Chapter 2

In the brutal reality of our world, children younger than eight are worthless as slaves. Unless there’s the prospect of ransom, any young children taken captive are usually put to the sword. It’s a kinder fate than their captors dragging them to a slave market, where they rarely find a buyer interested in acquiring them. Unwanted slaves invariably meet with a slow and unpleasant end. I wish our world was different, but it isn’t. Although, it hasn’t always been that way. When Zoe and I were born, there was an extended period of prosperity and peace, and new slaves were scarce and expensive. At that time, slave owners found it worthwhile to breed their own slaves. Over the last decade, a constant succession of wars and economic problems have resulted in a plentiful supply of fresh inexpensive adult slaves. Consequently, very few owners bother with raising slave children these days.

“Apparently they are all related,” says my father. “The brood of a western sultan called Iniko who had the misfortune to be assassinated during an ongoing struggle for power.”

I take a closer look at the slaves. It’s difficult to tell through all the grime, but I can see that their auburn coloured hair and facial features are similar. The whole situation strikes me as odd. Apart from wasting time and money in transporting these children, their owners haven’t even begun to teach them their new station in life. For a woman, the constant risk of being taken captive and enslaved is an unfortunate hazard in life. However, enslavement isn’t anything to be ashamed about. Slaves are a common enough sight and they are rarely humiliated or maltreated in public, even by former enemies. But it is essential that a new female slave quickly adapts to her new status. The usual practise when capturing new slaves is to strip them naked, so that they immediately begin to understand their new station in life. Both sets of children are fully clothed in what appears to be good quality, albeit torn and dirty, dresses.

“Their clothes are probably worth more than their bodies,” observes Zoe.

I immediately realise why my father asked for Zoe to accompany me. Father obviously thinks the same but wants Zoe’s confirmation. Zoe has excellent skills at turning seemingly worthless rags into wearable clothes. She could repair these clothes and get a good price for them. It would probably be enough to cover the cost of feeding the girls for a short while. But it doesn’t solve the main problem of their poor resale value.

“What about their owners?” I ask my father.

“Languishing in my cells. They owe me for last night’s food and lodgings.”

“Is it worth my while talking with them?”

“You can if you want, but I doubt you will learn anything useful. They are barely older than this lot,” says father, pointing to the older girls. “Youths who tried their hand at being mercenaries. They got given these girls as their share of the loot. They are gullible enough to believe their comrades’ lies that these children will be very valuable in the eastern markets. Their former comrades are probably still laughing their heads off.”

“What do you plan to do with the youths?”