Dave Duncan - West of January

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.

“Ready for the other one or do you need a break?” Hrarrh’s sudden concern for my well-being was more terrifying than his previous open sadism. He was going to restore me to health and then do it all over again.

He saw the doubt in my eyes and grinned wolfishly. “I’ll show you!” He signaled to the cat and a paw flashed. I flinched and then peered down at my foot. There was a single, faint red line on it, but the skin was unbroken. I looked up again at Hrarrh in bewilderment.

“You made her cut deep before?”

He nodded, still grinning. “She’s the best-trained pet in the mine. I showed them a thing or two about cats!”

“But…but why?”

“To make you bleed lots. You look much, much worse than you really are. You’d have needed a hundred times as many normal scratches to bleed like that. No one’s looked close, right?”

Again, hope squirmed very softly as I tried to believe.

“I had to do it this way, Knobil! They think I went mad in there.” He glowered. “This is costing me, too—I’m in big trouble for spoiling a good slave. I was only supposed to have a little fun with you, but you trailed blood all the way out to the paddock… Even my wife heard you, back in her kitchen.”

“That wasn’t what you said when you were doing it!”

“But you’re not nearly as bad as you look, as long as you don’t get fever in the cuts. You sounded real bad and you look real bad. What the traders will do with you, I don’t know. But certainly you’ve got a better chance of escaping from them than you have from us.”

At last the torment of the licking ended. Hrarrh glanced around at the hot bright paddock, littered now with sleeping slaves. Outside, in the main compound, ants were going about their business as usual, but the other shift’s barrow had not yet appeared.

“Right.” He grinned uneven teeth at me. “Let’s go!” Unwanted slaves not publicly executed just vanished inexplicably. Now I was about to do the same, and no one would know where I had gone.

My heart beat insanely as I reeled along behind him. At the gate he retrieved his package and pointed with it—pointed away from the mine, toward the road. The road to freedom? Keeping my legs stiff, quivering as violently as I had during the worst moments of his tortures, I stumbled forward, hearing his boots behind me, knowing that the panther was there also.

At the end of the long ridge of tailings stood a big shed, used to hold supplies. Hrarrh directed me in behind it, out of general view. Grinning again, he unrolled the bundle to reveal shabby old leather trousers and a pair of tattered boots.

“Traders don’t like damaged goods,” he said. “Try not to bleed any more until they’ve shaken hands on a price for you.”

The traders were real. Two of them stood with three ants, a short way down the road. That must be why I had never seen them before—they were not admitted to the main compound. But they were certainly the same sort of traders I had seen in my youth—smart little men in ornate leather garments, decorated with brightly colored beadwork and pipings and tassels. They had curved-brim hats and neatly trimmed mustaches and pointed beards. Traders!

This was real!

My brain seemed to fade away. I registered only vaguely that a team of horses nearby was being burdened with sacks, that bales were being loaded and unloaded and carried around. This was real—I was going to escape! Shaking uncontrollably, I stood with eyes downcast until one of the traders snapped, “Look at me, slave!