Uneasy Alliances

SLAVE TRADE by Robert Lynn Asprin

Saliman did not have to stretch his acting talents-to maintain an air of disdain as he carefully picked his way through the rows of chained slaves. He had performed this task hundreds of times before, so though unpleasant, the odor of so many close-packed, unwashed bodies was not new to him. The fact that he was on board a ship only added a new batch of musty smells to the proceedings. Pulling his cloak high to keep it from the filth on the floor would do no good. The air itself would invade the fabric until it would either have to be thoroughly cleaned or discarded altogether. One didn't wear one's best clothes to shop for slaves.

No, it was not the distasteful nature of the job that had Saliman in such a vile mood, but rather the hour. The fact that he had been rousted from a warm bed shared by an even warmer bed partner to carry out this mission in the pre-dawn hours virtually guaranteed that he would be less than generous in his negotiations with the slavers.

"I shouldn't be doing this," the man holding the lantern grumbled loudly. "I got better things to do, what with the ship to get underway and all."

This was, of course, the reason for this sudden assignment. The ship was due to sail on the morning tide, and it was important to carry out this mission before it left Sanctuary's waters. Still, it gave Saliman a focus for his irritation.

"Do you want me to tell that to Jubal?" he said, his expression bland. "I'm sure if I alert him to your inconvenience, he'll be careful to only bother you with important matters in the future."

The thinly veiled threat was not lost on the slaver.

"No! I ... that won't be necessary."

The slavers had paid well to be sure that Sanctuary's crime lord did not interfere with their operation, and did not wish to raise that price by denying his request. Particularly not when Jubal's prices were known to occasionally include blood as well as money.

"If you could simply speed your selection?" The man was pleading now. "This is the third time we've been through the rows, and if I don't set sail soon, I'll miss the morning tide and lose a full day's travel."

Saliman ignored him, not deigning to dignify the whine with a response as he peered around the darkness of the ship's hold. Sailing ships were not noted for their punctuality, not when winds and storms could affect their schedules by weeks, not just days.

Still, he was secretly in agreement with the slaver. This was taking much longer than was necessary. Of course, the search was slowed by his reluctance to admit that he was searching for two particular men rather than two slaves in general. If he were to impart that piece of information, the process would be speeded, but the price would doubtless increase with the implied importance of the individuals in question,

Surprisingly enough, it was the man Saliman only had a description of who had been the easiest to find. While his features and hair had been obvious enough, that slave had been rocking back and forth, hugging his knees and moaning his own name as if trying to cling to his pre-slave identity. It was the other man, the one Saliman knew on sight, who had thus far eluded his search.

A movement in the dark caught his eye, and he grasped the slaver's arm, redirecting the light of the hooded lantern.

"What's that?" he demanded, gesturing toward a large sack, its mouth secured by ropes.

"That? Oh, that's a special deal we made. A fellow and a couple of his friends brought that one by ... said they were getting rid of his wife's lover. They made me promise not to let him out of the bag until we were at sea."

"You bought a slave without even looking at him?"

"They weren't asking much for him," the slaver shrugged. "If he's alive, we'll show a profit, and from the way the bag's been jumpin' around it's pretty safe to say he's alive."

"Well, open the bag and let me see him."

"But I just told you-"

"Yes, yes. You promised. But if you're about to sail, who's to know whether you opened it early or not?"

The slaver drew a breath to argue, then shrugged and gestured to the two burly sailors who had been standing by to insure that none of the slaves attempted either attack or escape while the hold was open. Those stalwarts seized the bag, kicking aside any slave who happened to be in their path, and began fumbling with the ropes that secured its mouth. There were a few underbreath grumbles about landsmen who didn't know proper knots, then the bag was opened and its contents jerked upright for display.

The slave was a slim youth, still clothed-which confirmed the slaver's claim that he had been untouched since being brought aboard. His wrists were bound and his mouth gagged, and he blinked painfully in the sudden light of the lantern's glare.

Saliman knew him instantly, though he was careful not to let any sign of recognition show on his face. Shadowspawn. One of Sanctuary's homegrown thieves who had stolen and fought his way to the top of his profession.

The thief gave no sign of recognizing Saliman, though whether this was from any cunning on his part or from simple lantern-blindness and drug-confusion, was hard to tell. Whichever it was, he decided to act before the scene had a chance to change.

"Well, he's not much ... but he's the closest I've seen. I'll take him."

He made a point of turning away before the slaver could even begin the anticipated protest.

"But ... I can't do that!" came the expected sputter. "I told you, we weren't even supposed to open the sack until we were at sea! If the ones who sold him to us see him walking around town-"

"... You won't care one whit because you'll already be at sea with your profits," Saliman finished loftily. "Spare me your efforts to wheedle a higher price. Remember, I'm not some landowner who only buys one slave a year. I'm too familiar with the trade to be convinced of the worth of a slaver's word."

"But-"

"I'll give you fifty in gold for him. If that isn't sufficient I'll just have to review the rest of your stock again. I was trying to be considerate of your schedule, but if you prefer to spend time haggling I have nothing else to do before midday."

Faced with logic, an ebbing tide, and a more than generous offer, the slaver surrendered ... as Saliman had known he would. Still, by the time the money had changed hands and the slaves hauled out of the hold and offloaded onto the wharf, the sun had already begun its slow climb into the heavens.

A wagon was waiting there, and the slaves were put in the load and covered with a tarp, the thief still secured in his sack. Saliman had a healthy respect for the youth's talents, and did not wish to return to Jubal with one slave and a tale of escape. The one called Shadowspawn would have to wait until they were in more secure quarters before his bonds were loosened ... quarters safe not only from escape, but from prying eyes as well.

Despite his offhand manner with the slaver, Saliman kept a careful watch until his cargo was covered from sight. The fishermen had already left for their day's task so the wharf was deserted, but that could only serve to focus attention on his own activities. Though he had had no specific instructions for secrecy, he could see no advantage to letting it be known that the two slaves were still in Sanctuary, and countless disadvantages.

The driver clucked to his team and departed without a wave or a backward glance, leaving Saliman to find his way to the rendezvous on his own. Again, this was as planned. While it would have been easier to ride in the wagon, there were too many in town who recognized him on sight and knew him for Jubal's lieutenant. Shopping and hauling were not among his normal duties, and his presence on the wagon would have drawn unwanted attention to the cargo and its destination.

He was not normally awake, much less about at such an early hour, and as he trudged through the streets Saliman peered about him curiously as the shops and stalls of Sanctuary came to life, preparing for the day's business. There seemed to be more people in town now, a lot of strange faces what with the work being done on the walls. Work meant money in the pockets of the laborers, money which was quickly transferred to the coffers of shopkeepers, tavern owners and whores. The old hopelessness of Sanctuary and the more recent fears during the street wars and magic upheavals seemed to have disappeared in the light of the new prosperity. There was even a light, mischievous tone to the street haggling over prices which had never been there during the old days of desperation.

As he walked and listened. Saliman allowed himself a rare, leisurely moment of envy. It seemed so simple to earn your living that way . - . stock and customers, straightforward transactions where the biggest worry was price-setting and the rent.

How many years had he worked for Jubal now? Did any of these people appreciate or even suspect the amount of work necessary to maintain the crime lord's illusion of omnipresence?

Take this morning's exercise for example. His instructions had been simple enough: Two slaves of a given description, or rather one of a given description and the other a specific, known individual, were to be purchased from a ship where they were being held before that ship set sail.

There had been no explanation as to how Jubal knew of their captivity or reason given for their rescue, just the instruction to effect their release and to deliver them to Jubal with a minimum of disruption or attention.

It would have been a simple enough matter, if it weren't for the short deadline for his work. First, there had been a matter of arranging for operating capital at an hour when no goldsmith or moneylender was functioning. Then someone had to be sent to fetch a wagon and driver to meet him at the ship while he prepared for the visit by learning all he could about the slaver he was to deal with. Though in this case it had proved unnecessary, the information that the slaver had a favorite mistress in town could have proved invaluable if he had proved to be difficult to negotiate with. A timely kidnapping would have given Saliman all the leverage he would need to effect the rescue ... and of course, that contingency had had to be arranged as well. The men standing by near the mistress's dwelling would have to be paid for their time as well as their skills, even though the latter had not been called on.

Fortunately Saliman's records on the night shift of the city guard were up to date, though the recent reorganization had thrown everything into a cocked hat for a while. He knew who was on duty, what their patrol patterns were, who was lax and who was bribable, so the return journey from the wharf could be routed to best avoid interference or questions. It might seem a minor thing, but the recent rash of slaver kidnappings had set the watch on edge, and Saliman had no desire to purchase the two men only to be accused of kidnapping them himself.

Yes, it would be nice to be able to do business openly and simply. Boring perhaps, but nice. Saliman smiled at the thought, then dismissed it. The truth was, he enjoyed his work. If anything, his administrative duties had doubled when Jubal moved his organization underground, and the challenge and excitement generated by the simplest of tasks, like the release of two slaves, was payment in itself . . , though his actual salary was nothing to be ashamed of. Being close to the crime lord meant not only having an overview of everything that happened in town, but actually having a hand in shaping events as well. It was a fascinating job. One Saliman wouldn't give up for the world.

His thoughts amused and occupied him all the way to his destination ... the delivery entrance of The House of Whips and Chains. This brothel was perhaps the most dubious member of Sanctuary's Street of Red Lanterns, catering to the most bizarre and jaded tastes of a notoriously tasteless town. Even so, it would be strange to have an open wagon pull up to the front door, and as such the use of the delivery door was a must. Even here, or, perhaps, especially here, the streets had eyes and it did not pay to relax one's vigilance.

The thief had been released from his sack and was being held, still bound and gagged, between two retainers. Saliman noticed that the youth's eyes were alert and wary, and assumed that whether it was drugs or seasickness which had caused the earlier dullness, it had since worn off. There was no sign of the brothel's women; caution or the hour confined them to their rooms. Also, there was no sign of the second slave, which he assumed meant that Jubal was currently occupied with the interview. This last assumption, however, turned out to be incorrect.

"He wants you upstairs, third door," one of the retainers greeted him flatly. "You're to take this one with you."

So Jubal had finished with the other slave already and was waiting ... impatiently from the sounds of it.

Saliman fought back the urge to grimace and simply nodded as he motioned for the thief to precede him up the stairs. Any indication of difficulty or disunity within Jubal's forces had to be hidden from outsiders. He had worked too hard teaching new recruits the necessity of maintaining that illusion to shatter it himself.

His charge paused in front of the indicated door, and he reached past to rap sharply on the door with a knuckle. The particular rhythm he used signaled that he wasn't alone, but when several moments passed without a call to wait, he opened the door and ushered the thief inside.

The room was dark, one of the windowless, possibly soundproof chambers of the house. The only light came from a small brazier filled with glowing embers from which protruded the handle of a branding iron. There were shackles on the wall, and a low sofa where one could recline comfortably while watching the branding process.

"Close the door."

Jubals voice came from one of the comers the light didn't reach. Saliman obeyed, smiling at his employer's invariable flair for the dramatic.

"Remove his bonds."

Again Saliman moved to comply, this time twirling a blade from its hiding place in his sleeve. He made the move deliberately showy. The thief had a reputation for knives. It wouldn't hurt him to know there were others in Sanctuary who prided themselves on their blade-handling ability. As he reached for the gag, however, the youth beat him to it, ungagging himself with hands that were somehow free from the ropes that had secured them.

Though Saliman showed no reaction, he knew the thief had won this particular round of showing off. So did Shadowspawn, who shot him a mocking glance as he tossed the gag and ropes aside. It seemed doubtful the two would become fast friends.

"Hanse ... sometimes called Shadowspawn," Jubal said, moving into the light of the brazier. "Do you know who I am, thief?"

The youth folded his arms across his chest, his stance arrogant and rebellious.

"We've never met, but it's easy to figure who you are. You're Jubal, right? You're older than I thought."

Saliman winced at the thief's brazen mockery of Jubal's spell-aged body, but the crime lord seemed to take no offense.

"True, we've never met. In fact, you're one of the few of the local talent who never approached me for work, or at least to sell information. I was always curious as to why."

"I work alone," Hanse shrugged. "Besides, I'm choosy about my friends."

"Not too choosy, if your friends include the likes of Tempus Thales," Jubal retorted, his voice hardening. "And as for being your own man ..."

He lifted the iron from the brazier.

"... I fear that came to a halt when the slavers took you. You're mine now. Bought and paid for."

Saliman expected Hanse to flinch, but the thief was uncowed. Though his eyes followed the iron, his voice was firm and confident.

"You aren't going to brand me," he said, more as a statement than a defiant challenge.

"I'm not?"

"You don't have to untie me to brand me," Hanse pointed out. "If anything, the process would be easier if I were still tied. That means you want to talk. All right. Quit waving that iron around and let's talk. What is it you want?"

Jubal stared at the thief for long moments before returning the iron to the brazier. Saliman could understand why. There was nothing in their record to indicate Hanse possessed the intelligence he was now displaying. He wondered if this would mean a change in Jubal's plans.

"You've changed, thief," the crime lord said at last. "What happened while you were gone to change you?"

For the first time since removing his bonds, Shadowspawn seemed to falter.

"I ... I'd rather not talk about it."

"Very well," Jubal nodded. "Shall we get down to business?"

Interesting, Saliman thought. The thief doesn't fear the branding iron, but his recent past makes him uncomfortable. Though Jubal did not look his way or give any other indication, he knew he was expected to make note of Shadowspawn's apparent vulnerability and investigate it as soon as possible.

"How did you know where I was?" Hanse said suddenly.

"I have many sources of information." Jubal waved deprecatingly. "That particular piece of news came to me from the S'danzo."

"The S'danzo?" the thief frowned. "I didn't know you had any friends among the S'danzo."

"I don't," the crime lord acknowledged without rancor. "But now at least a few of them owe me a favor for arranging your freedom. No, the information came from one of your friends."

"My friends?"

"Two of them, actually," Jubal added, apparently relishing the thief's surprise. "One of them, the older, sensed your danger and went to the younger, the blacksmith's wife, to divine your specific location. Hers was the added price of freeing the other slave as well ... a favor to another client, I believe. Anyway, realizing time was short, they passed word to me, asking for my intervention in your behalf."

Saliman was listening attentively. This was the first he knew of the source of this morning's exercise. Learning it now, he realized why Jubal had been so eager to have this mission completed, and completed efficiently. He knew a moment's pride that the crime lord had turned to him as his first choice for crucial work, then returned to his analysis.

The S'danzo were tight-knit and mutually supportive. Jubal had been trying for years to find a chink in their armor, and now their desperation over the welfare of a thief had delivered opportunity into his hands. Saliman wondered briefly of the price exacted for his work. Had Juba! demanded guarantees and assurances, or had he risked it all on performing this favor gratis, preferring to leave the repayment unspecified and therefore open. Probably the latter. Jubal had gained much of his power from Just such favors owed in return for his help at key moments.

"Then I'm free to go?" Hanse said uncertainly, glancing again at Saliman.

"I didn't say that." Jubal smiled.

"But you said the S'danzo paid for you to have me freed."

"What I said was, they asked me to free you from the slavers. That's been done. However nothing was said about freeing you from me ... and I happen to have need of your services myself."

"Since when did you need help to steal something," Shadowspawn sneered, his old arrogance back.

"I don't, thief. At least, not from the likes of you," Jubal replied coldly. "There is, however, a task you can perform for me in return for your complete freedom ... one involving someone who trusts you."

"I'm a thief, not an assassin," the youth snapped proudly.

The crime lord raised his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise.

"Reluctant to kill. are you? Strange, I don't recall your showing any reluctance the night you helped Tempus kill four of my men."

Even in the brazier's glow Saliman could see the thief blanch.

"You do remember, don't you? That night outside the Lily Garden? Or perhaps you thought I didn't know about it."

"They attacked us. It was self-defense," Shadowspawn seemed suddenly aware of the hot iron again.

"They were trying to punish Tempus for murdering their comrades ... and stop him from continuing his sport of hunting Hawkmasks, of course," Jubal intoned. "I know you had no choice, however. Otherwise I wouldn't have left your killings without response."

He paused to study the thief.

"Now, if I thought you had a hand in freeing Tempus from Kurd's, I might not be so generous in my treatment of you."

Saliman kept a blank expression as he watched the tl]ieftry to hide his discomfort. It was clear that Hanse was unsure if Jubal was truly ignorant of his part in Tempus's escape, or if he was simply being toyed with. His fear of the crime lord was great enough, however, that he wouldn't risk Jubal's possible wrath by openly admitting his guilt. Saliman knew, however, that now that fear was foremost in the thief's mind, they could get down to business.

"That's all behind us now. Rest assured I don't need you to kill anyone," Jubal said smoothly, as if reading Saliman's thoughts. "Actually, all you have to do to win your freedom is to arrange a meeting for me."

"A meeting?"

"Yes. With Prince Kadakithis. I believe he's a friend of yours?"

The thief was clearly off balance now.

"How did you know that?"

Jubal smiled.

"I've been aware of it for some time. I would suggest, however, if you want it kept secret, that you try to keep the Prince from shouting about it in public ... like, from the top of brick piles?"

Hanse flinched at the memory, but gathered himself to rally back.

"Why do you want to meet with him? I'd have to tell him something."

"Probably not. I believe my name is not exactly unknown to him. Still, if it will ease things, tell him I have a business proposition for him."

"What kind of a proposition?"

Jubal turned back to the brazier and poked at the coals with the iron as he answered

"There's a civil war coming, thief. Not a local upheaval like we've just survived, an Empire-wide struggle. Even you should be able to see that. This town's only hope of success is to rally behind one leader ... and right now Kadakithis would seem to be that leader. I plan to offer him my services . - . mine and my organization's. I believe we can aid him as an intelligence network, providing information and, if need be, stilling dissenting voices. I think even Vashanka's priest would admit our value in that capacity."

The crime lord turned to face the thief.

"All you have to do is arrange the meeting. Unfortunately, my position makes it difficult, if not impossible, to approach him through normal channels. Arrange it, and you may go free."

"What if I agree and just keep going?"

"I'll find you," Jubal said calmly. "More important, until you've discharged your obligation to me, you'll be my slave. Legally, bought and paid for. I don't have to brand you."

The crime lord tossed the iron back into the brazier to illustrate his point. "You'll know it, and I'll know it. I think that knowing you're not your own man, that you belong to me, will mark you more than I could ever do with a branding iron."

Saliman was not so sure, but he had learned to trust Jubal's judgment when it came to people- Watching the thief ponder the proposal, he began to believe anew.

"What if the Prince doesn't agree? He's changed since I've been gone. There's no guarantee I can convince him if he isn't interested in your offer."

"All I ask is that you try." Jubal grimaced. "If he refuses, then I'll let you buy your freedom ... for five hundred in gold."

Shadowspawn's head came up.

"Five hundred? That's not enough!"

Jubal laughed.

"I should think you'd be more likely to argue the price was too high, especially considering what we paid for you. Still, if it will make you feel better, I could name a higher figure."

Shadowspawn shook his head. "You could double it ... triple it even and it would be too low."

"I know," Jubal said solemnly. "The price always sounds low to a slave. It's because he thinks of his worth as a man, while the buyer and seller see him only as merchandise."

Saliman could see the crime lord's thoughts turning to his own beginnings in the gladiator pens, but then Jubal seemed to shake off the memories as he continued.

"The price stands at five hundred," he stated, eyeing the thief. "Frankly, I'd rather you concentrated on arranging the meeting. That is priceless to me."

"I'll see what I can do. Can I go now?"

"One more thing. While you belong to me, I feel a certain responsibility for your safety. Here."

The crime lord produced an oilskin-wrapped package from within his tunic and tossed it to Shadowspawn. Opening it, the thief found a familiar assortment of knives and throwing stars.

"I wouldn't ask you to walk the streets of Sanctuary unarmed. You'll probably feel more comfortable with your weapons. In case you're wondering, a man named Tarkle was selling them."

"I know," the thief growled, settling the glittering bits of death in their customary places. "I recognized his voice when they loaded me on the ship."

Saliman had to hide his smile. Obviously Jubal had planned this surprise as the climax to the interview ... a final demonstration of his access to secret information. The thief had already known the secret, but luckily Shadowspawn was so preoccupied with his knives that he didn't realize how anti-climactic the announcement was.

"Well, whatever you're thinking will have to wait until after you've seen the Prince," Jubal ordered irritably. "I didn't go to all this trouble to lose you in an alley brawl. Remember, for the time being at least, you're not your own man- You're mine."

"Oh, I'll remember. Believe me, I'll remember."

Saliman felt a sudden chill as Shadowspawn met the crime lord's look with a gaze that was not at all subservient.