Jack Vance - The Asutra

Srenka twisted his face into a ferocious grimace, his lower canine tusks gripping his nose ring. Gulshe warned him with a gesture. 'The protests are reason- able. Our friend understandably cannot burden himself with merchandise in its present condition. I am certain that a mutually profitable arrangement is possible. In a year the bones will be well weathered and in prime condition, or we might rent slaves to boil and strip the carcasses. In the meantime let us leave this foul place; I feel a presentiment."

To Shagfe then," growled Srenka. "At Shagfe I plan to drink a crock of Baba's cellar brew."

"A moment," said Ifness, scrutinizing the hillside. "I am interested in the band which destroyed the Red Devils. Where did they go after the victory?"

"Back the way they had come," sneered Srenka. "Where else?"

"They did not visit Shagfe?"

"At Shagfe you can make your own inquiries."

Etzwane said, "Ahulphs might track them."

"They are a month gone and far away," said Ifness. "The effort might well be tedious."

"In Shagfe we will undoubtedly hear news," suggested Gulshe.

To Shagfe then," said Srenka. "I thirst for old Baba's cellar brew."

Ifness turned a reflective glance toward Shagfe. Gulshe and Srenka already were riding down the long slope. They halted and looked back. "Come along then; the day will not last forever; yonder is Shagfe! "

"Very well," said Ifness. "We will visit Shagfe."

Shagfe, a dreary and unprepossessing settlement, baked in the lavender sunlight. Rude mud huts straggled along a wind-scoured street; behind was a scatter of leather tents. A rambling flat-roofed structure of mud and wattle dominated the town: the inn and grog shop. A clattering windmill nearby drew water into a tank, which overflowed into a trough; here sat a band of ahulphs who had come to drink. They had brought rock crystals and already had bartered for rags of yellow cloth, which they wore rakishly tied to their hearing knobs.

Riding into Shagfe the four passed the slave pens: a complex of three sheds and three fenced yards in which a score of men, as many women, and several dozen blank-eyed children were confined.

Ifness, drawing his pacer to a halt, turned to Gulshe. "Who are these captives, local persons?"

Gulshe examined the group without interest. "They appear to be strangers, probably excess folk sold by the hetman of their clan. They might be persons taken in raids beyond the mountains. Or they might be persons seized and sold by private enterprises. " Gulshe gave a curious choked chuckle. "In short, they are anyone unable to prevent otherwise. Here there is no one to say us nay, and each man must see to his own welfare."

"Such an existence is unpleasant," said Etzwane in disgust.

Gulshe looked at him without comprehension and turned to Ifness as if questioning Etzwane's sanity; Ifness smiled grimly. "Who buys the slaves?"

Gulshe shrugged. "Hozman Sore-throat takes them all, and pays a good weight of metal in the bargain."

"You are very knowledgeable in this regard," said Etzwane in a dour voice.

Srenka said, "And what of that? Do you begrudge us a livelihood? Perhaps the time has come for an understanding."

"Yes," said Gulshe, "the time has come. " He brought forth a heavy-bladed knife of polished black glass. "Magic is not proof against my knife, and I can split either of you as if you were melons. Dismount from the pacers and stand facing the pens."

Ifness asked in a mild voice, "Am I to understand that you intend us an inconvenience?"

"We are men of trade," Srenka declared in a boisterous voice. "We live for profit. If we cannot sell bones, we will sell slaves, and for this reason we have brought you to Shagfe. I likewise am adept with the throwing-knife. Dismount! "

"It is humiliating to be captured directly in front of the slave pens," said Ifness. "You show no regard for our sensibilities, and if for this reason alone, we refuse to gratify your wishes."

Srenka guffawed. Gulshe allowed a yellow line of teeth to show below his mustache. "Dismount; to the ground, and promptly! "

Etzwane spoke softly, "Have you forgotten the curse imposed at Shillinsk?"

"Hundreds of curses already ride our backs; what harm is another? " Gulshe jerked his knife. "Dismount."

Ifness shrugged. "Well, then, if we must, we must… Destiny plays strange tricks. " Alighting wearily, he placed his hand on the pacer's haunch. The pacer roared in pain and sprang forward, into Gulshe's pacer, toppling the beast to the ground. Srenka flung his knife at Etzwane, who had dropped to the ground; the knife cut the air a foot over his shoulder. Ifness reached up, grasped Srenka's nose-ring. Srenka emitted a quivering hiss, which would have been a scream had he been able to articulate. "Hold him by the ring," Ifness instructed Etzwane. "Keep him in a state of compliance. " Ifness went to where Gulshe, scrambling, cursing, clawing at the ground, attempted to gain his feet. Ifness laid a comradely hand on Gulshe's shoulder; Gulshe gave a spasmodic jerk and fell once more to the ground. "I fear I must take your knife," said Ifness. "You will not need it again."

Etzwane and Ifness continued toward the mud-and-wattle inn, leading the riderless beasts. Ifness said, "Six ounces of silver for two able individuals; it seems no great sum. Perhaps we were gulled. But no matter, in any event. Gulshe and Srenka will profit greatly by learning another facet of the slavery trade… I could almost wish that… but no! It is uncharitable to think of my colleague Dasconetta in this connection. Almost I regret the parting of ways with Gulshe and Srenka. They were picturesque companions."

Etzwane looked back over his shoulder to the slave pens. Except for Ifness' energy pack, he would now be peering forth from between the withes. Still-these were the risks he had weighed in Garwiy; he had elected to face them rather than pursue a life of security, music, and ease… Ifness was speaking, as much to himself as to Etzwane: "I regret only that we failed to learn more from Gulshe and Srenka… Well, here we are at the hostelry. In retrospect the inn at Shillinsk seems a haven of palatial luxury. We will represent ourselves not as wizards nor research students, nor even bone merchants. The most prestigious occupation at Shagfe is slavery, and slavery is our trade."

At the inn they paused to survey the settlement. The afternoon was warm and placid: infants crawled in the dirt; older children played at slave-taking among the tents, leaping forth with ropes to drag away their captives. At the trough under the windmill three squat dark-haired woman in leather pants and straw capes bickered with the ahulphs. The women carried sticks and struck at the ahulphs' long sensitive feet whenever they attempted to drink: the ahulphs in turn kicked dirt at the women and screamed abuse. Beside the road a dozen crones in shapeless straw cloaks huddled beside offerings of goods to be traded: mounds of dark-red meal, thongs of dried meat, blue-black finger grubs in boxes of wet moss, fat green beetles tethered to stakes, sugar pods, boiled birds, cardamoms, salt crusts. Above, the vast bright sky; to all sides, the hot flat plain; far in the east a band of riders, visible only as a vibration of black specks, with a thin plume of lavender dust above… Ifness and Etzwane approached the inn, and entered by a hole in the mud wall. The common room was dim and dank-smelling. A rack behind the counter supported three barrels; elsewhere were benches and stools where half a dozen men sat with earthenware bowls of sour seed wine or mugs of the famous Shagfe cellar brew. Conversation halted; the men stared at Ifness and Etzwane with a still intensity. The sole illumination was the purple glare of outdoors seeping through the door-hole. Ifness and Etzwane peered around the room while their eyes adjusted to the dimness.