Beneath the Eye of God (The Commodore Ardcasl Space Adventures Book 1) (3 page)

Chapter 3

To call it a town was to make it sound too grand by half. To call it a village suggested quaintness, which it in no way had. It was a dusty crossroads where traders traditionally gathered and a market had grown up. Around the market a number of businesses had taken root—taverns, gambling dens and brothels—all with the single purpose of separating the country people from their cash. None of the structures was imposing. Like the road and the market, they were haphazard and dusty.

Ohan had never seen a place so grand.

"Now listen carefully, lad," the Commodore said. "The twins and I are going to stop in at this tavern for refreshment and information. I have 80 coppers left over from paying off the workers. I make it a rule never to enter a tavern with more money than I intend to spend foolishly. I therefore am entrusting this purse into your safekeeping."

Elor had given Ohan a list of things they needed from the market. The Commodore counted out five coppers which he stuffed into Ohan's pocket. The rest, rolled tightly in a purse so they wouldn't jingle, he placed inside the lining of Ohan's jacket. "There now. You look far from prosperous. No one should bother you. The market is just down the road. The money in your pocket will be enough for the supplies. Have a look around, buy a snack for yourself and meet us back here in a couple of hours."

To be walking through this grand town on his way to market with money in his pocket seemed to Ohan an incredible dream. "Seek you a woman, young master?" A boy had fallen into step beside him.

"I seek no one is this town. I have come to buy produce at the market."

"It's best not to get there too early," the boy said knowledgeably. "They save their best produce until later in the day, you know."

"They do?"

"Oh yes. The early morning produce is the stuff they couldn't sell yesterday. The fresh produce comes in at noon and is ready for sale an hour later. Do you come here often?"

"Oh . . . well, not often," Ohan lied. "That is, I haven't been here lately."

"Then let me show you around while you're waiting. No sense standing outside in the hot sun." He was steering Ohan toward a narrow alley off the main street.

"You mean you live here all the time?" The idea of a lifetime spent in such opulence was beyond Ohan's comprehension.

"Sure." The boy glanced sideways at him. "Of course someday I'd like to travel and see the world like you do. Come on in and meet my friends." He had Ohan maneuvered almost into a doorway.

"Oh, I couldn't meet anyone. I'm not properly dressed."

"That's all right. They won't mind." He gave a shove and Ohan found himself inside a dimly lit room, richly curtained and heavy with perfume.

It took his breath away, as did the women he began to perceive seated on cushions on the floor and standing in the shadows around the room. They were quite the loveliest he had ever seen. And some of them, he realized with a start, were looking at him.

In a rush of panic he began backing toward the door. But his newfound friend was pushing him farther into the room. "These are your friends?" Ohan stammered.

"Sure. I told you you'd like them. Which one do you want to meet?"

"None! I mean I would but I can't. I wouldn't know what to say."

"No problem. You needn't say anything at all. Give me three coppers and pick the one you want."

"Three coppers?" Ohan fumbled dazedly in his pocket. "I don't understand. What are they doing here?"

"Anything you want, but you have to pick one."

"They're all so beautiful. Oh . . . look at that one."

"The tall blond? That figures. How about the redhead over there? She's a lot nicer and knows tricks that'll curl your toes."

"You said I could pick any one. Anyway, I shouldn't even be here and why did you want three coppers and . . . "

"All right! The blond it is. You wait here." The boy scurried over to the woman who stood watching them from the shadows at the far side of the room. She was fair-haired, smooth-skinned and twice the height of the boy who sidled cautiously up to speak to her. She wore a short tunic. Her long legs, which Ohan found it difficult to take his eyes from, were bare. He watched in fascination the way they moved, then realized in horror that they were moving toward him. He looked wildly around for his young friend. The boy had disappeared. Before he could form a plan of escape, the woman was at his side propelling him through a curtained doorway, down a narrow hall and into a small room, empty except for rugs on the walls and large pillows on the floor.

"OK, sport," she said. "What'll it be?

It took Ohan a moment to find his voice. "What will what be?" he croaked feebly.

"Look, kid, it's your two coppers and your choice. But I don't do guessing games. You've got to tell me what you want."

"Actually I gave him three but I wasn't sure . . . I was just looking . . . He said we could maybe talk but I don't really . . ." He was feeling a little faint.

"Look and talk. You got it, sport." She was untying her tunic. "And you only paid me two coppers. Your pal kept the other for himself. You better sit down. You're beginning to look a little green around the edges"

Ohan sat down. She filled the little room. There didn't seem to be enough air left for him to breathe.

"How about the story of what a nice girl like me is doing in a crummy dump like this?" She sat down opposite him. Ohan though his heart would stop. "That's always a crowd pleaser."

Ohan nodded feebly.

"I used to be rich." She leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "I told you this would be good for a laugh. My father had this big estate up in the highlands." She looked at Ohan. "You ever been up there?"

He tried to shake his head.

"It's not at all like it is here. It rains there. There are streams and mountains. We even had our own lake. I guess you never really appreciate things until it's too late. My father had six daughters. I was the youngest and the least ladylike. With so many other girls around to do the spinning, the sewing, the embroidery and all that girl stuff, nobody much cared if I spent my time climbing trees, hunting, riding and playing around with knives and swords. My father's grooms and soldiers taught me as if I were a boy. Those were great days. I can't think back on them now, here in this hole, without wanting to cry."

She paused, her eyes focused beyond the little room. Ohan, fearing she might really cry, fumbled for his handkerchief.

"Fool!" Her attention snapped back angrily as she swept it aside. "I haven't cried for three years." She softened when she saw him cowering against the wall. "Crying excites a class of men," she explained. "I will not do it for them."

She retrieved Ohan's handkerchief, folded it neatly and tucked it back into his pocket. Her touch was very light. It made him nervous. "My father was also a fool, a gentle man who believed the world a better place than it is. He was a scholar, more interested in his books than in managing his estate and training his men."

"His brother, my uncle, was another kind of man. He came with his troops and took our estate and killed my father and mother. He took my sisters as concubines or gave them as prizes to his lieutenants. I resisted. I too was a fool, and hot-blooded. Knowing what I do today of the ways of the world, I should have charmed him, then slit his throat as he lay beside me sleeping. I dream of watching as his life's blood soaks away into the sheets. But I was young then and knew nothing. I resisted so he took me by force, brutally, then gave me to his soldiers. Now I am here, older by three years and wiser in the ways of the world by a hundred."

She drew closer to Ohan and laid her hand on his knee. "I'm sorry that wretched boy took three of your coppers for that which every man knows costs but two. But now your time is up unless you have another."

"Oh, I have more but they are not mine to spend." At the touch of her hand and the softness in her voice, Ohan's nervousness melted away. He began to babble about his errand and his wondrous companions.

The girl was gratifyingly impressed. "And how many coppers has this Commodore left in your safekeeping?"

"He gave me 80. That boy took three so I only have 77 left. I'm afraid the Commodore will be angry. And I still have to buy the supplies."

"Never mind." She stroked his cheek lightly with her fingertips. "Seventy-seven should be enough. Your Commodore sounds like a kind and generous master. I'm sure he will approve. You can buy my contract." She stood up, retied her tunic and pulled Ohan to his feet.

"What? Contract? I don't understand."

She took Ohan's head in her hands and drew his ear close to her mouth. "I'm a prisoner here," she whispered. "It will take years to buy my way free. It's awful here, Ohan. They put their hands all over me. Only you can save me."

She had pressed him to the wall with her body. He felt the heat of it. Her scent filled his nostrils. It made him dizzy. "Who touches you?" he stammered. "What can I do?"

"Ye gods," she slipped the purse from the lining of his coat. "You still don't know what this place is? I'm a prisoner here but the Fates have sent you to save me. Let's leave it at that."

She pulled him from the room and hustled him farther along the narrow hallway. "I am Leahn. My life is in your hands. Keep quiet and let me do the talking." She knocked on a door, paused for a second, then burst through, shoving Ohan before her.

A plump, middle-aged woman sat eating breakfast in the most amazing bed Ohan had ever seen. It had a red canopy supported by carved pillars. There were tassels and billowing silks everywhere.

"This gentleman would buy my contract," Leahn said as she scattered the coins from Ohan's purse across the flowered bedcovers.

Indignation at the interruption alternated with interest in the money as the woman struggled to collect herself. She wiped a dribble of jam from her chin. "We should truly hate to lose you, Leahn, my dear."

"Look at it." The girl's sweeping gesture encompassed the scattered coins. "That's more than I clear in a year. I'm not good at this. I haven't the temperament for it."

"You do have a tendency to discourage repeat customers but I'm sure that can be worked out. How much is here, exactly?"

"Eighty," the girl said. "Actually 77 plus the two in my pocket makes 79 and you owe me 12. Pay me eleven, keep one and that will make 80."

"Really, dear. I've never sold a girl for less than a hundred. Think of my reputation." She was gathering up the coins in her pudgy fingers with remarkable speed, counting and talking at the same time. "But I can see you have your mind set on leaving. I'm too kind to my girls. It's a fault, I know. But none of us is perfect. I'll keep ten of the eleven I owe you and we'll settle on 90 coppers for your contract. Here's your change, my dear, and may the gods speed you on your way. I hope you and your young, uh . . . man will be very happy."

She fished a large metal box out from among the bedclothes. She removed a paper which Leahn glanced at, then folded away inside her tunic along with the single coin the woman gave her.

Still trying to digest the previous scene, Ohan found himself in an alleyway being hustled toward the street. "I think we're OK," Leahn was saying. "She'll spend the rest of the day pulling the bed apart looking for the four coppers I shortchanged her. I would have kept more but she's amazingly quick at counting money. That's why I scattered them."

At the street corner she turned and faced him. Taking the paper from her tunic, she pressed it into his hand. "OK, sport, I'm yours."

Ohan stared at the document. "Oh no! I couldn't. I mean I bought you your freedom from that terrible place but we uh . . . we don't keep slaves, we galaxy traders. It . . . it slows us down."

"Freedom?" She took the paper from his hand and tucked it back into her tunic. "I'm afraid it's not that easy, sport. I've got nowhere to go. With five lousy coppers, I'd soon starve. Or worse. I'd be better off selling myself back into that place, except she probably wouldn't have me. That fat cow said I ate too much. Buying a girl's contract is serious business around here, sport. You can't just toss us aside if you change your mind. Besides, you need a bodyguard."

"A bodyguard? Why would I need a bodyguard?"

"Well look at you. Weren't you just cheated out of 80 coppers? And what's going to happen to you when your friend the Commodore finds out?"

Ohan's eyes went wide. "He'll kill me."

"See. You need a bodyguard."

"But . . . but you?"

"I told you. I can ride and fight better than any three men in this town. At least I will soon. Step in here." She had steered Ohan into another dim alleyway and up to a dusty shop. The windows were caked with grime. A broken one was boarded up. The few items stacked haphazardly on view gave little clue as to what might be for sale inside. Once through the door, Ohan still couldn't tell what they had come to buy. A bit of everything crowded the narrow aisles. He saw harness, books, chain, farm implements, tools and great stacks of closed boxes and crates piled high up into the dusty gloom where the ceiling must be.