"Captain?" I said.
"How many do you think are in the Delta Brigade?" he asked.
"I do not know," I said. "Surely no more than a few."
"A few today may become a regiment tomorrow, and after that, who knows?"
"The merchant spoke of only two men," I reminded him.
"There had to be more than that," said the captain, "though how many it is difficult to say, perhaps ten, perhaps twelve."
"Why do you say that?" I asked.
"The victims were not civilians, not tradesmen, not potters or bakers. They were skilled swordsmen," he said.
"Perhaps then there are ten in the Delta Brigade," I said.
"I am sure there are many more," he said.
"Oh?" I said, interested.
"This sign turns up frequently in the city, and more often from day to day," he said. "It is a symbol of resistance, smeared on a wall, scratched on a flagstone, carved into a post, found inscribed on an unfolded napkin."
I had not known these things. I myself had not seen much evidence of this sort of thing. To be sure, Marcus and I usually prowled in the darkness, protected from suspicion by our armbands, as though we might be on duty. And during the day we had normal duties, guarding portals and such, or, when assigned them, rounds, usually in public areas, as today, where the inscribing of the delka would be more likely to be noticed. I suspected these delkas were mostly to be found in the alleys and the back streets of Ar.
"The scratching of the delka," I said, " might even be permitted, as an outlet for meaningless defiance, as a futile token of protest from those too helpless or weak to do more."
"I am sure you are right, for the most part," said the captain.
"Then I would not concern myself with them," I said.
"Four soldiers were found murdered this morning," said the officer, "off the Avenue of Turia. The delka was found there, too."
"I see," I said. I had certainly known nothing of this. Marcus and I, it seemed, had allies.
The officer's men, the guardsmen, looked at one another. I gathered that this was information to them, too.
"Do you wish for us to remain on duty here, my fellow and myself," I asked, "until the arrival of the wagon?"
"No," he said.
"Is there any way we may be of service?" I asked.
"We have our rounds," said the officer. He glanced at the chest on the street, outside the door of the shop.
"Yes, Captain?" I said.
"What do you think of the contents of this chest?" he asked.
"A pretty lass," I said, "although young."
"Do you think she would look well in slave silk and a collar?"
I thought about it. "Yes," I said. "But perhaps more so in a year or so."
"Did you not see how, when the lid of the chest was held open, her veil had been disarranged, that her lips and mouth might be visible?"
"It was impossible not to notice it," I said. I recalled her father had chided her about this. Such a lapse I was sure, had not been inadvertent, not on Gor, with a free woman. If it had not been overtly intentional, consciously arranged, so to speak, it had surely been covertly so, unconsciously so, a pathetic sign manifested outwardly of a dawning sexuality and an innate need whose first powerful promptings were doubtless felt even now.
"Do you think she would make a slave?" he asked.
"I assume you do not mean a child might be a slave," I said, "carried into bondage to be trained as a mere serving girl or page, to be in effect held for true bondage later, say, to be auctioned as a pleasure object, if a female, or say, to be sent to the fields or quarries, if a male."
"No," he said.
"Yes," I said. "I suppose she is ready for the block now."
"Do you think she is on the registries?" he asked.
"Probably," I said.
"But it does not really matter one way or another," he said, "as she is a girl of Ar."
"True," I said. Ar, and its contents, belonged to Cos.
"Do you know where the loot area is," he asked, "that in the district of Anbar?"
"Yes," I said.
"I would be obliged if you would see to the chest, and the slave."
I suppose the young woman within the chest could hear our conversation. I would have supposed that she would then have pounded and wept, and scratched at the inside of the chest, begging mercy, but she did not. Slaves, those fit by nature for this elegant disposition, and whose minds and bodies crave it profoundly, and will not be happy without it, pretending that they are actually free women, commonly do such things. They are often among the most express in their protestive behaviors, the most demonstrative in their lamentations, and such, believing such things are expected of them, fearing only that they will be taken seriously. But this girl was actually very quiet, lying like a caressable, silken little urt in the chest. Indeed, for a moment, I feared there might be insufficient air in the chest and that she might have fainted, or otherwise lost consciousness. But then I noted that the chest was well ventilated, as made sense, considering it had probably been prepared to conceal her days ago, if not months ago. She had doubtless not, however, expected to have its lid nailed shut, and to find herself helplessly, nakedly, at the mercy of strong men, imprisoned within it, and perhaps timidly, fearfully, trying to understand her feelings.
"My fellow and I," I said, "if you wish, will see to the chest, and the girl."
"The slave," he said.
"Yes," I said, "the slave."
"I wish you well," said the captain.
"I wish you well," I said.
He then, and his men, took their leave.
"Why did you not wish the bodies placed outside the shop?" Marcus asked of me, when the officer with his small squad had departed.
I motioned him to one side, that the girl in the chest might not overhear our conversation.
"Surely it would have been better if the bodies had been put outside," said Marcus, "that the strength of the Delta Brigade, as it is spoken of, and the effectiveness of its work, might seem displayed."
I spoke softly. "No, dear friend," I said. "Better that the carnage wrought within the shop should seem that those of Cos feared it to be known, that they were concerned to conceal it from the public."
"Ah!" said Marcus.
"But, too," I said, "do not fear that it is not known. The shop is muchly open. The door was ajar. I am confident men have spied within and see what lies strewn upon its tiles. And even if they had not, the bodies will presumably be removed and be seen then. And, too, if not this either, surely we may depend upon the tradesman to speak of such things."
"That the bodies were not put outside," said Marcus, "makes it seem as though Cos feared the Delta Brigade, and did not wish that the effectiveness of its work be known, and that is much more to the advantage of the Brigade."
"Yes," I said. "I think so."
"Accordingly," said Marcus, "its work is known, or likely to be known, but it is also made to seem that Cos fears the making broadcast of such intelligence."
"Precisely," I said.
"Thusly increasing the reputation of the Delta Brigade," he said.
"Yes," I said.
"It is a form of Kaissa, is it not?" he asked.
"Of course," I said.
"Well played," he said.
"Perhaps," I said. "But it is difficult to foresee the continuations."
"I do not like such games," he said.
"You prefer a fellow at sword point, in an open field, at noon?" I asked. "Of course," he said.
I was sympathetic with his view. The board had a thousand sides, and surfaces and dimensions, the pieces were of unknown number, and nature and value, the rules were uncertain, often you did not know whom you played, or where they were, often the moves must be made in darkness, in ignorance of your opponent's position, his pieces, his strengths, his skills, his moves.
"Perhaps, I too," I mused. Yet I had known men who enjoyed such Kaissa, the games of politics and men. My friend, Samos, of Port Kar, was one such.