More weapons were brought, and after I showed my skill with each, my workload shifted to the other slaves and I was used to examine the weapons for defects and to test the strength of the blades. Pleased with my previous work, the slave master treated me more like a trusted confidant after that than a slave, especially when an entire shipment was found to be faulty.
I was able to listen in on the dealers speaking in their language and found out not only how they planned to cheat us out of money but that they had held back their best swords as well. The fine weapons were brought out as a result and a very profitable new deal was struck. The slave master gave me extra rations, an afternoon off, and a gold coin for my efforts.
By the end of that week, the slave master took me aside. “You’re of great value to me,” he said bluntly. “I’d like to take you with me to negotiate a purchase. You understand the weapons better than anyone and you can speak the language. Coming with me will get you out of sight too, which will benefit both of us.” He visibly shivered when he glanced at the rooftop jutting over the wall.
“If you prove your worth to me,” he continued, “you’ll be trusted with more freedoms. Maybe even get out of those chains while you sleep. More food. A comfortable bed. If you try to run or ruin the deal, maybe try to negotiate your way to freedom, you lose your hand or your head depending on what suits my purposes. Do you understand, boy?”
I drained a cup of water. “I understand,” I said.
He grunted and we went back to work.
Getting outside of the citadel was a welcome change and yet leaving Anamika trapped weighed heavily on my mind. I did well by the slave master and we negotiated the deal to our advantage. As the days passed, his trust in me slowly grew. When we returned, he was true to his word and gave me a comfortable bed to sleep in and as much food and water as I wanted, and my chains became a thing of the past.
An entire month had passed in the time I’d been slowly working on gaining my freedom when, one morning, I was roused from sleep by a gruff man who poked me with his scabbard, jabbing it into my ribs.
“What is it?” I asked.
“The master wants to see you?”
“At this hour?”
I rubbed my eyes and stumbled out of bed, pulling on my boots. Manacles were clapped onto my wrists as my arms were pulled behind my back. I froze. Something was wrong. “Where are we going?” I asked.
The man didn’t answer as he dragged me outside. Six other men met my captor and surrounded me, escorting me out to the gate. I spied the slave master standing nearby. He looked me in the eye as I passed, his expression stony. Then, he glanced purposely at the house hidden behind the wall.
I let out a breath and nodded my head slightly in understanding. The turbaned man had finally decided to turn his attention to me. My shoulders straight, I followed the men through the gate, watching carefully to see how it was locked, and then I studied the face of the man who held the key and watched where he kept it.
Taking in every detail of my surroundings served to distract me from the pain that I knew was to come. Ren had suffered terribly at the hands of Lokesh to the point of having his heart cut from his chest. Surely, I could tolerate pain as well as he did.
Once we entered the house, a rug was scooted aside, revealing a trap door leading to a basement. The hinges creaked as it was opened. One man descended and took a lantern from the wall while the others pushed me down behind him. It took several minutes for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room, and when they did, I wished I could unsee what was before me.
Inside the cellar, lining each wall, were small cages, and in each one was a child. Some slept. Others wept quietly. A few, too many, had bandages wrapped around hands or feet, and I thought of the missing fingers on the hand of the slave master outside. One boy had an eye patch. All the children looked emaciated and dehydrated.
As we passed, they scurried as far back in their cages as possible, making themselves small and disappearing into the shadows where they could. I scanned each cage for Anamika but I didn’t see her. If the goddess Durga had been summoned to such a place, she would have killed every last man and saved each child, either finding them a home, likely ours, or returning them to their parents.
I clenched my fists. It was one thing to torture a man, but children? I vowed at that moment that I would kill the turbaned man before leaving. And I would be leaving. I’d be taking Ana with me too. I was escorted to a small room in the rear of the cellar and deposited in a chair. My feet were locked into chains that were welded into the floor.
The men left me then, taking the light with them, and I thought about the house. How it had been full of wealth and opulence but then, beneath the floor, was a black secret. A disease that ate at the heart of the home like rot. You couldn’t see it until you peeled away enough layers, but sitting there in the dark, listening to the sounds of scurrying mice and the soft crying of children, I could feel the evil pulsing around me like a tangible presence.
I don’t know how long I sat there until a light penetrated the darkness. Heavy steps moved closer, and the weeping sounds of the children were cut off completely. The footsteps came to the door of my room, and slowly, the door opened. The turbaned man entered. This time he wore no turban at all though and I noticed his round head was nearly bald. Long, thin hairs were swept away from his forehead, which was sweating profusely.
A mercenary came in with him, set down a lamp, and then positioned himself outside, closing the door behind him.
“We meet at last,” the man said, his eyes glittering with interest.
When I said nothing in response, he leaned forward, placing corpulent hands on the table between us. I hadn’t realized just how much flesh the man had. He’d been ensconced in swaths of fabric at the slave auction. No wonder he’d been sweltering in the sun. He shifted in his chair, moving almost lazily as he removed his coat.
From an inside liner, he pulled out a pouch and unrolled it on the table in front of me. Various instruments, shining as if they’d been recently polished, were tucked into small pockets of the pouch. He removed one and began cleaning his nails with it. The corner of my mouth lifted. He might be able to scare children that way, but so far, I wasn’t impressed.
“What do you want?” I asked, unwilling to play whatever game he had in mind.
“You thought you were building a place for yourself here, didn’t you?” he asked, his expression blasé.
“What other choice did I have?” I replied.
“True. Very true,” he answered, then sighed and replaced the tool. His gaze sliced into me as he assessed me from across the table, tapping his fingers in succession. “I’ll be blunt with you,” he said.
“I appreciate that,” I responded neutrally.
“I have acquired an item that once belonged to you, and my curiosity is stirred enough by it that I will attempt to coerce your cooperation concerning it.”
“Oh?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
He barked an order and the man outside came in and deposited a familiar rucksack on the table.
When the man had left us alone again, he opened the sack and pulled out the phoenix egg. “This…gemstone belonged to you, did it not?” he asked.
“It does,” I said.
“Did,” he clarified in a piping voice. “It now belongs to me. What I want to know is…what is it?”
I shrugged. “It’s a gemstone like you said.”
He barked a laugh. “Do you think me an idiot?” he asked.
Choosing not to answer, I sat back in my chair. His eyes smoldered at my silence and his bald head turned a different shade. “I promise you,” he warned, “you will tell me…”
Cutting him off, I said, “Or what?”
If I thought he was mad before, he was seething now. His bald head was about to catch on fire like one of the outside torches. Quick as a hot sword dipped in a water bucket, he sat back, his temper cooling, steam pouring out of his ears, and he offered me a cold smile. “Or what, indeed,” he said. “You will tell me what I wish to know. That I promise you,” he threatened.