Alexander trotted behind him. Rollins was a tall, lanky man with a completely bald head and a neatly trimmed white beard and mustache. His eyes were brown, his hands work-worn, and his face ruddy with exertion. His colors were those of a man who had a job to do and no interest in other matters. That suited Alexander just fine. Whatever game was being played behind the scenes, Alexander doubted that Rollins had any part in it.
That still left plenty of things for him to worry about and more than enough unanswered questions, but Rollins didn’t give him a moment to think about either. The man was driven and he demanded that his stablehands work at least as hard as he did. By the time they were finished hitching all of the wagons, Alexander was starting to wonder if working in the mine hadn’t been easier.
Once the last of the wagons loaded with Grant’s slaves rolled out of the yard, Rollins took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“You … what was your name again?”
“Alex.”
“You did well enough for your first day, Alex, but I’ll expect better from you as you learn the job. Come with me and I’ll get you settled in at Grant Manor.
“First things first,” Rollins continued while they walked through the ancient and hauntingly beautiful architecture of Mithel Dour. “That collar around your neck will let you have the run of the city, but if you try to leave, it’ll kill you. Lord Grant will need you to run errands for him on occasion, so it’s best for you to learn the streets and the customs.”
Two overseers were walking down the street toward them. As they neared, Rollins stepped up against the wall, pulling Alexander with him, and looked down, averting his eyes. Alexander mimicked him, watching the flare of smug satisfaction and power in the overseers’ colors as they marched past.
“Let that be another lesson,” Rollins said with just a hint of acid. “Don’t give the overseers any reason to question you. They can beat you to death in the street or activate your collar and let you choke while they laugh … and no one will even ask them why.”
Alexander just nodded, not trusting himself to speak lest he betray his true feelings.
“Truth be told, you’ve been given a gift,” Rollins said once they were well out of earshot of the overseers. “Working in the stables is a far better life than working the mines-just remember, as long as you wear that collar, you can always be reassigned.
“Now don’t get me wrong, Lord Grant is a fair master. If you do a good job, after ten or twelve years, he may allow you to buy your freedom; although, I wouldn’t recommend it unless you’ve been accepted into a guild first. Free men don’t stay free for long around here unless they have guild protection.”
“Hear one, hear all,” a crier shouted. “The Acuna has uncovered a new threat, a conspiracy of such evil that it threatens our very way of life. The Ruathan scourge has invaded our home and is sowing the seeds of treason on Andalian soil. The enemy has joined with the criminals and brigands in the sequestered territories to challenge our enlightened way of life and cast our civilization into darkness. The king calls on one and all to renew your commitment to service, to embrace the necessary sacrifices so that we may all survive this terrible threat. Most of all, the king commands you to report any suspicious activity at once.”
Rollins didn’t give the crier a second look, though there were a few people who had stopped to hear his words. Anxiety lit up their colors as they conferred with one another about the new development.
Alexander smiled inwardly. He suspected that his message to General Talia during the fight with the pirates had prompted him to move into Andalia. While the number he’d sent was undoubtedly small, they would probably be working to incite resistance within the people of Andalia against their own government. Talia was a student of war and an avid reader of history. He would design his strategy to cause maximum disruption at a minimum cost.
“What do you think about what that man was saying?”
“Not much,” Rollins said. “As in, I wouldn’t give it a second thought. Of course, I wouldn’t say that too loudly either. The walls have ears around here.”
Alexander waited for him to continue but he just walked on without another word.
“How do you mean?”
Rollins looked at him and then looked around carefully before speaking. “The man who used to have the job you’re taking-he liked to talk about the powers that be, used to speculate about their goals and such. Two nights ago, he vanished … went to his bunk that night and simply wasn’t there the following morning. You’ll find that’s the way of things around here. Talk too often or too loudly about important people, and like as not, you’ll disappear too.”
“Where do they go?”
“Don’t know and don’t care to know,” Rollins said.
They walked on, Alexander pondering the nature of Andalian society in silence until he caught a glint of silver out of the corner of his mind’s eye. A coin lay in the gutter. He started to reach for it, but Rollins roughly pulled him away.
“Don’t ever do that,” he whispered. “If the overseers catch you, they’ll beat you to death for treason.”
“But it’s just a coin.”
“No, it’s not,” Rollins said, pointing to a wanted poster tacked to a nearby bulletin board. The picture was only a silhouette of a head but the name read: Nightshade. “The most wanted criminal in all of Andalia is fond of taunting the authorities. He steals shipments of silver bound for the war effort and then scatters the coins around the streets for people to find like hidden treasure. The king has decreed that picking up a coin on the street is stealing from the people and punishable by death.”
“Seems I have a lot to learn,” Alexander said.
“Here’s a good rule of thumb,” Rollins said, “do only what you’re told to do and nothing else. Remember that and you’ll stay out of trouble.”
Alexander held his tongue and walked on until they came to a beautiful four-story manor house built into the stone of the cliff wall looking out over the plains of Andalia below. The sun was just setting, casting an orange glow over the fluid arches and seamless stonework. The property was surrounded by a high wall and flanked on either side by similar estates.
A pair of private guards nodded to Rollins as he passed under the arched entry into a courtyard bounded by perfectly manicured gardens.
“Stay out of the main house unless you’re told to go inside,” Rollins said. “The stables have quarters above. You’ll share a room with another of my hands, a man by the name of Ritter. He’s not terribly friendly; likes horses more than people.”
“I can identify with that,” Alexander said.
“In that case, maybe you two will get along just fine, but I doubt it.”
A clanging rang out over the yard and Rollins frowned, checking the position of the sun.
“Didn’t think it was so late already. That was the supper call. We’ll eat and then I’ll show you the stables.”
The meal was better than he’d had working in the mines but it was still not quite enough. The dining hall was full of estate hands with only two private guards at the door, both looking bored. The majority of the people in the room wore slave collars.
“Meals are served three times a day,” Rollins said. “If you miss a meal, you go hungry, so listen for meal call and come here when you hear it.” He was finished eating before Alexander was half done. “You’d better hurry up, there’s still work to do.”
Alexander choked down the remains of his dinner and followed Rollins out into the paddock.
“Lord Grant owns one hundred and eighty-seven horses at present, but not all of them are stabled here … just the finest. Most are used to haul wagons for his business, so more often than not, the majority are on the road.
“Wagons come and go every day so we’re constantly stabling horses for the night, then turning them around the next day for a new job.” He pointed to a smaller but much nicer barn. “The riding horses are stabled in there while the work horses live in the big barn. You’ll be working in there. That means the small barn is off-limits. Understand?”