simple. If I have to unlock you from the coffle and tie you to a tree you?ll get a flogging.'
Corey was annoyed with herself for finding logic in what he said. But to be punished like that in front of eight girls…! She had no faith in her ability to carry off such a punishment with panache. She would probably disgrace herself. She eyed the limber horror with distaste. 'Please give me another chance?' She begged humbly.
Seth Burdett held up a key. 'Want me to unlock you?'
Miss Corey Gibson held out her hand.
Even as a child, neither her hands or any other part of her had been corporally corrected. To the daughter of the Planet Corporation such personal punishments had been abstract, figments of fiction. But there was nothing abstract about what was now taking place. The act, the intent, the witnesses, were etching themselves upon her consciousness with indelible force. The line of chained girls were straining for a better view of her shame, Audrey Cotswold?s eyes were wide in commiseration. Amrah contemplated the pulsing tableau with a grin of approval. This was something she understood, a sure and certain guide to feminine behavior. But it was her own outstretched hand on which Corey most intently focused. That hand which was a part of her was about to be whipped, it had become a medium by which she was to receive agony. Delinquent eyes rose to lock with the grey amusement of her new co-owner. Seth Burdett was studying her hard, enjoying every moment, curious about a girl named Corey Gibson.
It was a flash of motion. Swift, positive, deadly. The peeled withe cut Corey?s taut palm with scorching venom. For a moment only she stood in shock. Then, as her hurt hand sent its messages of fire to every crevice of her being, she moaned in a desolation of pain and clapped her injured flesh beneath a comforting armpit. Her instinctive effort to bend double was thwarted by the chain to the neck on either side.
Seth Burdett contemplated his work with satisfaction. His eyes followed every curve and twist of the enslaved girl as she sought to allay agony. His voice was mockingly helpful. 'That doesn?t do any good, y?know. It hurts the same wherever you hold it.'
'It does so!' She flung her agony at him between gasps.
'Try another one. Hold it out again.'
Corey stiffened, horrified, her response desolate. 'I can?t… I can?t possibly. It hurts too much.'
'Try.'
'It?s impossible. You?ve no right to do any of these things to any of us.'
'Hold out your hand, Miss Corey Gibson.'
She sensed the steel in his command. The weight of chain on her neck dictated obedience. There was no escape. Bleakly, she raised her head, her demand incredulous: 'The same hand…?'
'Yes. And don?t tuck it back under that arm again.'
'I cant! I?m sorry… I just cant do it.'
'You will either do it or each girl in de coffle gets one for you. It?s not the best way to make friends.'
Corey Gibson longed to stamp her foot in fury at the complacence Male. He had her! Owned her! Every girl on the long chain was his and would have to do his bidding. they were slaves. Girls kidnapped from their former lives by a male and diverted to Male use. Aware of eight pairs of female eyes upon her anxiously, she held out her already wounded hand.
It was an explosion of the unbearable, the fiery cut, the screaming nerves, and then the throbbing horror of compelling her whipped hand to hang loosely at her side as though in unconcern. Corey?s anguished eyes sought Seth Burdett?s pity.
'You see, you do have it in you.'
Did she detect faint admiration? Perhaps! Brokenly, she gasped: 'I can?t let you hurt the others… You mustn? t…!'
'S?right, love.' The Aussie drawl approved. 'That?s why you?re going to hold out your other one.'
Corey looked at him askance. 'I… I… Oh, please! How many?'
'You don?t ask. Hold it out.'
Corey held out her left hand. It was the same over again. Two cuts, numbing her fingers, throbbing with fearful pulsations of pain as she allowed her arms to hang limp. Suddenly Burdett was gone. The whipped girl buried her face in her agonized hands and wept bitterly. Her feminine companions on the chain pretended not to see. Audrey?s sympathetic hand, tender on a bent shoulder, was the only human solace the coffle would permit. The nine girls slept in a chained line throughout the day. There was much snubbing and jerking of collared necks until they learned to huddle close to utilize the slack between chained necks. After they had been fed at evening they were subjected to one more slave indignity. Their right wrist was locked in a communal shackle.
It was the coffle principle, the same as their neck. The same length of chain, and at the same intervals a metal wristlet, padlocked. If the wristlet was tight, they must not complain. Audrey received one stroke on each hand for her initial reaction:
'But this is so unnecessary! The chains on our necks stop us escaping!'
'And another on your right hand stops you being awkward, love. C?mon, stick it out. It doesn?t hurt.'
'But why make it more difficult for us to march the way you want us to… all fastened together?'
It was then Seth Burdett used his peeled strip once more. Audrey Cotswold held out her hands for them in resigned misery. While she was still twisting with their pain, Seth inquired affably: 'Think that will help you watch your tongue?'
'Yes, it will. I?m sorry. Here?s my hand.'
The English beauty watched the metal circle her wrist, watched the padlock snap it tightly secure. For a moment she held up her new ornament to view, but it was snatched away by the chain?s need to accommodate the next in line. She shared a resigned shrug and rueful grin with Corey. They were learning their lessons.
There were four donkeys. Two for the men, two for gear. The slavegirls walked in single file, conscious always of Mustafa with a whip and of each other. With practice they learned a rhythm for their shackled arm and a cautious maintenance of slack chain between their collars. The white girls made the rueful admission that if nine naked slaves must traverse a wilderness their coffle was a most efficient instrument by which to keep them controlled. The chains irked but actually inhibited nothing except escape. With the addition of the fetter on their wrist escape was doubly impossible.
The path was faint but it was there. Corey wondered how many other naked girls had trudged the single track to maintain its identity. It snaked its way through thickets and rock that would defeat a jeep. They were nine lost girls, trekking each night farther and farther from their homes or previous owners. Pursuit seemed improbable. Rescue or recapture would not even release them from their chains.
With each step Corey knew herself more implacably enslaved. Each morning when it came to sleep through the sunlight hours Amrah and her counterpart at the other end of the chain were released to do the chores. When their tasks were done they passively presented their neck and wrist to be locked back into the coffle. Corey wondered if, given the chance, she would be equally amenable. Amrah summed it up.
'No sense get whip. Where a girl run in this place?'
'Why do they keep us chained then?' Corey asked irritably.
'Girls very foolish.?Specially white girls. White girl always make fuss and get herself whipped. Best when chained.'
African logic! Corey recognized it as a prison without bars for attractive females. She never tired of examining the metal band round her right wrist and the padlock which kept it there. It beautifully symbolized a girl?s status in this Male dominion. She thought back to the girl friends of her former life. Woefully, she longed for some of them to be locked with her on the chain. Hate it as she might she was seeing it as a dimension of femaleness she could never otherwise have known. Apathetically, she asked: 'But, Amrah, don?t you want to be free?'
The lead slavegirl sniffed disdainfully. 'Girls ain?t never free. Much best we be bought by rich man.'
'Who?ll probably whip you every day!'
'Mebbee he whip me. But I make nice for him in bed. Amrah like that too. He buy me presents.'
'And chain you up every night.'
'O.K. So he chain Amrah. Is not so bad.' Amrah held up her shackled wrist and giggled. 'Is nice bracelet. Pretty lock.'
Corey envied her.
There was Seth Burdett. To Corey Gibson he was very much a presence in a way his partner Mustafa was not. Mustafa spelt bad temper and a whip but Burdett was hope, a small tenuous hope because he was white and
