All eyes watched as Vir slipped the bag to the demon, who immediately hid it under the rag he wore. If the others cared, they said nothing. Vir had misjudged them—they simply lacked the energy to fight over it.
“May Yuma bless you, friend,” the demon whispered.
“What are you?” Vir asked, staring into his eyes. “You’re a demon, right? What crimes did you commit?”
The man nodded, giving Vir an appraising stare. “The crime of existing,” he spat. “Same as everyone else here. You don’t understand the—”
He stopped, leaning closer to the bars, and squinting.
“Wh—” Vir began, but the demon interrupted, pointing a finger to Vir’s forehead.
“Your skin. It is gray, isn’t it?”
Badrak’s Balls, the makeup’s come off again, Vir thought. Vir fussed with his hair, ruffling it to cover up the top of his forehead.
The demon nodded. “They won’t notice now. I see, so you’re one of us.”
A chill flowed from Vir’s neck down his arms to his fingertips. “W-what do you mean? I’m not a demon. I’m… I’m normal.”
The demon shook his head, then nodded, as if he’d had some revelation. “Of course. I know not how you ended up on this ship, but you’ve done me a service, so allow me to give you some advice. Never let them find you, boy. Your makeup—ensure they never realize who, or what, you are. Don’t end up like us. It… it will cost you everything.” His eyes fell to his wife lying on the floor.
“I—” An idea occurred to Vir. “Do you know anything about a four-armed giant? With red skin, just like yours.”
“Four arms? No, I’m sorry. I don’t—”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Vir’s neck whipped to the left. The stairwell glowed with the steady light of a Magic Lamp.
Someone was coming down the stairs, and he didn’t need to see the enormous man’s face to know who. The rotund man barely fit into the narrow passage, and Vir wondered how the ladder hadn’t collapsed under his weight.
“Tragic, iddn’t it?” Bakura said, effectively sealing the exit with his enormous body. In his right hand, he held a lantern, and in his left, a sack. Hardly anything that could be used for combat, but Vir didn’t let down his guard.
Vir’s right hand hovered over his shirt, ready to pull it up and draw his katar at a moment’s notice. He’d expended his chakrams and chakris, but he doubted the big man was much of a fighter. In this confined space, Vir held the advantage with his slight frame.
Of course, even if he did somehow beat the man, he was on a ship. It wasn’t like he could escape together with Maiya.
What should I do?
He wanted to help these slaves. He wanted to do something for them. But short of a mutiny and taking over the entire ship, Vir didn’t see other options. Could he pull something like that off?
As much as he wanted to deny it, as much as he wanted to delude himself, he knew the answer. No way.
Not without bloodshed, and possibly the loss of life. He couldn’t risk that. His safety and Maiya’s came first.
No, fighting would be a bad idea. Bakura still thought he was an aristocrat. He’d use that.
“I didn’t take you for a slaver,” Vir said, putting on an air of confidence. He only hoped the man wouldn’t see his shaking legs in the dimly lit room.
Several slaves—the ones who had any energy left—brightened up at the sight of Bakura, slowly reaching their hands out, begging for food.
Vir expected the man to swat them aside, but instead, he reached into his bag and began handing out squat, circular things. Dried rice cakes. Vir recognized them—they were imported as treats back in the village.
“Boy, Imma businessman. And der ain’t no trade as profitable as the slave trade.”
Rage welled up inside Vir. “This is inhumane. How could you treat these people like this?”
“People?” Bakura said, raising an eyebrow. “They ain’t people, boy. Ye ever seen people with skin as red as the sunset? Dese be demons, boy. Demons!”
“They seem normal enough,” he said. An idea struck him. “I didn’t realize demons were real. Aren’t they just Ashborn?”
He didn’t believe that himself, but figured it was a good way to probe for information without drawing attention to himself.
“Real as rain, boy. As fer Ashborn, dunno much ’bout ’em. Ne’er met one, me’self.”
Well, it was worth a try, Vir thought. “Well, even if they are demons, they seem like regular people to me,” he said. “Yet you treat them worse than livestock!”
Bakura looked at Vir like he’d gone crazy, and Vir could swear he saw fear in the man’s eyes. “Boy, yer a ’risto. Ye know full well what de scriptures say ’bout demons, eh? Ye trying to call down Adinat’s Wrath upon us, boy? Demons ’re evil! Simple’s dat.”
Vir said nothing. He knew full well how the scriptures ostracized demons and Ashborn. Though Apramor tweaked his sermons out of consideration for Vir, there was no way to hide it. Demons were evil. Ashborn were outcasts.
He thought back to the red-skinned four-armed giant. There was little doubt in his mind now that the giant who’d handed his infant self to Rudvik was a demon.
But that only raised more questions than it answered. What even were Ashborn? And how were they related to demons? Vir’s fingers subconsciously grazed the white symbol on his chest, hidden under his shirt.
None of these demons had tattoos like him. Their skin was red, while his was pale. The only thing they shared was their eye color—red so deep that it seemed to glow.
Bakura went around giving cakes to the starving slaves, who accepted the food as if it came from Adinat himself. Vir saw no hatred in their eyes… Only emptiness. It was tragic. This was no way for anyone to live.
“I can see ye have a clean soul, boy,” Bakura said, approaching Vir. “If it makes ya feel any better, most o’ dese slaves were either tortured or bound for execution. Ye could say I extended their lives by sellin’ ’em off ta de Pagan Order.”
Vir gestured to the cages. “How can you call this life? Death is better than this.”
“Ye, well, Pagan Order’ll prob grant them that, anyway. Ne’er seen anyone hate on demons more ’n their ilk. Or who knows? Mebbe they be sentenced to labor? Mebbe dey’ll get ta live.”
Fat chance of that, Vir thought as he squeezed past Bakura, sidling up against a jail cell to switch places with him.
This was the moment of truth. Vir half-expected the man to throw him into the cell, lest he get any ideas of ransoming Vir and Maiya off.
But as Vir shimmied past, the man did no such thing.
“I—please feed them better on their journey, at least,” Vir said, tossing Bakura another silver. “As a favor.”
The sailor cocked a brow. “Ya hear that, ya louts? Double rations for everyone ’till we dock. Thank the young Sawai o’er there!”
Vir half wondered if the man had done all of this for show to fish for more coin, but he didn’t care.
I’m sorry, he thought. He couldn’t risk breaking them out, and it wasn’t like a bit more food would do anything for them in the long run. But at least it was something to ease his guilty soul.
Vir didn’t intend to linger down here any longer. The claustrophobic surroundings, the squalor, and the slaves had all left him short of breath, not to mention Bakura.
“I’ll be taking my leave now,” Vir said, making eye contact with the jailed demon he’d talked to. The man nodded slightly in return.