well, then my troubles are your gain," Scythos said. "Although I wasn't aware Iudas was running any ships."

"He is not."

"Is that so? We deal with sailors, mostly," Scythos said. "Hard labor, for humans who cannot or do not take well to civilization. A few special orders, but mayhap ... well, I doubt I will guess what brings you here. What can I help you with?"

"I'm looking for ferals."

"Almost our entire galley stock here is feral," Scythos said, putting his hands together with evident disgust. "Filthy beasts. Very cheap; that's really what's flooding the market these days, all those captured ferals from Ouroubouros and Ungoliant. I can't wait to sell them on, and get this place cleaned up."

"I'd wondered at the smell," Dellios admitted.

"Our warehouse has been cleaner," Scythos said with a shake of his head. "It's the ferals. Even the ones that have primitive concept of cleanliness aren't reasonable enough to stay clean. Won't matter in a galley, of course, so they're perfect for that, but ... for anything else?"

"I have a use," Dellios said. "Where are the galley stock?"

"Pierward, left side. Just follow your nose. Generally, though, I sell them in lots of ten. You want to pick some out?"

"Two," said Dellios. "I only want two."

"Sure. Pick any two you like," Scythos said. "Two hundred suns."

"That seems high," started Dellios.

"For both of them," Scythos clarified. "I think you'll find that more than fair. You'll need restraints for them, too, or I can deliver them."

"It's a fine price. I didn't think to bring restraints, though," Dellios said. "But I did want to take them immediately."

"Oh, don't concern yourself. Take a set of ours, and just send them back," Scythos said. "If you like."

"That will do exceedingly well," Dellios said.

"Just grab one of the staff when you make your selection," Scythos said. "Have him brought up to my desk. I ... I do not think you have an account with us, however."

"No," said Dellios. "I do, however, have a draft on Guildmaster Iudas' accounts. It requires only my countersignature and authorization. Will that do?"

"That will do exceedingly well," said Scythos. "There are stairs in the corners, or you can take a pole."

"A ... pole?"

"Certainly, just slide down," and the pristine minotaur pointed to a brass pole descending from the ceiling all the way to the bottom floor, one of several about the warehouse.

"I think I will do that," said Dellios. "Socks, follow me."

"Your slave is welcome to wait at my desk," offered Scythos.

"No," said Dellios. "If you don't mind."

"No," said Scythos. "I don't mind."

Dellios grabbed the pole, and a moment later, had vanished down into the lower level. Socks reached out, took hold of the cold metal, and swung himself around it, and found himself slipping down. He had a brief impression of the cages laid out below, in two offset layers, before he was down on the floor. A pristine marque noir watched him and Dellios, but said nothing until Dellios spoke to him. "I understand there are a number of ferals?"

"Yes, Warlord," the minotaur said. "This way, please you."

The cages that had looked small from above were only a bit larger when viewed close up, and Socks could feel the dejected hopelessness of the unfortunates laying or crouching - there wasn't quite enough room to stand - two or three to a cage. At least there was water, and a bucket-and-chute contraption for sanitation, although, as Scythos had said, it seemed like some of the ferals hadn't bothered to use it, or didn't know how.

The area Dellios went to was definitely the worst, Socks thought. The humans were big and heavily scarred. They'd been shaved, but the hair was starting to grow back on their heads, giving them an odd bristled appearance. Their skins varied from a deep olive with dark hair, to pale freckled skin with a distinct reddish tinge. The Warlord looked into the cages thoughtfully, but most of the humans either ignored him or turned away.

"You work with these?" he asked the guide.

"Yes, Warlord."

"Which are the, obstreperous ones. Which would ... most like to see gone?"

The minotaur shook his head. "Nearly all of them, Warlord, but ... there. In that cage? We put the worst three in there."

Dellios looked, and so did Socks. There were three of them, two pale, one darker, but they were big men, almost the size of a minotaur. One of the two pale ones, the one with brown fuzz starting to turn back into short hair, noticed the attention, and stared back at Dellios, his eyes tightening. A low word of some foreign language, and then the other two were eyeing them as well.

"Hostile," said Dellios.

"Very, Warlord. They came from Nesbitt's. They were already trained with swords, but when Nesbitt tested them, they attacked him, in a pack, all together."

"All together?" Dellios said, sounding interested.

"Yes, Warlord."

"No Greek, I suppose."

"None, or very little, Warlord."

To Sock's surprise, Dellios addressed them in Latin. "Feral. Do you three know one another? Do you fight together?"

"Drop dead, you stinking cow," the pale-haired one snarled. "We fight, but not for you."

"I ask, because I'm buying two of you. If you are sword-brothers, then I would not separate you, I will buy all three. So, I will ask again. Do you know each other? Are you sword-brothers?"

"No," said the brown-haired one, fiercely. "We are not."

"Fine," said Dellios. He pointed, to the brown-haired one, and the darker skinned one. "Those two." Dellios turned away, and the straw-haired one yelled, "Wait! Take me too!"

Socks saw Dellios' muzzle twist in the minotaur version of a grin, and the warlord kept walking. After a minute, the other two began yelling something; Socks couldn't quite understand their Latin.

"Master?" he said.

"I know," Dellios said. "I can use all three of them, after all ... but." He turned to the minotaur with them. "I'm sorry, what's your name?"

"Warrior Cynril, Warlord."

"Well, Warrior Cynril, have the two I picked out brought up to Scythos. Full restraints, I think. I'll buy the third one, too, but ... I'll have him delivered, and he's not to know I'm purchasing him. If they want to play games ... well, games they shall play." Dellios looked thoughtful for a moment. "And I don't want to hear them complain, either. Do you have a theban bridle?"

"I ... I will look, Warlord. We don't use them, though, so I ... I don't think we have any."

"A bridle by preference, but any gag will do," Dellios instructed. "And ... if they get rowdy, I don't care how many bruises they have, or how many teeth they lose. If you knock a few teeth out, I'd consider that a favor, in fact. No broken bones, but ..."

"I understand, Warlord," Cynril said. "That ... might take some time." He paused. "Are we softening them up, or just being rough?"

"Rough. It's fine if you take your time, but ... do not take pleasure of them. Do you typically clean them before delivery?"

"We can, Warlord," Cynril said.

"Do that, then. And shave them down again. Is that done on the floor?"

"It ... can be, Warlord," was the answer. "Is that your wish?"

"Yes," said Dellios. "Shaving them on the floor, in front of all the other ferals, will be a lesson. And perhaps your other problem ferals will take note."

"I can only hope, Warlord, but I doubt it." The minotaur frowned. "It may take a quarter to half an hour to ready them for you. Will that be acceptable?"

"It takes the time it takes," Dellios said. "And I'm sure they'll do what they can to inconvenience you. Oh, I'm going to arrange to have the third one delivered to me, tomorrow, but make no mention of that to them. I don't want him prepped with the others. In fact, I don't want him to know he's being delivered to me until the last possible moment."

"As you wish, Warlord, but you should discuss that with Guildmaster Scythos. But all of the stock on the floor is for sale. I'd hate for there to be any confusion ... It would be better if we moved him to a holding cage, so he isn't sold inadvertently."

"No, that will be fine. Can you do that after you bring the other two up?"

"Yes, Warlord. Will there be anything else?"

"I can't think of anything," Dellios said. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"Uh ..." said the warrior, looking flustered for a moment. "Me?"

"Yes," said Dellios. "I need them off-balance and hurt. Do you have any suggestion?"

"I ... well," said Cynril, thinking. "We usually give them a long tunic, but these ferals don't like being unclothed at all."

"It's mild enough; they don't need clothes, and it's hardly as if the Guildmaster would let them wear those tunics in any case," Dellios said. "Omit them, and deliver them naked. And wet, I think." Dellios paused. "And they're probably chock full of feral preconceptions about male-male intimacy, too. Do you have essence liniment, anything like that?"

"No, Warlord."

Dellios extracted a small squat stone jar from a pocket. "Here. It's strong, don't use more than you could easily fit on your smallest finger. Do not get it on your bare skin."

"That strong?"

"Yes," said Dellios. "It's that strong. Bring it back to me, please, and, I just have to say it, do not use it on anyone other than those two ferals, although, I am sure you would not." The green minotaur looked severe for a moment. "This is not something to play with."

"No, of course not, Warlord. I have your instructions? There is nothing further?"

Dellios thought again, and then said, "Nothing I can think of. Thank you, Warrior Cynril." The pale green minotaur glanced at Socks, and with a slight motion of his head, barely more than a tilt and a glance, indicated the human should follow him. They walked through the confusion of cages, and up a far set of stairs, and then around the warehouse platform until they again reached Scythos, now at his desk. As they approached, the pristine minotaur put the papers he had down, and smiled over at Dellios - but then, Socks was only relieved to be ignored.

"I was expecting you'd be quick, or very, very long," Scythos said. "You were a little longer than I expected for quick, I must say."

"Your selection is large, but I was able to narrow it down quickly," Dellios said. "I commend your Warrior Cynril."

"Cynril? Good fellow," Scythos said, "I know. You found your two, then?"

"Three," Dellios said. "So we must reopen our negotiation. I must also add I asked for some special handling, do wish to borrow restraints, as well as wish to arrange delivery of the third feral for tomorrow, although of course I can return the restraints at that time, too."

"Special handling? How ..."

"Cleaned, shaved," said Dellios. "It must be done, and if they resent it, well, better they resent your staff than me or mine."

"True enough," Scythos agreed. "Well, would three-fifty seem fair, for the handling, and the loan, and the delivery?" He paused, and then added, "Including the ferals, of course."

"Three-fifty-two, if you please," said Dellios.

"I suppose it pleases. Do you know," said Scythos, "it is a very long time since anyone bargained me up. It will please me perfectly, and we have a bargain, but I want two words of explanation for those additional two suns."

Dellios snorted. "When Iudas sees the sum, he'll think I negotiated shrewdly, and that will make him happy."

"I've heard he likes a close discussion," Scythos said. "Almost as much as I've heard that he deals more than fairly."

"Iudas has his faults," Dellios said, "as we all do, but he feels his honor is at stake with every discussion."

"And so it is," said Guildmaster Scythos. "Did you intend to settle the matter now, or on the delivery of the third feral?"

"Now will do," Dellios said. "If you will take Iudas' draft."

"I will," Scythos said. "Please direct it to the accounts of Swifter Sojourns."

Dellios pulled a folded paper from another pocket, and, borrowing a pen from Scythos, wrote on it and handed it over. "Three hundred and fifty and two suns, and four stars, to be paid to the accounts of Swifter Soujourns of Leviathan."

"Yes," said Scythos, glancing it over, and then putting it into his desk. "And now all we have to do is wait for your ferals to be brought up. Are you sure you wouldn't just like them delivered altogether?"

"Yes," said Dellios. "I am .."

"Them?" Scythos interrupted, sounding surprised. "You bought them? And ... oh, great folly. You bought the third, too, didn't you?"

"I suspect the answer is yes," Dellios said, as Cynril and another pristine-ebon minotaur dragged the two naked ferals over. A set of heavy iron bands circled their arms and bound them together, behind their back. A short chain stretched from the bands to the equally heavy iron collar. A steel and leather muzzle with a gag was bolted to each collar, and the gag was locked firmly in place. Both ferals fought the minotaurs pulling them, but the disparity in weight meant the minotaurs had little trouble moving the humans. Both were, oddly, Socks thought, fully erect.

"Well, if I'd known, I would have cut another hundred suns off," Scythos said. "Nuisance, nothing but a nuisance, these. I suspect that even on a galley they'd end up being pitched overboard as more trouble than help. Wait, why aren't they clothed ..."

"Part of the handling I requested," Dellios interrupted as Cynril and the other minotaur finally came up. Cynril handed Dellios the heavy chain leashes, and the little stone jar. Scythos' eyes narrowed as he saw it, and then he laughed.

"Clever," he said. "Are you really going to drag them through the streets like that? They'll never forgive you."

"I think they're attractive," Dellios said. "Nothing wrong with bringing two lovely humans through Maze, is there?"

"I thought you wanted to leave the resentment here," Scythos said dryly.

"True," said Dellios. "But there's no reason not to have the best of all worlds. Do you have some tunics that are, perhaps, one or two sizes too small?"

Cynril's eyes widened, and Scythos looked, for a moment, like a smile had tried to cross his face. "We could find something ..." the Guildmaster said finally. "Cynril?"

"Yes, Guildmaster!"

"Secure them and go ... fetch two tunics for them."

"Yes, Guildmaster," and Cynril locked the two collar chains to the post nearest Scythos' desk.

"I can't believe you're buying these," Scythos said. "They don't have a word of Greek."

"They will learn what they need," said Dellios. "Some of my slaves speak Latin, so ... it will not be that bad."

"You've got ferals?"

"No," said Dellios. "But ferals do pass through from time to time, and having some slaves who understand them is convenient. And teaching them keeps our fluency intact."

"I hadn't considered that," Scythos said, sitting back in his chair. "But then I deal with ferals all the time."

Dellios nodded as Cynril hurried back with two short tunics. "Will these do, Warlord, Guildmaster?"

"Yes," said Dellios, standing up. He took the tunics from Cynril, and handed them to the two ferals. "Put these on," he said in Latin. "If our business is concluded?"

"It is," Scythos said. "Cynril, unlock these two."

Dellios gave the chain an exploratory tug, and looked at the two, who were - futilely - trying to pull the shapeless tunics down over their maleness. "So. If you weren't gagged, you'd be begging me to buy your sword-brother, wouldn't you?"

The brown-haired one nodded.

"You had that choice already," Dellios said. "Your defiance will not be rewarded." Both of them glared at him, and Dellios continued, "We will be walking for some time, and you both will follow me. If you have trouble doing that, then I will break your legs and drag you - one, or both of you." Dellios stared directly at them. "If you doubt me, let me know now, and I will break them, now."

Neither of them moved, although they didn't break eye contact.

"We seem to understand each other," Dellios said. "As it happens, I'd rather not drag you." Dellios turned, and gave a tug on the chains. Socks let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when the two followed Dellios, more or less obediently.

There wasn't any doubt in Sock's mind at all as to whether the Master of Slaves would actually follow through or not. None whatsoever.