faithfulpurelight
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Summary: An impulse buy in the marketplace of Tashbaan leaves Edmund with more than he bargained for.
Dedicated to Rose, my little sister
Chapter 1: Impulse Buy
I stalked through the crowded, filthy streets of Tashbaan, my foul mood matching the smell of unwashed bodies, and the stench of human and animal waste. People jostled one another, pushing to get to the desired stall where some Calormene merchant called out in a loud voice trying to sell his product. Herbs, spices, heavy exotic food, and the somewhat overpowering smell of perfume lingered in the air, mixing in with the foul. The Tarkaans and Tarkheenas of Calormen were paraded through the packed streets on litters, heading for the silk merchants, or farther into the bazaar. Children of varying ages and degrees of filthiness darted through the crowds, few of them playing, the majority of them working.
I continued my fury-driven pace, not knowing where I was really going. Right now I just wanted to be as far away from the palace and that pompous fool of a Tisroc as I could be. I had been hoping for some fresh air and maybe a glance of the river that surrounded this accursed city, but it was obvious that I had gotten turned around at some point in the confusing, winding roads of the city. All I could smell now was the market. At least I could not hear that awful poetry being quoted at me every time I spoke.
I blew out a heavy sigh. The meetings to finish this trade agreement had not gone well at all so far, and it was beginning to wear on my nerves. I didn’t see why it was so hard to agree, and because the Tisroc decided to dance around an actual agreement I had missed Lucy’s thirteenth birthday celebration. I had sent her some of the more lovely jewelry I had found here, seeing as she and Susan seemed rather fond of it, but that didn’t make up for me missing her birthday.
"Tarkaans and Tarkheenas! You have come seeking strong, reliable workers, and here I give them to you. Gather round, as we begin the bidding!"
I glanced up sharply; the voice that called was loud but whiny in tone.
Disgust welled up as my eye caught the raised, rickety, wooden platform that stood in one corner of the market, the obvious reason mostly high-class Calormenes were here. A heavyset man stood on the platform, a turban wrapped around his head. He was well groomed, obviously used to living a life of greater luxury than many other merchants who sold goods here. As I watched, he jerked a man forward, up the wooden stairs. I growled under my breath. My siblings and I alike hated the practice of slavery, but as a visiting monarch there was little I could do.
"Now sirs, here’s lot twenty three. Fine Terebinthian stock. He’s suitable for hard labor, or to carry that litter for you. Under twenty-five years of age, and not bad looking. Good, brawny fellow. Remove this man's shirt, and show all these fine people what a well-built example he is. There, see the muscle on this man! Is he not one of the most finely suited for work that any of you have laid eyes on? Twenty-five crescents from the gentleman in the corner. You must be joking, sir!"
The auctioneer scanned the crowd. "Ah! Thirty crescents from the Tarkaan over there. Very good, my lord. Do I hear thirty-five? And there goes thirty-five crescents from gentleman in the corner. Forty crescents! Do I hear forty-five? Forty-five . . . Fifty crescents! Do I hear sixty? Sixty crescents! Do I hear more? Seventy . . . seventy-five crescents! Do I hear eighty? Going once? Going twice? Sold for seventy-five crescents to the Tarkaan in the center! Bring the boy over to him would you, Kazar?"
I turned to leave. Such a trade was disgusting, and I did not want to watch the horrid practice. I was glad that we had banned the slave trade in the Lone Islands and felt a pang of despair that we could do nothing for those here.
"Don’t you dare touch him!"
I whirled around. That voice had sounded very young and frightened. I hadn’t thought that the merchants would be selling children. I focused on the stand once more to see a struggling boy pulled up the stairs. He looked no older than ten, with messy dark brown, or perhaps black, hair. He was covered in dirt and filth, and it looked as if he might have taken a beating or two recently. I felt my blood boil.
"Get down, runt." I saw Kazar kick someone down the stairs. I kept my eyes on the boy. I didn’t want to watch this happen, but I couldn’t pull myself away. The boy that was being auctioned off was fighting, but not as though he was frightened for himself. He fought for whatever he had left behind him.
"Jarid!" The cry rang through the bazaar. The boy on the stand battled harder, trying to get back to whatever he had been taken from. My heart gave a painful wrench. That was exactly what Peter would be doing in this kind of a situation for Susan, Lucy, and me.
Whoever Kazar was struggling with won the fight and dashed up the stairs. A younger boy threw himself at the slave merchant, grappling with his hold on the older boy. They must have been related, or very good friends.
"Let ‘im go, you monster!" I watched as he ripped at the merchant, my stomach doing flips. There was no way I was going to let this slave trader separate siblings. With my mind made up, I pushed my way toward the block.
"Stop!"
The slave merchant turned to look at me. I glared at him, surging up the steps.
"Can I help you my lord?" he asked, obviously unsure about how to handle this new situation.
"Let go of the boy," I warned, motioning for the other child to come nearer to me. He shook his head, and glanced back at his brother.
"Sir?"
"What do you think you are doing?” I glared at the merchant.
"Well, sir I need to make my living after all. As the poets say, ‘On the frilled couch of life few can sit, but those who take comfort on the floor are Tash's children indeed.’ And thus as another illustrious poet puts it-"
As the slaver blinked and inhaled, considering his next rhapsodic platitude, I laid my hand on the hilt of my sword, my threat quite clear. "I have had my fill of your people's inane poetry. You shall be silent or I shall remove your ability to squeak."
My inevitable guards glanced at each other in amusement, and I held back a grimace. I was borrowing them from King Lune, forgoing my normal guards of Talking Animals and magical creatures to preserve the courage of Calormene men.
I let go of the hilt slowly and looked back up at the merchant, whose jaw mouthed unspoken rhymes. Raising my eyebrow, I reached for Shafelm’s grip once more as the merchant's mouth snapped shut.
"These two seem like they're more trouble than they're worth to you, sir." I drawled the ‘sir’ across the sand of the marketplace. I could see the Calormen slaver entirely missed the sardonic insult. "I'll give you twenty crescents for the both of them."
"TWENTY CRESCENTS!? Foreign demon! You threaten my life, insult my poetry, and try to cheat me out of my livelihood! I'll not take less than one-hundred crescents for one of them!"
As the slaver purpled with embellished ire, I felt a tugging of my tunic. I looked down to see the younger boy tugging my tunic. The older one pointed to a cage off the edge of the platform where a younger boy and girl cowered with pleading eyes. I sighed.
"Please sir," the older boy pleaded, great tears now welling in his eyes. "We're family."
I looked down into the boy's watery brown eyes, and then slowly nodded. Some way, some how, I’d make the deal and face Peter's admonishments later. It wasn’t as though it would take much to convince Peter anyway, he was a sap for a sweet smile. My brother had a good heart, and wouldn’t be able to walk away from this situation.
"Seventy crescents? I wouldn't go higher than forty crescents for the four of them all together!"
The slaver’s eyes bulged. ""Forty? These are prime servant material, milord. Why the little girl will make fine dressing slave for your lady. And the boys are natural footmen. If you insist on bidding for the lot, then I must say 120 crescents."
Dedicated to Rose, my little sister
Chapter 1: Impulse Buy
I stalked through the crowded, filthy streets of Tashbaan, my foul mood matching the smell of unwashed bodies, and the stench of human and animal waste. People jostled one another, pushing to get to the desired stall where some Calormene merchant called out in a loud voice trying to sell his product. Herbs, spices, heavy exotic food, and the somewhat overpowering smell of perfume lingered in the air, mixing in with the foul. The Tarkaans and Tarkheenas of Calormen were paraded through the packed streets on litters, heading for the silk merchants, or farther into the bazaar. Children of varying ages and degrees of filthiness darted through the crowds, few of them playing, the majority of them working.
I continued my fury-driven pace, not knowing where I was really going. Right now I just wanted to be as far away from the palace and that pompous fool of a Tisroc as I could be. I had been hoping for some fresh air and maybe a glance of the river that surrounded this accursed city, but it was obvious that I had gotten turned around at some point in the confusing, winding roads of the city. All I could smell now was the market. At least I could not hear that awful poetry being quoted at me every time I spoke.
I blew out a heavy sigh. The meetings to finish this trade agreement had not gone well at all so far, and it was beginning to wear on my nerves. I didn’t see why it was so hard to agree, and because the Tisroc decided to dance around an actual agreement I had missed Lucy’s thirteenth birthday celebration. I had sent her some of the more lovely jewelry I had found here, seeing as she and Susan seemed rather fond of it, but that didn’t make up for me missing her birthday.
"Tarkaans and Tarkheenas! You have come seeking strong, reliable workers, and here I give them to you. Gather round, as we begin the bidding!"
I glanced up sharply; the voice that called was loud but whiny in tone.
Disgust welled up as my eye caught the raised, rickety, wooden platform that stood in one corner of the market, the obvious reason mostly high-class Calormenes were here. A heavyset man stood on the platform, a turban wrapped around his head. He was well groomed, obviously used to living a life of greater luxury than many other merchants who sold goods here. As I watched, he jerked a man forward, up the wooden stairs. I growled under my breath. My siblings and I alike hated the practice of slavery, but as a visiting monarch there was little I could do.
"Now sirs, here’s lot twenty three. Fine Terebinthian stock. He’s suitable for hard labor, or to carry that litter for you. Under twenty-five years of age, and not bad looking. Good, brawny fellow. Remove this man's shirt, and show all these fine people what a well-built example he is. There, see the muscle on this man! Is he not one of the most finely suited for work that any of you have laid eyes on? Twenty-five crescents from the gentleman in the corner. You must be joking, sir!"
The auctioneer scanned the crowd. "Ah! Thirty crescents from the Tarkaan over there. Very good, my lord. Do I hear thirty-five? And there goes thirty-five crescents from gentleman in the corner. Forty crescents! Do I hear forty-five? Forty-five . . . Fifty crescents! Do I hear sixty? Sixty crescents! Do I hear more? Seventy . . . seventy-five crescents! Do I hear eighty? Going once? Going twice? Sold for seventy-five crescents to the Tarkaan in the center! Bring the boy over to him would you, Kazar?"
I turned to leave. Such a trade was disgusting, and I did not want to watch the horrid practice. I was glad that we had banned the slave trade in the Lone Islands and felt a pang of despair that we could do nothing for those here.
"Don’t you dare touch him!"
I whirled around. That voice had sounded very young and frightened. I hadn’t thought that the merchants would be selling children. I focused on the stand once more to see a struggling boy pulled up the stairs. He looked no older than ten, with messy dark brown, or perhaps black, hair. He was covered in dirt and filth, and it looked as if he might have taken a beating or two recently. I felt my blood boil.
"Get down, runt." I saw Kazar kick someone down the stairs. I kept my eyes on the boy. I didn’t want to watch this happen, but I couldn’t pull myself away. The boy that was being auctioned off was fighting, but not as though he was frightened for himself. He fought for whatever he had left behind him.
"Jarid!" The cry rang through the bazaar. The boy on the stand battled harder, trying to get back to whatever he had been taken from. My heart gave a painful wrench. That was exactly what Peter would be doing in this kind of a situation for Susan, Lucy, and me.
Whoever Kazar was struggling with won the fight and dashed up the stairs. A younger boy threw himself at the slave merchant, grappling with his hold on the older boy. They must have been related, or very good friends.
"Let ‘im go, you monster!" I watched as he ripped at the merchant, my stomach doing flips. There was no way I was going to let this slave trader separate siblings. With my mind made up, I pushed my way toward the block.
"Stop!"
The slave merchant turned to look at me. I glared at him, surging up the steps.
"Can I help you my lord?" he asked, obviously unsure about how to handle this new situation.
"Let go of the boy," I warned, motioning for the other child to come nearer to me. He shook his head, and glanced back at his brother.
"Sir?"
"What do you think you are doing?” I glared at the merchant.
"Well, sir I need to make my living after all. As the poets say, ‘On the frilled couch of life few can sit, but those who take comfort on the floor are Tash's children indeed.’ And thus as another illustrious poet puts it-"
As the slaver blinked and inhaled, considering his next rhapsodic platitude, I laid my hand on the hilt of my sword, my threat quite clear. "I have had my fill of your people's inane poetry. You shall be silent or I shall remove your ability to squeak."
My inevitable guards glanced at each other in amusement, and I held back a grimace. I was borrowing them from King Lune, forgoing my normal guards of Talking Animals and magical creatures to preserve the courage of Calormene men.
I let go of the hilt slowly and looked back up at the merchant, whose jaw mouthed unspoken rhymes. Raising my eyebrow, I reached for Shafelm’s grip once more as the merchant's mouth snapped shut.
"These two seem like they're more trouble than they're worth to you, sir." I drawled the ‘sir’ across the sand of the marketplace. I could see the Calormen slaver entirely missed the sardonic insult. "I'll give you twenty crescents for the both of them."
"TWENTY CRESCENTS!? Foreign demon! You threaten my life, insult my poetry, and try to cheat me out of my livelihood! I'll not take less than one-hundred crescents for one of them!"
As the slaver purpled with embellished ire, I felt a tugging of my tunic. I looked down to see the younger boy tugging my tunic. The older one pointed to a cage off the edge of the platform where a younger boy and girl cowered with pleading eyes. I sighed.
"Please sir," the older boy pleaded, great tears now welling in his eyes. "We're family."
I looked down into the boy's watery brown eyes, and then slowly nodded. Some way, some how, I’d make the deal and face Peter's admonishments later. It wasn’t as though it would take much to convince Peter anyway, he was a sap for a sweet smile. My brother had a good heart, and wouldn’t be able to walk away from this situation.
"Seventy crescents? I wouldn't go higher than forty crescents for the four of them all together!"
The slaver’s eyes bulged. ""Forty? These are prime servant material, milord. Why the little girl will make fine dressing slave for your lady. And the boys are natural footmen. If you insist on bidding for the lot, then I must say 120 crescents."
