away. He replaced the whip in his pack, seized up his blankets and drew them to the side. He then drew them angrily about himself, and lay down. I tried to crawl to him, but the impediment on my ankle prevented this. I reached out, agonizingly, across the leaves, toward him, but could not reach him.
“Please forgive Laura, Master,” I wept. “Let his slave please him.”
“I will sell you in Victoria,” he said.
Chapter Fifty-Four
In the damp, cold morning, north of the Laurius, the turning leaves overhead, I awakened, and found myself warm, covered with his blanket.
“Master,” I said.
He was leaning over me. I reached up, and put my arms about him.
“I have decided not to sell you in Victoria,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
“It would be a bother to have to buy you back,” he said.
“A slave begs use,” I whispered.
And to my petition he acceded.
***
The chain and shackle were in his pack.
Over my tunic, I wore his jacket.
“Prepare to trek,” he said.
“Whence, Master?” I inquired.
“Victoria,” he said.
“If I am not to be sold,” I said, “why are we going to Victoria?”
“It is the town of my Home Stone,” he said.
“You have a Home Stone?” I said.
“Of course,” he said.
“I do not have one,” I said.
“Certainly not,” he said. “You are a slave, a purchasable beast. Beasts do not have Home Stones.”
“I see,” I said.
“Victoria is one of the greatest of the river ports,” he said. “A hundred galleys come and go each day.”
“It is very busy,” I said.
“In it there are many slaves,” he said.
“I wear a camp collar,” I said.
“It will not be recognized,” he said. “It will be removed.”
“And I will then have a new collar?” I asked.
“Certainly,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“I thought,” I said, “Master might free me.”
“Free you?” he said.
“Yes,” I said, “and then petition for my Companionship, which offer I might then accept or refuse, as I might please.”
“Are you mad?” he said.
“Surely,” I said, “just as Companions may become slaves, so slaves might become Companions.”
“Only a fool,” said he, “frees a slave girl.”
“That is a saying, is it not?” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
I had known that, of course.
“Do you think I am a fool?” he asked.
“No, Master,” I said.
I regarded him.
“I am then to be collared anew?” I said.
“Certainly,” he said, “you are a slave.”
“You will not free me?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “You are not a free woman. You are a slave. The collar belongs on your neck.”
“I see,” I said.
“One collar or another,” he said.
“But not necessarily yours,” I said.
“Certainly not,” he said. “You are the sort of woman who should be in a collar, one who belongs in the collar. Any man’s collar would do for you.”
“But you will keep me in your collar?” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“That is the way you want me?”
“Yes,” he said, “that is the way I want you, and that is the way I will have you.”
“Collared?” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“A vendible, meaningless slave?”
“Certainly,” he said.
“You will keep me then?”
“Until I tire of you, and sell you,” he said.
“I see,” I said.
“I trust it is not hard to grasp,” he said.
“I have nothing to say about this?” I said.
“No more than a verr, a tarsk, or kaiila,” he said.
“I will try to be pleasing to my master,” I said.
“Of course,” he said. “You are a slave.”
“I thought I might be special to you,” I said.
“How could a slave be special?” he said.
“I do not want to be sold,” I said.
“You have nothing to say about it,” he said.
“I will try to be such that you would not wish to sell me.”
“Perhaps I will not wish to sell you,” he said.
“I hope that you will not do so,” I said.
“You are, of course, I grant it, the sort of slut who looks well at a man’s feet,” he said.
“It is my hope that I will be pleasing to you,” I said.
“You will be so or you will be punished,” he said.
“Could you whip me,” I asked, “if I was not pleasing?”
“Certainly,” he said, “and promptly, and well.”
“And what will my collar read?” I asked.
“What pleases me,” he said.
“I cannot read,” I said.
“And you will not be taught,” he said. “It pleases me that you should be illiterate. It will give me more power over you.”
“I will not even be able to read my own collar?” I said.
“No,” he said. “But I will tell you what it says.”
“And what will it say?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” said he, “that you are a worthless she-tarsk.”