The door at the end of the row clanged open. There was noise up and down the aisles as prisoners and soon-to-be slaves leaned over to take a look at who was coming in for an inspection. It could only be an inspection: it was the wrong time of day for food. Merit craned his neck to see Venaragi was leading a nobleman down the rows. He growled to himself and leaned back into the shadows. Nothing good ever came from the royal lot looking down here—they didn’t want gladiators and they weren’t about to trust any of the folk sentenced to these blocks with weapons or guard duty. Merit slouched down to avoid notice, although he saw out of his peripheral vision that Star hadn’t made any sign of either recognizing or responding to Venaragi’s entrance or his high-born guest. His loss, Merit supposed.
If this was a jail, there would have been whistling, or catcalls, but no one was so foolish here. To draw that kind of attention was tantamount to asking for Thaena’s hand in marriage: an early, unpleasant grave. The footsteps stopped near his cell, and he all but held his breath.
“Hey Merit,” a familiar voice said. “How’s the arm healing?”
Merit looked up, surprised. The man who stood on the other side of the gates dressed in blue silks, with enough embroidery and jewel work to make Merit drool. For a moment, the sophistication of the nobleman’s garb was so distracting Merit forgot to look at the man’s face, but finally he did.
“Rook?” Merit stood up and made it two feet toward the bars before the chains pulled him back. “Thaena’s teats! It’s you.”
Rook pulled up one side of his mouth in something like a smile. “I was hoping to spot a friendly face down here. Instead, I get you.”
“Shit,” Merit said. “You’re looking friendly enough to me. Faris said you’d sold yourself to some noble fop as a play toy, but I didn’t believe it! But look at you…”
Rook turned his head. “Hey Barus.” He motioned to one of the blue-dressed guards near him. “Am I a noble fop’s play toy?”
The guard shook his head. “No, my lord. You are Kihrin D’Mon, eldest son of the Lord Heir D’Mon.”
Kihrin looked back at Merit and shrugged. “Who knew?”
Merit blinked. “You lucky son of a bitch.”
Kihrin’s laughter was mocking. “I guess it must seem that way.” Then he scowled. “You still running with Faris’s gang?”
Merit turned his head and spat. “That weasel’s the reason I’m in here. Bastard let me fall for him—said I still had two hands left to lose.”
“Hm.” Kihrin looked him up and down, then turned and snapped, “Slave master, how much for this one?”
Venaragi, who had been pretending not to listen to their conversation, scurried over. “Oh that one, milord? He’s heading for the Arena … probably have him fight leopards. He’ll fetch at least five thousand thrones at market.”
“Five thousand thrones for this worthless piece of garbage? He doesn’t look like he even knows how to hold a sword!”
“Oh, he’s a clever one though. I’m sure they’ll teach—”
Kihrin sighed, exasperated. “What about the other one? I’m dipping into my personal allowance, you understand. I’m not trying to buy a virgin pillow girl.”
“Him, I will sell you for five hundred thrones,” Venaragi offered.
Both Merit and Kihrin blinked simultaneously.
Merit looked over at Star. The man was chewing on a small sliver of wood, paying no attention to the conversation at hand, even though it involved his own sale.
“Why so cheap?” Kihrin asked.
“Milord wanted cheap, did he not?” Venaragi replied. “We haven’t been able to sell him, and so the price drops lower. Soon we will be paying someone else to take him off our hands.”
Kihrin looked at Star. “What’s your story?”
Star looked up, his dark eyes glittering in the torchlight. He rolled the splinter of wood back and forth across his lip for a second, then clenched it in his teeth. “Story?”
“Yeah, your story. How’d you end up here?”
“Milord, there is no need—”
Kihrin raised two fingers of his hand. The slave master stopped talking.
Merit’s eyes widened. My, my, how quickly he’s gone native, the street thief thought to himself.
Kihrin turned back to Star. “So? Let’s hear it.”
The splinter of wood bobbed up and down against Star’s lip. “Horse thief.”
“That’s it? Your price down to five hundred thrones and the Octagon all but giving you away because you’re a horse thief? Why haven’t they sold you as a gladiator?”
“They have.” A coarse chuckle escaped Star’s lips. “Twice.”
Kihrin tilted his head and stared. When Star didn’t elaborate, he looked at Venaragi for an explanation.
The slave master scowled. “He runs away. He’s very good at it. You said you wanted troublemakers…”
“You were going to sell me a slave who has successfully escaped from the Pits? Twice?” An echo of warning crept into Kihrin’s voice. Merit leaned back against the slimy, mossy wall and watched, keeping a bland expression.
Sometimes it was just nice to watch a pro work.
“No, no, I was going to warn you—”
“Hell you were. You were going to let me buy this man and never say one word about his history and be done with him. When my Aunt Tishar hears about this, she’ll tell Humthra and—”
“No, no!” Venaragi exclaimed, eyes suddenly wide. “I find you other men, yes? Strong, well trained … I have troglodytes. You have never seen the like…”
“No,” Kihrin said. “I’ll take this one.” He pointed at Star. “For double his price. And you throw in the other one for free as an apology for what you tried to pull. He’s a runaway in the making too, and you know it. I’m doing you a favor by taking him off your hands now.”
Venaragi looked over Merit and his cellmate for a moment, then nodded. “Very well, my lord. You have a deal.”
* * *
The slave masters of the Octagon were only too happy to be rid of them all, and they couldn’t get Merit and Star out of their cell fast enough. As they left by the slave gate, Merit grinned and turned toward Kihrin. “Son of a bitch! I can’t believe you did that! Rook—”
Kihrin grabbed him by the arm, precisely where Butterbelly had hit him with a crossbow bolt months before, and pushed him into an alcove. The spot was still tender; Merit bit the inside of his mouth.
“Understand something,” Kihrin hissed at him. “The only reason I didn’t buy you and feed you to the crocodiles in the river is because you only started running with Faris last year. Thank Taja for that, because if you were one of the old guard, I’d have bought you just to watch my guards disembowel you.”
“If I was one of the old guard,” Merit said through clenched teeth, “Faris wouldn’t have given me up to the Watchmen.”
Kihrin’s grip on his arm loosened. Kihrin looked behind them at the two D’Mon guardsmen, then back at Merit.
“I need you to do me a favor.”
“I was wondering what the price for all this love would be.”
Kihrin snickered. “Nothing’s free, huh? I want you to go to the Shattered Veil Club in Velvet Town. You know where that is?”
“Yeah, but they shut it down. Nobody’s real sure why—”
“Never mind that. You go to the building in the back. You take the stairway up to the second floor, and there’s a small room. I want you to bring me back anything you find there. Anything. Take the place apart. I’ll pay you for what you find. Better prices than you’d make with one of our fences.”
“Hey, Rook,” Merit whispered. “The word is you killed Butterbelly. If people find out I’m helping you…”