Curse of the Forbidden Book (6 page)

“He'll live,” a grim voice said. “His kind always lives.”

Jesse looked up in the direction of the voice. “Silas!”

“You didn't think we'd leave you, did you?” He was perched on the roof of the nearest building, staying a safe distance away from the edge. “As soon as we realized you were gone, I knew what must have happened.”

“How'd you get up there?” Jesse saw no ladder or stairs along the street.

“Come to the front,” Silas said instead of explaining, walking gingerly across the dingy wooden shingles. “I'll meet you there, if I don't fall through. It looks like Roddy hasn't taken good care of his roof.”

With one last glance to make sure the thief with the knife was not following, Jesse hurried the rest of the way down the alley.

Although Jesse turned onto a main street, there were few people passing by him as he limped to the front of Roddy's tavern. There were signs on the buildings—a baker, a doctor, a tanner—but many looked abandoned, and some were boarded up.

Jesse stopped when he saw Rae and Parvel. They were standing outside the most run-down establishment they had seen so far. The steps to the narrow porch were nearly rotted away, and the painted sign—“Roddy's Haunt,” it read in fading, crude letters—swayed in the wind, hanging by one leather strap.

“Careful down there!” Silas called. He sat on the edge of the building, and, turning around, found the sill of a second-story window with his feet. From there, it was a short jump to the railing around the porch of the tavern. Jesse winced as it groaned under Silas' weight.

“I hope you learned what happens when you endanger yourself for someone else,” Silas continued, jumping the rest of the way. “From now on, we look after ourselves.”

“We'll just have to be more careful next time,” Parvel said cheerfully.

Silas ignored him. “I played up on that roof many times when I was younger. No doubt some of the street children know of it too. It looks like someone has been living up there.”

“I can't imagine why,” Rae said, squinting in disgust. “This place is a wreck. And besides that, it stinks­—like uncured leather and old wine rotting in the sun.”

“It is a bit…rustic,” Parvel said, staring at the crumbling wood planks and dusty windows. Jesse took a step closer. There were a few thin cracks cutting through the surface like a spider web.

“It's always looked this way,” Silas explained. “Roddy was never much for cleanliness.” He pounded on the door. “Roddy! Roddy, it's Silas! Let me in!”

The door opened slowly on creaky hinges, but Silas didn't go inside. Jesse peered over his shoulder. There was no one there, only an eerie silence. “They should be open by now,” Silas muttered.

“Well, let's go in,” Rae said, shoving past them. “I don't want to be standing here when those thieves come back.”

But even she stopped as she saw the inside of the tavern. Tables and chairs were overturned. Some had been broken into pieces. There was a river of broken glass crushed into fine bits, and stains where Roddy's drinks had seeped into the wooden floor. The stairs near the door looked like they had been hacked apart.

“What happened here?” Jesse asked at last.

“It looks like there was an earthquake,” Parvel said. He walked over to the counter on the far side of the room and righted one of the fallen shelves.

“Or a raid,” Rae said bluntly. She turned to Silas. “Did this…friend of yours ever do something against the law?”

Silas shook his head numbly. “No. Not Roddy. He was as loyal to the king as anyone I've ever met.”

“Maybe he moved away,” Jesse suggested, “and some street ruffians looted his place.”

“I don't understand…” Silas said, staring blankly at the ruins.

“You there!”

The others were staring at the doorway, so Jesse turned. There, blocking their only escape, were two Patrol members. “What are you doing here?” the first one asked. He squinted at them under thick, dark eyebrows.

“Just looking for a friend,” Silas said evenly. Patrol members had every right to stop anyone they wanted, and Jesse knew that it was never good to make them angry.

“Let's see your papers.”

Jesse glanced at Rae and Silas. Their papers, issued to them by the kingdom of Amarias at birth, were back in the Deep Mines, property of the Rebellion. “We don't have them,” Rae answered at last.

Before, Silas, Rae, and Parvel could simply have showed the Patrol their Youth Guard tattoos, authorizing them as the elite fighters of the king. Now, though, they had learned much about King Selen and the real purpose of the Youth Guard. The king and the king's Patrol were now the enemy.

And there's also the fact that we're supposed to be dead
.

“Well, where are the papers?” the second Patrol member, the one with a few day's growth of whiskers, demanded.

“Stolen,” Silas said evenly. It was true enough, though Silas did not go into detail of how members of the Rebellion had been the thieves.

“Convenient, ain't it?” the squint-eyed Patrol member sneered. “And the fact that these children bear weapons fittin' for the Rebellion.”

Oh, no. If they think we are a part of the group that is fighting against the king….

“Drop your swords,” the other commanded. Parvel did, and nudged Rae, who was giving the Patrol a hostile glare. She too reluctantly dropped her sword to the ground.

“I swear on my honor,” Parvel said solemnly, “we are not of the Rebellion.” Jesse noticed that he did not declare loyalty to the king.

“Maybe, maybe not,” the squint-eyed one said. “We'll have to search you.”

The whiskered Patrol member had already discovered Silas' dagger. “Look at this!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Edged with real gold!”

The dagger had been a gift from Samar, their smuggler friend, in the desert. The Patrol member didn't take time to notice the delicate etchings on the handle before shoving it into his belt.

“Here,” Jesse said, handing him the alms from his pocket. “It is all of value that I own.” He held his walking stick closer and hoped that the Patrol members would not notice it.

“Well,” the squint-eyed Patrol member said, “though you may not be Rebellion, you were found in the home of a confirmed traitor….”

“Traitor?” Silas blurted. “You can't mean Roddy!”

“He was found to be harboring some of the Rebellion here. We took him away not two weeks ago.”

“No!” Silas protested. “He would never—there must be some mistake!”

“Oh, there was no mistake, my young thief.” The whiskered Patrol member leaned closer, as if telling a secret. “Although, between you and me, his arrest may have had something to do with Lady Taralyn's eighteenth birthday coming up.”

Who is Lady Taralyn? What is he talking about?

“And that is exactly why we're gonna take you to the auction block,” the squint-eyed Patrol member said, grinning to himself. “We'll get a handsome price for four young ones like these.”

The other nodded. “There's enough evidence against them, I say.”

“What evidence?” Rae demanded. “You've proven nothing against us!”

Both Patrol members ignored her. “Get going,” the whiskered one said, shoving Jesse forward. “We have to get there before our shift ends at curfew.”

“Where are we going?” Rae again.
Her rude tone is going to get us all killed
.

“To the marketplace of Davior,” the Patrol member replied, prodding them forward. “Governor Elias' daughter is going to be married this week, and they're always shorthanded. And if they don't buy you, someone else will.”

“That's right,” the other agreed, smiling to himself as he examined the dagger again. “Young ones like you always go for a high price. Owners like to have a long time to work their slaves to death.”

Back at his uncle's inn, Jesse had served food to slave dealers, and he had always thought there was something repulsive about them. The way they talked about the trouble caused when one of their wares decided to break away, or the excellent deals they had made in the capital had made him sick.

Now, he was in the middle of one of the stories, and it was far worse than he ever could have imagined.

In the town square, right outside the governor's palace, Jesse stood in front of a crowd of people, all of them talking at once, much faster and louder than people from Jesse's hometown. The noise that buzzed around him reminded Jesse of the kalthara locusts he had seen in the desert.

As he glanced out at the faces, Jesse tried to decide who were the buyers and who were the gawkers, come to watch the excitement of a slave auction. The rich men wore fine robes, high-collared cloaks with gold and silver trim, and hats with pheasant feathers sticking out at odd angles. Jesse thought they looked ridiculous.

There were a few men, dressed simply, who stood by themselves, as if wanting to distance themselves from the commoners. They had a look of authority, and most held ledgers and quills.
Perhaps sent by a very rich person as a representative
, Jesse decided. It made sense. Why would a nobleman buy his own slaves when he could send a servant to do it?

“All right, you,” a voice behind him grumbled. It was one of the men who had bought them from the Patrol members, the one with the belly that sagged over his belt. “Enough staring. They don't like that.”

His partner, a sharp-featured man who Jesse had decided looked like the shrews that lived in burrows in his uncle's woods, began to mount the creaky platform, taking with him the worn black ledger where he had recorded his purchase of Jesse, Silas, Parvel and Rae.

That had been a less than pleasant experience, being haggled over like a piece of bruised fruit or day-old fish, especially because the slave traders kept pointing out that Jesse's crippled leg “lowered his value.”

After they had finally reached an agreement on the price, the fat man had grunted at Jesse. “We'll sell you in a lot with the tall one. Maybe someone will actually pay for you then.”

The “tall one” was Silas, and he stood next to Jesse, waiting for the auction to begin. Both had their hands bound, though Jesse clutched his staff. “It's the only way I can walk,” he explained when the shrew man had looked at it greedily, “and I'll tell the buyers that if you take it from me.” He had let Jesse keep the staff, although he had been none too happy about it.

“We won't have to wait long,” Silas whispered to Jesse. “There's a large crowd, even for the capital city.”

Sure enough, the shrew man stood at the edge of the platform, shouting over the chaos of the crowd, “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the finest slaves in all of Amarias!”

“I feel like I should start singing and dancing,” Parvel muttered from behind them.

Jesse didn't laugh. He didn't feel like laughing.
Besides, that might bring down my value
.

“Let the buying begin!” the shrew man declared, and some in the crowd actually cheered, mostly the common people.

The fat man shoved Jesse and Silas forward. “You're first. Stand up straight.”

“Here we have two hard-working young men,” the shrew man announced in his booming voice. “The smaller one walks with a bit of a limp, but he's sharp and thorough in his work.”

Jesse wondered how he would know any of this.
I suppose he just makes it up
.

“The tall one is unusually strong,” the shrew man said, jerking up Silas' sleeve.

Jesse winced. Silas had the brand of the Youth Guard on his shoulder, a clearly distinguishable mark of an
A
enclosed in a broken circle.
If the man moves his sleeve up any higher….

But he didn't, turning back to the crowd instead. “See those corded muscles?”

For a while, the shrew man went on like that, praising their many good qualities, downplaying any negatives ones. “See for yourselves,” he invited, gesturing to the two short steps that led up to the platform. “Buyers only,” he added, glaring at a street urchin near the fringes of the crowd who started toward him.

A few of the servants with the ledgers mounted the platform, followed by four rich men, looking as if it were beneath their dignity to be there at all. They looked at Jesse and Silas, felt their muscles, and examined their skin. It reminded Jesse of what his father had done when he went out to buy a horse or chicken in town.

One jerked up Silas' hands, pushing away the edge of the rope from his palms. “Good,” he said, nodding in satisfaction. “Not an escaped thief or murderer. I won't buy any of them, no matter how low the price.”

Another lifted up the edge of Jesse's ragged trouser leg, frowning as he examined the crippled leg. “Can you walk, boy?”

“I assure you,” the shrew said, “all of our slaves are in good condition for any kind of work….”

The rich man ignored him, turning back to Jesse. “Well?”

“With my staff, I can,” Jesse replied, not sure if that was the correct answer.

“Won't be much good,” another rich man said. “Not for anything useful.”

“No,” the first one disagreed. “I like slaves like this. It's harder for them to run away.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the buyers, and Jesse wondered if that was a good thing.
Probably not,
he decided.
But none of it matters, as long as the four of us stay together.
How he was going to manage that as a nameless, crippled slave, he had no idea.

“All right,” the shrew declared, as the buyers left the platform. “What do I hear for this lot of slaves?”

“Ten sceptres,” one of the servants called out.

“I'll make it fifteen.” It was the rich man who liked slaves who couldn't run away.

As the bidding went up, Jesse tried not to look surprised. He had never heard of this much money in all of his life. Most guests at the inn paid in crowns, and he had seen a gold sceptre coin only twice.
Then again, I've never sold human beings either.

When the bidding was at twenty sceptres, someone from the back of the crowd shouted, “Thirty-five sceptres!”

This voice was new, and most of the crowd knew it, because they all turned, craning their necks to spot the newcomer.

There, leaning casually against the wall of a nearby building, was the foreigner from the alley. If he realized how out of place he looked with his dark skin and loose-fitting, colorful robe in the middle of a mob of grays and browns, he didn't show it. His easy smile seemed to tell everyone around him that he knew what he was doing.

At least, that was why Jesse thought no one made another bid.
Maybe we just aren't worth any more.

“Sold!” the shrew declared, nodding at his partner. The fat man led Jesse and Silas toward their new master, parting the crowd with a scowl and shaking of his large fist.

“Here you are, sir,” the fat man said, shoving Jesse and Silas toward him. With his hands tied, Jesse could barely grip his walking stick to keep from falling. “Two slaves.”

The foreigner nodded politely. “Thank you.”

Now the fat man held out his dirty hand, clearing his throat.

“Oh, of course. The money.” The foreigner counted out the correct amount of coins from his pouch—the one the thief in the alley had been trying to steal—and gave them to the fat man.

So much money, all in one place!
Jesse could hardly believe it. The man even had a few ten-sceptre pieces, something he had heard about, but had never seen.

“These ropes will not be necessary. If you would,” the foreigner said, nodding at the knife in the fat man's belt.

“You mean untie them?” the fat man asked, his face twisting into a sneer. “They'll run away!”

“I believe that is my decision to make,” the foreigner said calmly and with a confidence that Jesse admired. “Cut the ropes.”

“Yes, sir,” the fat man said meekly, sawing away at Jesse's ropes without much gentleness.

Now Jesse knew that his new master was an important person. It was more than his money or the way he was dressed—he acted with authority. The fat man even bowed a little before waddling back to the platform.

Most of the crowd had turned back to watch the auction, and many even backed away from Jesse, Silas, and the foreigner.
It's because he looks different. They don't trust him
.

“My name is Prince Corin,” the foreigner said to them, giving a jerky little half-bow that made him seem like a puppet with tangled strings. “At your service.”

“At
our
service?” Silas asked, frowning.

“Yes,” Prince Corin said. “In my country, when someone saves a life, the person they save is responsible to pay back that debt.”

“Even if that debt costs thirty-five sceptres?” Jesse asked.

Now a hint of a smile appeared on Prince Corin's face. “Well, I would not have my money anyway if that thief had succeeded. Besides, I plan on spending more than thirty-five sceptres.”

“Why?” Jesse asked, confused.

“Your friend saved me too, did he not?”

In all of the confusion, Jesse had forgotten about Parvel and Rae.

“You saved his life?” Silas asked Jesse. “How?”

Jesse explained, never looking away from the auction so he would be sure to see when Parvel was up for bid.

Prince Corin purchased Parvel for forty-two sceptres, after a fierce bidding war. It seemed that everyone wanted the strong, burly Parvel for a slave.

“Come, let us leave this place,” Prince Corin said, once Parvel had joined them. “It disgusts me.”

“But what about Rae?” Jesse blurted. They were just starting to bring the women out on the platform.

Prince Corin looked confused. “Who?”

“Now, the ladies!” the shrew man called, and there was another cheer, louder this time, along with scattered bursts of laughter. His partner shoved Rae forward first.

“Her!” Jesse hissed, pointing at Rae. “She's with us.”

“Take a look at this gentle blossom,” the shrew declared. At the moment, Rae, jaw tight and dark eyes glaring defiantly out at the crowd, looked anything but gentle. “She's sixteen years old.”

That was a lie. Rae was fourteen, a year younger than Jesse.

“Young and beautiful,” the shrew continued. “Take note of her delicate hands—perfect for needlework.”

Or for wielding a sword
. “Are you going to bid?” Jesse demanded, as the shrew blathered on.

“I did not know she was with you,” Prince Corin said, clearly distressed. “How could I? You never said.”

“Twenty sceptres!”

“Well,” Parvel said impatiently, as yet another man raised his hand for bidding, “now that you know, bid!”

Jesse was shocked at his bluntness, but he remembered that Parvel was the son of a nobleman, and was used to ordering others around.

Prince Corin dipped his hand back into his purse and counted out the coins. “I do not have enough!” he whispered.

“How is that possible?” Silas demanded. “I thought you were a prince!”

“Silas,” Parvel scolded. “I'm sure he wasn't planning on buying four slaves.”

“We can buy Rae back later,” Jesse said, trying to calm Silas. “Once this misunderstanding is cleared up….”

“You don't understand,” Silas said flatly. The bid was up to twenty-eight sceptres. “In District Two, rich merchants often have more than one wife. They especially prefer beautiful slave girls.”

“What?” Jesse sputtered. “You don't mean that Rae….”

One of the men with a ridiculous feathered hat called out, “Thirty-two sceptres!” He was so fat that he had jowls instead of a chin.
And Rae might have to marry him?

“Forty sceptres.” This bid was from a Patrol member. Bright against the standard dark blue Patrol uniform was a red armband. Jesse had never seen one before.
Perhaps it means he's an officer of some kind
. The thought was not comforting. Patrol members were known for being cruel, and their leaders even more so.

No one raised the bid any higher, though the shrew man tried to bring it up. “Sold!” he declared. The fat man practically had to wrestle Rae to get her to come down from the platform. Although she kept her head high, Jesse saw a flicker of fear in her eyes as she passed them.

“I'll die before I let him take her away,” Silas said, and though there was little emotion in his voice, Jesse believed him.

“I will speak to him,” Prince Corin said, putting his hand on Silas' shoulder to hold him back. “Perhaps my influence will count for something. He may be reasonable.”

“It's clear that you're a stranger here,” Silas said. “Reasonable is not a good word to describe most Patrol, especially the palace guards.”

So that was what the red armband means.

Prince Corin was not going to be discouraged. “Just the same, I can try.”

“Couldn't you kick him like you did that thief?” Jesse blurted out. Prince Corin gave him a withering look. “It was just an idea.”

But when Prince Corin returned, Rae was not with him. “He will not give her up,” he said, shaking his head. “Not for any amount of money. He said that Lady Taralyn needs a new maid. Her last one was dismissed from service yesterday.”

In spite of himself, Jesse breathed a sigh of relief. “Then she's not going to be married to anyone?”

“No.”

The next question was obvious. “Who is Lady Taralyn?”

“Governor Elias' daughter,” Silas replied, looking grim. “Which means that she's one of the richest, most powerful women in District Two. If she wants Rae as a servant, she will get her.”