too, were frequently discolored, run with various stains, water stains and other stains.
'This place stinks,' said Boabissia. 'It stinks.'
'It is those brats,' said the proprietor. 'They are too lazy to go downstairs.' 'There are families here?' asked Boabissia. 'Of course,' said the proprietor. 'Most of my tenants are permanent residents.'
We continued to climb. We had now come some seven or eight landings.
'It is stuffy,' said Boabissia. 'I can hardly breathe.'
Insulae were not noted for their ventilation, no more than for the luxury of their appointments or their roominess. To be sure it conserves fuel.
'It is hot,' said Boabissia.
'You complain a great deal,' observed the proprietor.
'It is so dark,' said Boabissia. 'How can one fine one's way around in this place?'
'One becomes familiar with it,' said the proprietor.
'You should have lamps illuminating the stairs,' said Boabissia. 'I suppose that tharlarion oil is just too expensive.'
'Yes,' said the proprietor. 'But it is also against the law.'
'Why is that?' I asked.
'The danger of fire,' he said.
'Oh,' said Boabissia, sobered.
Insulae, incidentally, are famed for their proneness to fire. Sometimes entire districts of such dwellings are wiped out by a single fire.
'Can we have a lamp in the room?' I asked.
'Of course,' said the fellow. 'As long as it is tended. But you may not wish to have one much lit. It fouls the air.'
'Do you have insurance on this building?' I asked.
'No,' said the fellow.
I was pleased to hear that. He would then not be likely to have the building fired to collect on the policy. On the other hand, it was not unusual that such dwellings lacked insurance. This was not simply a matter of proprietary optimism, but also of the difficulty of obtaining it, at least at affordable rates. Most carriers would not accept the risks involved.
We came to another landing.
We heard a noise and the proprietor lifted his lamp. A slave girl was illuminated, on the landing. She was barefoot. She wore an extremely brief tunic, one which was divided to her navel. It was awry. Her hair was in disarray. In the light of the lamp her collar glinted. She flung herself to her belly before us, fearfully yielding slave obeisance.
'She belongs to Clitus, the Cloth Worker, on the floor above,' said the proprietor.
The girl trembled on her belly before us.
I saw that if Achiates permitted slaves in his house they must exhibit suitable discipline. They must be well trained.
We continued up the stairs. The girl had had light brown hair, it seemed. When we had passed she continued on her way. We could hear her bare feet for a time on the stairs. She seemed to know them well. In time one can fine one's way around them in the dark. She was doubtless on an errand.
'Oh!' cried Boabissia, on the next landing. 'An urt!'
'That is not an urt,' said the proprietor. 'They usually come out after dark. There is too much noise and movement fro them during the day.' The small animal skittered backward, with a sound of claws on the boards. Its eyes gleamed in the reflected light of the lamp. 'Generally, too, they do not come this high,' said the proprietor. 'That is a frevet.' The frevet is a small, quick, mammalian insectivore. 'We have several in the house,' he said. 'They control the insects, the beetles and lice, and such.'
Boabissia was silent.
'Not every insula furnishes frevets,' said the proprietor. 'They are charming as well as useful creatures. You will probably grow fond of them. You will probably wish to keep your door open at night, for coolness, and to give access to them. They cannot gnaw through walls like urts, you know.'
'Is it far now,' I asked.
'No,' said the proprietor. 'We are almost there. It is just under the roof.' 'It seems we have come a long way.' I said.
'Not really,' he said. 'We are not really so high up. The flights are short.' We then climbed another flight, to the next landing.
'Oh!' said Boabissia, recoiling.
'You see,' said the proprietor. 'You will come to like the frevets.' We watched a large, oblong, flat-bodied black object, about a half hort in length, with long feelers, hurry toward a crack at the base of the wall. 'That is a roach,' he said.
'They are harmless, not like the gitches whose bites are rather painful. Some of them are big fellows, too. But there aren't many of them around. The frevets see to it. Achiates prides himself on a clean house.
'Ai!' said Feiqa, suddenly, startled, moving.
'Kneel, slave girl,' said a young, imperious voice.
Swiftly Feiqa knelt.
'Kiss my feet, female slave,' said the voice.
Feiqa was kneeling before a boy, perhaps some eleven or twelve years of age. His face was dirty. He was barefoot, and in rags. I assumed he must live in the rooms somewhere. Feiqa a full-grown and beautiful female, but a slave, put down her head and, doing him obeisance, kissed his feet, and fearfully, and humbly He was a free person, and a male.
'Go away, you disgusting child,' said Boabissia.
'Be silent, woman,' he said.
'I have a good mind to strike you,' said Boabissia.
'Lift your head, slut,' said the lad to Feiqa.
She obeyed.
He regarded her. 'You are a pretty one,' he said. 'What do you say? he demanded.
'Thank you, Master,' she said.
He then stood close to her and ran his hands through her hair. He then took her collar by the sides in his small fingers and jerked it forward, towards him, against the back of her neck. He then, by the pressure on the collar, forced her head rudely from side to side. He then pressed it up, cruelly, under her chin, forcing her head up. He was exerting his force on her through her slave collar. She would have no doubt it was on her. He did these things, incidentally, with the typical awareness of men who know how to handle women in collars, in such a way as not to injure or threaten the windpipe. Such a thing is never done, unless it is intentional. 'A good, solid collar,' he said.
'I am pleased that master is pleased,' whispered Feiqa, frightened.
'It is on you well, isn't it?' he said.
'Yes, Master,' she said. 'What does it mean?' he asked.
'That I am a slave,' she said.
'Go away,' said Boabissia.
'Oh,' said Feiqa.
The lad had put his hands rudely within her tunic and caressed her. Tears sprang to Feiqa's eyes.
'Go away,' said Boabissia.
'Are you not grateful, slave?' asked the lad.
'Yes, Master,' said Feiqa.
'You may kiss my feet in gratitude, slave,' said the lad.
'Yes, Master. Thank you Master,' said Feiqa, and put her head down, kissing his feet.
'More lingeringly,' he said.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
The lad then turned about. 'It is pleasant to master slaves,' he said. 'Perhaps when I am older, and rich. I
