Nightfall shifted, seeking a means to turn an interruption into a boon. He hated the time wasted but also recognized the complication as a means to draw the attention of other men in the tavern. Played right, it might open the way for gaining confidences. Few would suspect a man unnecessarily gentle with a slave of conning them of money. "You came to me for a reason. I’m not good at guessing people’s thoughts. You’re going to have to tell me."
“Well, sir," she mumbled quickly. "I-"
"Call me Sudian." Nightfall reached out slowly and without threat, touching her clenched hands.
She winced but did not pull away, obviously unused to taking solace from physical contact.
“And look at me when you talk," he added, keeping his voice soothing. "My boots can’t answer you.”
Hazel eyes rolled cautiously upward, alighting on his momentarily, then skittering away.
Nightfall smiled.
Again, she met his gaze, then glanced away. Gradually, she focused her attention on his nose, not quite ready to meet his eyes directly for any significant length of time.
Nightfall settled for the compromise. "What can I do for you?"
Mally had a face that Nightfall suspected had once been pretty. Now, her cheekbones stuck out sharply. Her crooked nose sported a lump where it had once broken, and he could not tell how much of the patchy discoloration of her face came from grime instead of bruises. Straight, knotted hair obscured her features. "Your master, the prince. A good man?"
"Most definitely."
"Doesn’t hit you too much?"
"Never.”
"Never?" Mally finally met and held his gaze. Her manner hardened, and purpose lit her eyes. "Get him to buy me."
"What?"
"Get him to buy me, and I’ll do anything for you."
"I can’t-" Nightfall started.
Mally interrupted. "Anything. Please!" She grabbed his hand in both of hers, squeezing. Her grip trembled with fierce desperation. "Please?"
Nightfall freed himself from her hold. "There’s nothing I can do. I’m just a servant."
“Your master protects you. He’ll listen to you. I know he will." Now that the barriers of shyness had broken, she became relentless. "He offered Master money for me and the other two. Master said ‘no,’ but he was angry. He’ll sell. I’m sure he’ll sell."
Nightfall shook his head. "Prince Edward can’t keep you. There’s no slavery in Alyndar."
"You’re not in Alyndar."
"Now," Nightfall admitted. "But we plan to go back eventually. And no matter where, it wouldn’t do for the prince of a free country to own slaves."
Mally went indignant. “Then why did he offer to buy us?"
"I would never presume to judge my master.” Nevertheless, Nightfall speculated. “Perhaps it fit the conversation. Or he may have wanted to set you free."
"Free?" Mally repeated, hunching into herself, eyes wide and childlike. "I’m not looking for freedom, just a kinder master." She plucked at her collar.
Mally’s words disgusted Nightfall, and all interest in helping vanished. He recalled his own struggle for freedom, not from slavery but from the many forces, human and natural, that had sought to crush him on the streets. Life came easy only to the highborn. "What’s wrong with freedom?"
"Nothing." Mally’s voice became a frightened squeak. "If you’re born into it. I’ve seen hunted slaves return, tortured to death in the public square. Those that stay free starve or fall victim to any gang of street-raised monsters who wants to use them."
The words raised an ancient memory, long suppressed. At eleven, Nightfall had been weathering the cold, dark alleyways of Keevain for three years. He recalled gulping down a stolen muffin so quickly he choked on the crumbs, hunger usurping caution. He had heard the two men too late, boxed between them in a night-dark throughway. He had run, but not fast enough. He remembered the ankle snatch and twist that had sprawled him, the huge, scarred hands clamped to his privates, and the sickening tear of his already tattered britches. Their threats rang through his ears: claims of ownership, a vicious rape, and a slow death. One had trapped his head between clothed thighs, the odor driving up the first food he had eaten in days. The stranger had recoiled from Nightfall’s sickness, inadvertently leaving the boy an opening. Spiraling loose with wild kicks, he had stolen the man’s knife, thrusting the blade into the man’s groin with a gashing twist that severed the artery. Instinct had goaded him to escape then, but rage had taken over. Nightfall had slashed the other’s throat and left them both bleeding in the alley.
The remembrance clipped through Nightfall’s mind in an instant, accompanied by bitterness. He kept his voice low so those nearby could not hear. "My master has the only servant he needs. If you can protect him better than me, prove it. I’ll gladly step aside and let you have the job."
Every piece of Mally’s exposed flesh turned white. "No, sir. No. I’m not trying to take your place. I’m just-"
"You’re just looking for the easiest life possible." Nightfall considered the implication of his own words. "And that’s only natural. But everyone else’s too busy making things easier for himself. Things won’t change for you unless you make them."
"Make them?" Mally’s’ gaze returned to her lap. "That’s what I’m trying to do."
She had a point Nightfall could not deny. "You’ve taken the first step, but you’re working on the wrong problem. Your problem isn’t getting a new master, it’s getting rid of the old one."
Mally glanced up, clearly confused; but Nightfall did not give her time to question.
"Think about it. But I can tell you one thing: if Prince Edward bought you, he would set you free. If that’s not what you want, don’t come to me for help." Nightfall ate another cheese cube, indicating that the conversation had ended, in his mind.
Taking the cue, Mally rose from the chair, though she remained hunched in deference. "Thank you, sir, for your advice and consideration.”
Nightfall nodded acknowledgment, but he said nothing more. He watched the slave skitter, head low, across the room to the doorway and disappear through it. It had required daring for her to slip away at the risk of punishment to discuss her lot with one her master hated. Nightfall wondered whether she would find the courage to carry through on his suggestion or even to consider a life without shackles. Yet, to her and so many, chains and collars seemed a small price to pay for regular meals, protection, and shelter.
The red-haired Trillian moved to Nightfall’s table, accompanied by a slender brunet. Their two friends remained in place, watching the dart match and whispering between themselves. The heavy-set one spoke first. "Another begging the employ of Prince Edward Nargol of Alyndar?"
Nightfall blinked, surprised. "There’ve been others?"
"Two serving girls, the stable boy, and a merchant’s stock man. That’s the first slave I know of."
"Good man, my master."
"Obviously," the other Trillian said. "And he allows his squire in the common room alone?"
Nightfall shrugged. "If he’s in a safe place and under certain circumstances. It has little to do with what he allows. I wouldn’t leave him if I believed anything might harm him." He smiled. "Good man, as I said."
The dark-haired Trillian buried a hand in his stiff beard, gaze locked on the dart game. The redhead accepted the burden of amenities. "I’m Tekesh, and my friend’s name is Ifinska." He indicated his two remaining companions at the table, a bearded brunet with recessed eyes and a tall, thin man with gray-speckled black hair, in turn. "Porlenn and Limalzy."
Nightfall acknowledged the more distant pair with nods. "Sudian," he said, not bothering to tack on title. These men already knew his master.
Ifinska continued to watch the dart-playing youths.
Nightfall had assessed each competitor’s ability naturally upon entering the common room, his judgments based mostly on build, movement, and arrangement of muscle groups. He had off-handedly watched enough of their play to get a reasonable feel for ability. "Hey, Ifinska."