Behind him crouched another slave, this one with narrow shoulders, blond hair, and arms corded with muscle. His thin eyes narrowed as he watched the crowd. He looked over, grabbing her gaze, then feinted toward her.
Celty turned away, cursing him under her breath.
Outside their cage bustled a fat man with hairy arms and a bulbous nose. Goro. A squat, fat man as annoying as a sneeze. He clambered on top of a wooden platform while speaking with another slave owner who held his slaves in an iron cage wrapped in thorns. Celty noticed a few eyes peering out of it every now and then, but otherwise its slaves were barely visible through the strange foliage.
None of them ever tried to escape, the way Celty did.
“Three,” Goro said to the other slave master. “Mine have been working in the fields, but I need money.” He scowled at his slaves, as if it were their fault they were alive. “All three need to go today. You?”
“Five,” said the other. “Let’s hope the Fox Clan is in search for a couple of good slaves when they come through today, eh? All these nobles have money to waste. Maybe we can use their coins to fill our bellies one more night.”
Across the square was another slave master haggling with a member of the imperial court over a particularly broad slave with bulging shoulders and arms. The man stood with his eyes fixed on the horizon, his jaw locked. Behind him, several other slaves trembled back in their cage.
“Then double your price!” shouted the court member. “I need him to work in my house immediately. Before the imperial wedding.”
“He is not for sale,” the slave master objected ferociously.
“Why is he here?”
“Awaiting the next caravan back.”
Celty sneered, and had the slave master stood closer to her, she would have spit on him. The masters were all miserable wretches, selling others’ lives for hard labor and eventual death from starvation or disease. If the slaves were lucky enough to die early, anyway.
The imperial court allowed slavery, especially for the outcasts not native to An Wan, although it placed some restrictions on the taxes and the sale of them. All slave auctions had to be held in the city, but no one ever really cared about the slaves. No one cared enough, except about getting their dues and moving on…including the imperial court, which took a twenty-percent cut.
A small crowd started to congregate when Goro held his hands into the air on the top of the wooden platform towering high above the cobbled road. The light chatter in the air faded, giving way to the distant creak of passing wagons and the voices of imperial guards questioning those trying to enter the palace grounds.
Celty glared daggers at Goro, able to smell his sweaty body from where her cage stood just behind him.
“The auction will now begin,” he called. “Please step forward.”
A crowd surged into the empty space. Celty counted twenty people in all. Some were imperial nobles brave enough to stomach the sight of the lesser societies. Most were servants themselves, sent to fetch the next slave to replace one who had died. That’s how it always went. Work until you die, then no one remembers you. Celty growled at a passing man, who regarded her with open assessment and ignored her natural ferocity. He moved on, yawning, to the next cage.
The slave master across the square stepped away from the imperial nobleman with a rude gesture of his hand and joined Goro. Fuming, the nobleman spun on his heels and strode away.
In wake of the final slave master, five slaves followed, chained from their necks, hands, and ankles with heavy manacles. They trudged forward, following behind him until they stood in front of the makeshift auction block.
All were men. Two of them were strong and wiry, holding their heads high while they assessed the crowd. The other three cowered, trembling their chains as a result. These had bodies half-past starvation and skin marred with scars. They kept their gazes on the ground.
Within ten minutes, two of them had sold through the thick haggle of voices and the greedy hands of the slave master exchanging Hana coins. The clang of passing coins sent a chill down Celty’s spine, especially as she watched the two slaves stumble after their new master, their legs weak from being chained for so long.
Goro grunted. The slave masters tossed rocks into rings drawn on the ground to determine who would sell to the eager crowd next.
Goro and his bulbous nose always lost, Celty thought with amused satisfaction. He had to be the most luckless man in the Empire.
“Die in your sleep, Goro,” she muttered. The other two slaves glanced briefly at her, then rolled their eyes and turned away.
Just when a slave master opened his mouth to offer another slave, there was a sound in the distance. It stopped him as the crowd, Celty included, turned to look in that direction.
Down the cobblestone road came a long procession, a nine-tailed fox banner waving high in the air. Celty sat back on her heels.
“Perfect. More nobles to clog the street and leer at us,” she muttered.
The other slaves in her cage said nothing.
The Nari Clan caravan arrived all at once, it seemed. Dozens of horses, on which guards in immaculate uniforms sat, preceded its arrival.
Thin plates of metal covered the shoulders, back, and thighs of the guards in petaled variations. The guards had pressed lips and roaming eyes that seemed to take in every detail of the square.
Behind them came a group of people walking, weariness in their eyes but no sign of true strain in their clothes or hairstyles. Only remnants of dust and wear lingered on the bottom of their clothes, as if they hadn’t just walked many days. Lesser nobles, no doubt. Their clothes were too fine to be servants. Their eyes too bright to be slaves.
In the middle of the procession was an elegant coach pulled by two thick stallions. Many servants surrounded the coach, including guards. Celty thought she caught the gaze of someone inside the coach as it quickly passed on by, but she wasn’t sure.
The famed Fox Princess Ren and her family, no doubt. Everyone in An Wan regarded her as one of the luckiest women in the Empire to marry the prince.
Celty snorted.
“Too pretty.”
“Weak legs.”
“The horse pulling the carriage is skittish.”
The words passed quietly between the other two slaves in the pen. Their eyes seemed to glitter as they studied the passing crowd of Naris. Celty kept her back to them, pretending amusement at the sight of the caravan, when in fact she wanted to spit on all of the Nari Clan.
“Think he’d loan me that hat?” one of the slaves with her quipped, laughing at a passing servant wearing a tiered hat shaped like a box. Streams of silk ran around the layers and fluttered in the gentle wind.
Hearing the slave’s mocking tone, the servant looked over to them, eyes narrowed, and muttered something under his breath before moving on.
“I think he just said you have to return it by dinner,” said the other slave, and the two of them chortled.
Celty tried not to notice the elegance of the passing women, but something in their expressions caught her eye. She noted their shining hair, sculpted faces and perfect-looking skin. As for their attire, she’d never felt the touch of silk.
Nor would she want to, she thought fiercely. No doubt it would fall apart at the first sign of strain, leaving her naked in the next field she’d have to harvest.
Celty lived in a world of labor, survival, and filth. At least she was strong, capable, and able to fight. Not tied to a servant to work for her.
What purposeless lives they must lead.
“The girl is as dumb as these women, you think?” one of the slaves asked the other. “She doesn’t seem that intelligent.”
Celty schooled her body into remaining calm, giving no indication that she’d heard. Their low tones were still careless, as if they didn’t expect her to know their language.
“Purple eyes? Black hair with red stripes? No brains there. Just survival instinct. Savage.”
“She growled at me earlier.”
“Because you smell.”
“Well, at least we know she’d look great in that hat.”