“Turn over.”
“What?”
“Roll over!”
With great difficulty I obeyed, and the cold sandy floor gritted on my cuts. Lying on my back with my smock up around my belly, I felt even more vulnerable than I had before. The lantern flickered gently from a high ledge, making shadows writhe on the rough walls of the little crypt. The panther was pacing again. Seeming very tall, Hrarrh was staring down at me, rubbing his whiskers.
“Two buckets short? Is that enough punishment, do you think?” he asked.
I just grunted, tasting the blood from my bitten tongue, feeling the cold air on my sweat-soaked skin.
“I think that ought to satisfy them—don’t you?”
I managed to mumble, “Yes, master.”
“But it doesn’t satisfy me, Knobil.”
“Huh?”
“We’re going to do more. Yes, it’s too bad, but we will have to do more.”
“What! Why?”
He sighed. “Once a herdman, always a herdman! They make good slaves, but they’re not very smart.”
I had no strength to take any more, and I began to weep silently.
“You don’t understand pride, do you? I told you that before.”
I sobbed and choked and finally found my voice. “Please, master! No more clawing! I’ll work a double shift… I’ll lick your boots… I’ll do anything, anything at all—but, please! No more clawing…”
He shook his head in disgust. “That’s not good enough! You’d do any of those things anyway, if I told you to.”
He gestured. The panther slunk over rather sulkily and sat opposite him, on my other side. It looked down at me with eyes that momentarily glowed red.
Faint voices and clumping of ants’ boots echoed eerily through the mine.
“The next shift is coming!” Hrarrh said. “We must get a move on—my wife will be furious. The right shin to start with, then. And do keep still this time or you’ll lose a kneecap.”
He gestured. I felt the talons scrape along the bone. It was the worst yet.
I screamed.
It burst out before I knew it was coming—a howl of terror and torment beyond endurance.
“Ah!” Hrarrh said approvingly. “You did it!”
“What?”
“That’s what I wanted! Ever since you helped me, dross, I’ve wanted to hear you scream. Pride, remember? That was a very good scream—but I think you can do better. So now Chuckles is going to practice clawing, and you’re going to practice screaming. You’re going to weep and you’re going to beg, but mostly you’re going to scream. You’re going to scream your lungs out for me, Knobil, my friend.”
—6—
WHEN IT WAS OVER, two slaves carried me back to the paddock.
I did not sleep, and the clay where I lay became soaked with blood. As the bosses arrived for the next shift, I did manage to stand up, but I knew that he had ruined me. Nevermore would I be a top worker. No food, no sleep, loss of blood, too much pain—work was out of the question. The only remaining secret was how I would be put to death—quickly or slowly? Certainly he would begin the shift by ordering another licking for me. I wondered if it would be possible to blacken his eye before the panther felled me, and I knew that my quaking limbs were not even capable of throwing a punch.
What I had not expected was the amusement on the faces of the other bosses, the smiles of tolerant reproof directed at Hrarrh. They thought he had gone a little too far, but he would know better next time.
He looked over the gang and tapped me on the chest in passing. “You stay. The rest of you—the target is the same as last time, twelve buckets apiece. Penalties are doubled. Run!” They ran, and most of them were limping.
He was fooling himself. Any sadist could jack up output for one shift. We had delivered sixty-nine buckets for him, but now the output would drop because of injuries and exhaustion—and one death to come. Apparently that was something that every new boss had to learn for himself. Unfortunately the slaves paid for the lesson.
Gradually the paddock was clearing. Hrarrh had gone after his workers, leaving me standing alone. He had not said I was excused nor that I could sit down. Bending my legs only increased the agony, so I just stayed where I was and sweated in the glare. The off-duty shift came trailing back, heading for the food trough. With luck I would faint soon.
Eventually he came strolling out of the mine, blinking at the light. He was wearing work clothes and the helmet concealed his bald pate. At the gate he paused to lay down a small bundle he had been carrying under his arm, then he headed for me with Chuckles gliding at his heel, a black threat half the size of a pony.
I was the taller. I kept my chin up and looked him in the eye, and I tried not to sway. He was amused.
“Plotting rebellion, Knobil? Looking for a quick death?”
“That was what you advised, wasn’t it? Well, take me to the canyon ladder and I’ll do it for you.”
He shook his head and moved closer, glancing around cautiously. “Put your eyes down. Now listen carefully. You’re leaving!”
“Ha!” Talking back to a boss was an intense pleasure after so much humility. I had forgotten how good it felt to contradict someone.
Hrarrh’s eyebrows shot up. “Great! I was frightened you’d do a fade. You mustn’t die on me, Knobil!”
“I should hate to spoil your fun.”
A grin twisted his beard. “I knew you had guts! You couldn’t have saved me otherwise. Now…it’s dangerous for me to talk to you here, and worse in the mine. You know how it echoes. Can you listen while Chuckles washes your legs? You’ve got to have them done or those cuts will go bad. It won’t hurt so much as before.”
“What choice do I have?”
He nodded approvingly. “Good man! Anyone watching will think I’m gloating, but you try to listen, because it’s important.”
The workers from the other shift had completed their meal and were stretching out to sleep. They were staying well away from the dangerous ant and his victim. The panther crouched and touched a rough wet tongue to my ankle. I shuddered and waited for the flames to start. Hrarrh put his hands on his hips and leaned forward, sneering into my face, but his voice was softer than his expression.
“Believe this, Knobil. I did all that just to get you out of here!”
Pain starting…“Dead.”
His eyes flickered warily around again, but apparently no one was watching too closely. I was shivering and streaming sweat as fire began to engulf my leg. But he was right—it was not as bad as before. Nothing could have been.
He was still talking…
“…wont believe me, but I was bluffing. I swear it!”
Just for a moment, relief—No! It was another round in the game. He was going to cure me and then do it again.
The deep-sunk eyes registered concern. “Warn me if you feel giddy—I’ll call Chuckles off. You all right?”
The tongue had reached my thigh now, and my mouth tasted of blood again. I nodded.
“I don’t expect you to believe me, but you will. There are traders here.”
Traders?
“It’s those blue eyes of yours, Knobil, that hair. Traders sell us slaves, but never wetlanders. They buy wetlanders!”
For a moment a flash of hope drowned out the creeping agony in my leg—then again disbelief. “Why?”
“I don’t know. No one knows for sure. They don’t much care how old or what sort of shape they’re in—men or women, it doesn’t matter. But any trader will buy a wetlander. One bolt of silk is the standard price. It’s your only chance!”
The black cat had completed my right leg. It sat back on its haunches and moved its mouth as if to get rid of a bad taste. Then it stared hungrily at my navel.