Chapter 122 — Trouble
Blade of Dawn · Page 1 of 3
The slave trader nicknamed "Goldie" was brought in—a corpulent man with shrewd eyes. Like most slavers of this era, he was draped in vulgar ornaments and meaningless seals of office. Slave traders were usually wealthy, their fortunes sometimes rivaling those of minor nobles; yet under the laws of every nation and the traditional teachings of most churches, trafficking in slaves stained the soul, and so no slaver, however rich, was permitted noble status—not even a hollow "knighthood" or honorary title bought with donations. Hence these men of overflowing coffers liked to hang themselves with gaudy finery and self-designed crests to display their standing, and to console themselves besides.
Brought in alongside "Goldie" were two serfs, a man and a woman—the elder brother and the younger sister of the dead serf "Sam." The three siblings had been sold here together, and before they had even managed a mouthful of hot food, their brother had died on the docks.
Yet on the faces of the brother and sister, fear and tension had entirely overwhelmed the grief that ought to have been there.
Losing a sibling was sorrowful, but far more terrifying was the punishment that might descend upon the living. They knew clearly—and accepted—one fact: in the eyes of nobles, serfs did not count as people. A slave had exploded on the docks, and to a noble this was an unforgivable loss; he had not only lost a slave but soiled his ground.
So they trembled, dreading the wrath about to fall upon them, and they assumed the lord had summoned them precisely to punish them. If only they were merely required to do three people's work between the two of them, that would be a mercy; what they truly feared was the lash and starvation—in this age, either could kill an offending slave.
And the slaver called "Goldie" was likewise gripped by fear—indeed his fear ran deeper, for the serf transformed by dark arts into a living bomb was one he had brought in. All the gold and silver draped over this fat man afforded him not the slightest sense of safety. He knew what he was, and he knew how simple it was, given definite cause, for a duke to have a slaver executed: on this matter, no one would speak in his defense.
"Goldie?" Gao Yang spoke, and at the very first word the stout man hung all over with gold plates and silver discs—looking like a terracotta warrior—gave a shudder of fright. "The serf Sam—you brought him?"
"Y-yes, my lord," Piger nodded in terror. "But I meant no harm, my lord, truly! I could never have any connection with dark sorcerers or cultists! I am only an honest businessman, I have never done anything—"
Philip struck the ground with the sheathed longsword in his hand. "Answer what you are asked!"
Piger clamped his mouth shut at once and stared down at the tips of his shoes. Gao Yang continued: "Before the deceased was brought here, who had he come into contact with? What had he eaten, what had he used? Anything unusual?"
Pi Yun had already tested this slaver for magical traces and found no lingering aura of druidic spellcraft, and the man hardly looked like a cultist's underling. Most likely he had simply been used as a tool. That much Gao Yang could judge.
Piger wiped at his sweat. "I—I beg your pardon, my lord. In the days before the serfs were taken aboard, they were kept shut in the barracks. They ate and used the same things as everyone else—the same, all the same..."
"You had best tell the truth," Amber piped up from behind Gao Yang, brazenly borrowing the tiger's might, twirling the little dagger in her hand as she spoke. "We have mages here, druids, and even a shadow grandmaster! We could haul your soul out and interrogate it if we wanted to. Don't make trouble."