Part 5 (2/2)

Grossmer objected no longer. He dismissed the worker and vanished inside. By sunset, everything he was particularly attached to was inside a caravan of carriages normally used for transporting ore. A hasty description of the day to day workings of the mine was delivered, and he was on his way. For the sake of ease, the surplus gold was removed from the chariot Myranda had arrived in and, after Desmeres had surrept.i.tiously moved himself and his cargo into the mansion, it was taken by the Luther Grossmer and his equally corpulent wife. Myranda watched through the window of the still remarkably furnished estate as the last of the caravan disappeared from view. When they were gone, she heaved a heavy sigh and collapsed into a stuffed chair.

”Not the best price we've gotten, but overall a remarkable first performance,” Desmeres said, startling Myranda with his sudden appearance.

”I sold it for the price you told me to. Besides, there is still twenty thousand gold pieces worth of ingots and such in chests in the bedroom. That should be enough for whatever you've got in mind,” Myranda sneered.

”Easy now. I'd hate for all of this role playing to spoil your normally pleasant att.i.tude,” Desmeres said, his voice not betraying a hint of sarcasm. ”The kitchen is rather well stocked. Would you care for anything?”

”I'll get it myself . . . later,” Myranda said, exhausted.

”See that you do. Big day tomorrow,” Desmeres said before disappearing.

Myranda sat for a time in the emptiness of the mansion. She was surrounded by room after room of overly ornamental furnis.h.i.+ngs. If she had been in higher spirits she might have realized she was, despite the situation, realizing a dream she'd had as a child. And yet, as she sat in a ma.s.sive estate, dressed in clothes that no doubt cost a fortune, all she could think of was how empty it felt. As she ate food she could scarcely have imagined as a girl, her mind turned first to Myn, then to Deacon. Her thoughts lingered on him as she drifted off to sleep. When the morning came, Desmeres awakened her.

”Enjoying the good life?” he asked.

Myranda sighed.

”What next? I'd like to get this whole unpleasantness behind me,” she groaned.

”Well, you will be pleased to know that I will be playing the role of lackey today, at least until we can find one of the slaves that we can trust,” Desmeres said.

”Slaves?” Myranda asked. ”No. They are workers. They are paid a wage.”

”Mm. Yes. In case you hadn't noticed, we are on a mountain and the only horses belong to the owner of the mines. Any money that they make is paid back in exchange for . . . well, room and board. Rather a clever system,” Desmeres explained.

”How can you say that?” Myranda hissed.

”I said clever, not ethical or moral,” Desmeres shrugged.

Myranda shuddered before asking. ”Why can you show your face now?”

”Because the slaves are the only ones left. I a.s.sure you, no royal proclamations mandating my death will have reached them,” Desmeres explained.

The pair bundled up and made their way to the workers' quarters. It was a small city of identical huts. Desmeres recruited a pair of the first workers he encountered to man a cart that handed out the rations for the day, and they set about handing them out.

”What precisely is the purpose of all of this?” Myranda whispered.

”We need to find someone to deliver 'the offer,'” Desmeres replied. ”The whole reason for this purchase. We offer their freedom in exchange for a favor.”

”... Truly? You are telling me that we cannot simply offer it ourselves?” Myranda asked.

”We can certainly try it,” Desmeres said. ”In fact, come with me.”

The door to one of the huts was opened. The inside was little more than a room with a simple bed against one wall. The man and woman inside jumped to their feet when the well dressed strangers entered. The two workers gave a sullen nod of acknowledgment as Desmeres ladled a share of stew into the pot over the meager fire and placed a coa.r.s.e loaf of bread beside it. A single copper coin was handed over in exchange.

”Attention, slaves. If you desire your freedom it will be provided in exchange for a favor and a single drop of blood,” Desmeres announced.

Confusion came to the faces of the slaves.

”That . . . that won't be necessary. The ration is plenty. Paying us for these two days without work is generosity enough,” said the man.

”He . . . he's offered you your freedom,” Myranda said, momentarily breaking out of character.

”Yes, and a kind offer it is. But the ration is more than enough,” the woman replied nervously.

”And if I force you do accept your freedom?” Myranda asked.

”No, please! You are the new owner, are you not? Miss, er, Mistress Tesselor, yes? Please, we will work. We will work gladly. We do not even require the ration for the day!” the woman blurted.

”Yes,” agreed the man. ”Yes, we did not work for it, we do not deserve it.”

Myranda tried twice more to coax them into taking their freedom, but all she succeeded in doing was prompting more vigorous a.s.sertions of loyalty. The next three huts resulted in much the same reaction, to varying degrees.

”I . . . I don't understand. They live in squalor. They have no freedom. They barely have enough to survive. Why wouldn't they leap at the chance for freedom, at any price?” Myranda asked quietly.

”Because of where the freedom is coming from. The owners, old or new, would never offer it. To the slaves this is a test. You are baiting them, trying to goad them into saying something that will let you make an example of them. They wouldn't have trusted their former master. They certainly won't trust a strange new one,” Desmeres explained.

”Then how will we find one that will help us?” Myranda asked.

”We don't. We find one who doesn't care. We will know him when we find him,” Desmeres replied.

Hut after hut of downtrodden workers attempted to quickly and enthusiastically a.s.sure their new master of their happiness and dedication. Finally they came to a door that did not open immediately. Desmeres raised an eyebrow. This, it appeared, was a good sign.

”Open your door at once!” he barked.

There was a tap of footsteps, and finally the door opened. There was the flash of recognition in the stooping figure's eyes.

”Oh. It is you,” he muttered, trudging back to his bed.

”You are the one who carried the chest of gold for me,” Myranda recalled.

”And you are the one who made me smash a table with it. Come to dock my wages? Help yourself. Fat lot of difference it makes,” the bitter man quipped.

Desmeres smiled. When the food and bread were ladled out, Desmeres had the other workers leave the hut, closing the door behind them.

”And what is this about? Punishment? If you are looking for someone to whip me, Hallern, the fellow two doors down, will be darn willing to lend a hand. Certainly hope you don't intend to use this fop. Let him do the whipping and I'm liable to forget he's even doing it,” the man grumbled.

”What is your name, slave?” Desmeres asked.

”Slave, is it? Are we using the proper term now? I suppose you'll be wanting the coppers back then,” he replied.

”Name!” he ordered.

”Udo,” he said.

”Udo, are you happy here?” Desmeres asked.

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