Madam Cawrocc finished tying Repentance's robe. "I made a tidy sale," she said. "A tidy sale." She gave Repentance a dirty look. "No thanks to you, what with your whining and hunching over like a deformed troll."
"I'm to go back down to Hot Springs?" Repentance asked.
Madame Cawrocc either didn't hear or chose not to answer. She headed off to convince Jadin of the other girl's worth.
Repentance's knees went weak. She would go back to the fog and the gray. Apparently the healing the overlords sought in her village entailed more than soaking in the hot springs. Apparently it was a brothel of some sort. She'd seen overlord women walking in the woods near the Hot Springs healing house often enough. She'd always assumed they had come down for healing. Maybe they were providing services rather than being served.
This was Providence's idea of a joke, no doubt. She should have known that she could not rebel against her assigned place in life. He had made her a breeder and planted her in a muggy, gray village, and no matter how much she was willing to sacrifice to escape, to the swamp she would return.
She bowed her head. She had given up her beloved Comfort and the sweet, funny, little boys for nothing.
No, not for nothing. She lifted her head and stared defiantly at Jadin's back. She would never have children. She would never have to watch as her bawling weanlings were taken away in the slave carts. The prince wanted refreshment and Repentance understood what that meant. It did not include children. When he was ready for children, he'd leave his concubines behind and button with a royal overlord woman.
An old man—a slave—shuffled across the dock, followed by a fat overlord woman. They stopped by Sober's pole. "He's a big, strong, healthy fellow," the slave said.
He felt Sober's muscles. "Yes, indeed, Providence has smiled upon us this day. I never hoped to find such a fine one after Buttoning Day. Usually them as fail the buttonings are weak or sickly."
"Maybe something else is wrong with him, Calamity," the fat woman said. "I don't want a mean one, remember. Providence knows disciplining the spoiled ones takes so much time and energy, and we're not in a position to spare either commodity just now."
The slave nodded. "That's true, Mistress Merricc."
"What's wrong with his face, then? He's been hit. He's probably disobedient."
The old slave chuckled. "That's nothing on his face, there," he said. "I still remember the day I stood on this dock—what was it?—sixty years ago or thereabouts."
"Yes, Calamity, but there's no need to go back all that way, is there? Can you tell me why his face is bruised or not?"
"As I was saying, Mistress, if you are real big and strong, like this lad is, and like I once was, the slavers hit you even when you never provoke them. They do it to prove to the buyers that you can take a beating. They do it to show that they can mistreat you and you won't hit back." He paused and guided his mistress around the back of Sober's pole. "See his back, here?"
The woman gasped. "Do you mean they beat him like this and he'd done nothing wrong?"
Repentance, horrified, looked over at Sober. The slavers who guarded Hot Springs never beat anyone. They left you alone as long as you minded your own business and didn't try to run away.
Sober lifted his head and Repentance flinched, expecting to see hatred in his eyes. Instead she was met with only sorrow. He held her gaze until she had to look away, as waves of shame and despair crashed over her.
Never is a man so rich that he needs no help from others. Humble yourselves, therefore, and accept the blessing, though it be offered by the hand of a fellow you hate. It's all from Providence, in the end.
~Precepts of Providence, 34.6
Chapter 8
Mistress Merricc stood on the slave dock inspecting Sober's back and tut, tut, tutting. "This is not the way. Not the way to treat a man. Are you sure he did nothing to deserve this?"
"This young man is gentle, Mistress," the old slave said. "I'm speaking straight. If he'd hit back when they beat him, he wouldn't be standing here now. They send the ones as hit back over to the fighting ring."
The woman held one hand over her mouth as she continued to stare at Sober's back. "I had no idea."
After a moment, she walked around and faced Sober. "My name's Mistress Merricc. I own a farm down the mountain a ways. Grow a little bit of everything, but potatoes are my bead crop, for the most part."
She paused.
Sober kept his eyes respectfully averted and said nothing.
"I am in need of a young man," Mistress Merricc continued. "My man, here, has gotten old and while I have several other workers, none of them are quick enough to take on the job as overseer."
She paused again. Then sighed. "And I suppose you are not smart enough either. Why do you not look at me when I speak to you?"
"He's not allowed," the old slave, Calamity, said quickly. "Mistress, maybe you'd best leave the talking to me, this being your first time at a slave market and all."
She scowled, but stepped back.
Calamity moved in front of Sober. "Now boy, look at me."
Sober looked.
"I am old and I been a slave on Mistress Merricc's farm for sixty years. I served her father until he died last year. Now I serve her. It's a good place to live. Hard work, good food and never a beating unless you deserve it."
Sober nodded.
"We need a smart man, you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Sober said.
"You smart?"
Sober threw a quick glance at
