“The trip may be long, and you may become quite hungry,” said another.
“It will not hurt you to lose three or four pounds,” said another. “You may then be trimmer on the block.”
“Some men prefer a trimmer slave,” said a girl.
“Others prefer a more generous, ampler buy,” said another.
“It depends on the taste of the Master,” said another.
“Please be kind to me, Mistresses,” begged Cornhair.
“You will have a pleasant trip to the market,” said another.
The platform shook a little beneath their feet, and it began to slowly rise. Many of the slaves now crowded more closely together, toward the center of the platform.
The man from Bondage Flowers had informed her that the front-braceleting was to assist in reminding them that they were slaves. What then would be indicated by the disciplining of back-braceleting? Surely she was not a new slave, who might be back-braceleted, shackled, and even belled. Let her now, then, assess her status, not only as a slave, but as a slave amongst slaves.
“No,” she thought to herself, in misery, “he would not punish all, here or on the ship, but, instead, in the unchallengeable wisdom of Masters, as he chose, would use all to punish me! He has seen to my punishment, and, indeed, excellently well!”
“How foolish I was,” she thought. “Do I not understand what I now am? I am now only a slave!”
The platform was now rising. There was the feel of the corrugated, sun-warmed metal beneath her feet.
The hull of the freighter seemed to be sinking behind her.
The pier was far below, and the men and carts on it, seemingly small. She could see the roofs, with red tiles, of the warehouses.
Looking out over Point North, she could see Lisle in the distance, and roads, some bearing vehicular traffic, and a small lake.
The roar of departing ships, though, she thought, would carry even to distant Lisle.
The platform then stopped.
“Here, here!” called a voice from within the freighter.
Cornhair turned about, and looked within, to a dimly lit steel corridor. There were two men there, brawny fellows, with bare arms. Clearly, they were not members of the ship’s crew. They were keepers, stock keepers. They carried whips.
“A pretty bouquet of roses, slave roses,” said one of the men.
“Weeds,” said the other.
“Forward,” said the first, gesturing down the hall.
The lead girl, the tallest in the coffle, though small compared to the keepers, hastened forward. There was a rattle of chains as the others followed.
Suddenly there was a snap of a whip, sharp, unmistakable. Several of the girls cried out in fear, but Cornhair did not believe that anyone had been struck. The cry of a struck woman is quite different from that of a merely frightened woman. But the message of the whip was quite clear.
The coffle hurried down the hall.
A bit behind them, Cornhair heard the smooth sound of the hatch’s closing.
Cornhair did not know it, of course, nor did the others, but they were on their way to Telnaria, and, indeed, even to Telnar itself, the capital itself, the seat of the empire, for the holiday sales associated with that world’s spring equinox.
18
“Excellent,” said Sidonicus, Exarch of Telnar, fingering the tiny, golden replica of a metal-ribbed torture rack slung about his neck, over the purple robes, standing behind a railing, circling the golden domelike roof of the high temple of Telnar, observing the smoke rising in the distance across the city.
“It is the judgment of Karch,” said a robed figure at his side.
“Karch provides,” said Sidonicus, devoutly.
“It is so,” said others about, pale, thin men, standing back, also robed, but in white.
“Let us sing a hymn of thanks, of praise,” said the fellow at the side of Sidonicus. He, as Sidonicus, wore purple, but of a lighter shade. Already gradations of the ministry were instituted, and a hierarchy emplaced. This did not, however, compromise the teachings of holy Floon, who had denounced such things.
“None will be allowed to escape, I trust,” said Sidonicus.
“No,” said the fellow at his side. “Orders were strict.”
“It is a miracle,” said one of the white-robed fellows in the background.
“Yes,” said another, “the false temple sprang spontaneously into flame.”
“At the very moment of its high services,” said another.
“A judgment,” said one of the men.
“Yes,” said another.
“Thus Karch speaks,” said a man.
“But would not many die?” asked a man, nervously.
“Heretics,” said another man.
“Let us hope the fire does not spread,” said a man. “Then more might die, many more, even those of the true faith.”
“Do not concern yourself,” said Sidonicus. “That very hour they will feast at the table of Karch.”
“True,” said the fellow at his side, in the lighter purple.
“It is so,” said more than one man on the roof.
“How is it that the temple was so suddenly and fully enfired?” asked a man wonderingly.
“It is miraculous,” said a man.
“It is so,” said several.
“One does not question the doings of Karch,” said another.
Sidonicus turned about.
“I did not mean to question such things!” said the fellow who had asked the question, frightened. “One does not question the doings of Karch!”
“Heresy is everywhere,” said Sidonicus.
“But not so much as before,” said a man.
There was a ripple of mirth, but it was soon silenced.
Sidonicus returned his attention to the smoke in the distance.
There was then a sighted lapse, a caving inward, of the distant, spired roof, then fallen, no longer pointing skyward, followed by a burst of flame, and more billowing smoke, and, a moment later, the sound of a distant crashing came to the ears of the observers.
“I heard cries, far off!” said a man. “Screams of agony.”
“It is your imagination,” said Sidonicus. “It is too far off.”
“Many would be trapped, choking, crushed, crying out, beneath the flaming timbers,” said a white-robed man.
“Heretics,” said Sidonicus.
“It would be a terrible way to die,” said one of the white-robed men.
“Heresy must be rooted out,” said Sidonicus.
“If necessary,” said the fellow in the lighter purple, “by fire and sword.”
“Those who thrust the brand of fire and cleave with the sword in the name of Karch do his holy work and are thrice blessed,” said one of the white-robed figures.
“It is so,” said another.
“Better,” said the fellow in the lighter purple, “that ten thousand should die such a death, or worse, than that one koos be led astray, even briefly.”
“It is so,” said a man.
“Your Excellency,” said a white-robed figure, one but now emerged onto the roof, “one below would speak to you, in your chambers.”
Sidonicus nodded.
“One who was expected?” said the man in lighter purple.
“Doubtless,” said Sidonicus, Exarch of Telnar.
He then looked again, into the distance, where smoke still stained the sky.
“May a hymn of praise be now raised?” inquired the fellow in the lighter purple.
“Yes,” said Sidonicus.
“This is a day of glory,” said his fellow, he in the lighter purple, to those about, behind the railing, on the roof. “Let us now raise a hymn of gladness, of joy, of thanksgiving! Let us sing praise, and glory, to Karch!”
“Let it be,” said Sidonicus, “‘I shall trust in the tenderness, love, and mercy of mighty Karch, who protects and shelters me, and destroys my enemies.’”
“It is so,” said the man in lighter purple, and nodded, at which signal the others on the roof began to intone the strains of the hymn, a solemn but joyous, swelling hymn, purportedly one of the most pleasing to Karch.
Sidonicus cast one last look at the distant smoke, and then went back, away from the railing, to the height of the narrow stairway leading down, into the precincts of the temple complex, through the vestry, past the chancel, to his private chambers, followed by the man in lighter purple.