Songs of the Dancing Gods

Alchemy is the science of coming up with what one needs when one has foreclosed all other possibilities.

—The Books of Rules, XVIII, 21(a)

“I haven’t done this spell in, oh, seven, eight hundred years,” Ruddygore commented. “Had to look it up, in fact. The Rules allow more latitude than normal on how a slave is marked, with at least three dozen possibilities. However, the ring method is the only one recognized internationally and throughout Husaquahr, since it’s the only one with permanence. You see, once the ring is inserted and the spell given, it cannot be removed or altered by anyone—the Rules are quite strict on that.”

Joe frowned and looked at Ti, who had actually asked for this to be done prior to their journey. He didn’t like it, not a bit. “You sure about this?”

She nodded. “Master, it is the only way I can gain any real freedom, as odd as that may sound. It marks me instantly, not only as property, but as your property. It is the only security I may have.”

“She’s right,” the sorcerer assured him. “If she’d had this, she wouldn’t have had to have been accompanied into town to pick up things for you, tend to things, that sort of thing. Theft of a registered slave is punishable by reduction to slavery status yourself almost everywhere, and purchase of a stolen one the same. Nor can she be transferred to another without the owner’s consent and be bound to serve. You might as well just kidnap and imprison any lowborn. It’s not worth the risk when there’s so much easier stuff to lift, and she becomes nearly impossible to market.”

“Yeah, that’s true here, now, but when we get into Hypboreya, what will they care?”

“Oh, you’ll find that an evil regime is even more a stickler for law and order than a benign one, as a rule, since they trust no one and are inherently paranoid. Indeed, there’s nothing poor and oppressed people seem to like more than having slaves about. It’s a cruel streak in human nature, but, the fact is, no matter how poor, how miserable, and how oppressed you are, you can always point to a slave and say, ‘At least I’m not a slave.’ That attitude also serves the ruling regime’s interest, obviously, since no matter how much they lay on the people, there’s one lower rung. No, she’ll probably be safer than you, although, my dear, even the common folk will treat you like dirt.”

Joe shrugged. “Okay, then. Go ahead. What do we do?”

Ruddygore removed a small bronze-colored ring from a box. It looked quite ordinary, and had an opening which, with a bit of flexing, fit into her nose. “This will sting for just a moment,” the sorcerer warned her, grasping the ring between two fingers. He then shut his eyes a moment, and there was a surge of energy into the ring that went around it and into her nose. She flinched, then relaxed. Ruddygore opened his eyes, examined his work, nodded to himself, and then actually moved the ring around. There was no sign of a hole or joint, but it wasn’t in stiffly. You could turn it, as if she were born with it and with the proper hole inside her nose.

“Hmmm… Yes, blood from the incision mixed with the ring quite well. A pretty fair job, if I do say so myself. It actually looks quite… exotic… on you, my dear. The only problem I know from one of these is head colds. It’s hell to blow your nose with one of them in. But, of course, I’ve already given you both enough immunization spells to cover anything I could find in the books.” He turned to Joe. “Final phase. Take the ring like I did. Yes, that’s it.” He reached out and put his fingers on Joe’s, and the big man braced for a shock or something, but nothing happened. “That’s it,” the sorcerer said, letting go. “You can release the ring now.”

“I didn’t feel anything,” Joe said, thinking something went wrong.

“You lose thousands, maybe millions of cells, every day,” Ruddygore told him. “Only a couple are needed here and the few off your fingertips were plenty. The ring now has, well, for want of a better word, your genetic code in it. You alone can alter the record. Anyone touching it with you will know instantly she’s yours. A transfer can only take place if you do what we did with someone else, your fingers where mine were, and you tell it you want to transfer title. It’s quite elegant. The same system is used on prized livestock all over the world. Bigger rings, of course.”

“What happens if we’re separated? Or if the worst happens and, well, you know.”

He nodded. “If the worst happens, and you do not get the chance to make a transfer, the ring’s memory will clear. The first person to hold it as you did will own her, just as you can claim unbranded cattle on the range. On the other hand, if you’re merely separated, no matter by what distance, but your body still lives, it holds. She’ll either be on her own initiative to find you, within her class limitations, or she’ll be taken as a ward of the state and put to work, pending your location, if any. Since nobody ever looks, then the initiative’s on your shoulders to find her.”

Ruddygore looked at Ti. “You’re dying to see what it looks like, I know. Go ahead. There’s a mirror over there.”

Joe nodded, and she went over and looked at herself. It didn’t look ugly or disfiguring, as she’d feared. She’d seen some rings in some slaves that were awful. In fact, it really locked in the exotic dancer image. And she really did feel much better with it in. She was now defined to the world, and she felt oddly as if chains that had been holding her were suddenly cast aside.

“Master, may I go back down into town?” she asked Joe.

“Why? Just want to test it out?”

“Partly. But I also beg permission to buy something I saw earlier. There is a merchant in the marketplace who has among his wares castanets. I have been dying to try some dances with castanets and without the drums… Please?”

He shrugged. “All right, go ahead,” he said, then thought of something. “Wait a minute! From this moment on, and forever after, until I tell you different, if anybody demands to know who your master is, you tell them you are owned by—” He thought a moment. “—the great warrior chief Cochise, who won you in a fight. Got it? Get used to calling me that, even in private. We won’t know who’s listening and we don’t want the name ‘Joe’ to pass either of our lips if we can help it.”

She grinned. “Yes, Master,” she responded. “Can I go now?” He nodded, and she was off.

“She’ll do,” the sorcerer said. “The one thing that didn’t change a whit about her was her drive for self- perfection. Even in her situation, she wants to be the perfect dancer, the perfect slave. The only thing I did yesterday was to give her some armor, so she can take all the crap that will be dished out to her. She still won’t like it, but she’ll be able to handle it better. She’s got more self-confidence now, too. She spent time this morning before she went into town down in the armory, practicing leaps and jump-kicks. She’s also got quite an eye with a knife at short range, and might well handle some other weapons she was previously good at. Not swords, or battleaxes, but, well, what some call ‘women’s weapons.’ And I’d hate to be on the receiving end of a kick from those runner’s legs! Her carrying a weapon is out, both for propriety and for her own protection, but I’d keep some at hand just in case.”

“That’s good to know. Marge is the best scout and spy I can think of, but she’s only good in a fight as a diversion.”

“There’s one more thing, and I think perhaps it should be reinforced with Ti and explained to Marge as well, who might not understand. You’ve made a good start in letting her call you ‘Master,’ which, by the way, she doesn’t mind, and which is natural to her, said without thinking about it, and your idea of using a pseudonym, even in private. The thing is, you’re going to have to go even further. You’re going to have to stop thinking of her as your ex-wife and think of her totally as your slave and property, no matter how unnatural that feels on personal and moral grounds. And I mean think that way, not playact. You may have to reign her in harshly, even treat her roughly, and I mean that. She has the absolute best possible disguise to go into that country. As I said, even the Baron, who knows her appearance and might, just might recognize her, although I think even there the chance is slight, would disbelieve his own memory at seeing the mighty Tiana as Ti the slave. Still, if he’s at all involved in this business or going to be and gives a description, that’s where the attitude you display toward her becomes most important. They’ll be looking for a wedded couple—partners. They’ll see a slave. They must believe that’s all she ever was, and that part’s up to you. Your lives and others depend on it.”

“You mean yell at her? Make her grovel? Beat her if she doesn’t do something? I’m not sure I can. The whole idea of slavery is repugnant to me.”