Dreamland

During the next caravan stop, Geral decided to visit a certain Master Heran. After inquiring a couple of guards about him, he found the wagons belonging to the respective master.

As soon as he saw him approaching, the master greeted him full-throated:

“Oh, Adventurer Shatterbock! Are you looking for some alchemy products?”

Master Heran was an alchemist and had several products that he hoped to sell with a good yield in Silver City.

Geral groaned inwardly at the greeting. Only those blasted dwarfs and some imperials used to call people by their second name. Now that the cutuza idiot had spelt his second name, all imperials will use it.

“Master Heran, may I inquire about a former slave of yours?”

“A former slave? Which one would you mean, master Geral Shatterbock?”

“There was one left for the wolves?”

“You mean the ningo-dogs? I donated two to the caravan for that purpose!?”

“I mean the small one with horns.”

“Oh, you mean Zera? The poor child had an accident last time and ingested too many alchemical vapours. A quick death was a boon for her!”

Poor child? Were they talking of the same person?

“She is not dead; we rescued her from the dogs.”

“Oh my, you took great risks for one slave! I wonder what did you see in her? If you want to pay the obol for collected slaves, there is no need for such."- Master Heran shrugged - "She will die anyhow. Can you use her horns for something?”

Geral cringed at the question but tried to ignore it.

“Obol?” - he wondered.

“You know the mite, or how do you call it? When people collect discarded slaves to use them in some way or another, there is the use to pay a small amount of money to the owner who discarded them. Some people don't want to take any gratuities. I can transfer ownership to you if you have any legal worries.”

Geral could hardly control his appearance, but he did his best.

“I'm not sure we talk about the same slave; the one that survived is old.”

“Oh, so you talk about old Hannah? But she has no horns?” - wondered Heran

Geral shook his head.

“No, no, the slave definitively asked about old Hannah, so it was not her!”

Master Heran nodded.

“Just as I understood. So the little Zera, the horned one, survived?”

“Yes, you are correct, but she is old?”

“No, no. She is fourteen. It may lie with her species ageing faster. I have had her since she was six, so I know precisely. The poor child developed an early passion for alchemy, but she never excelled in her work; she tried hard and was often involved in stupid accidents. Oh well, that's a problem with many slaves. So what can I do for you, adventurer Shatterbock?”

Geral swallowed and worked hard to compose a somehow neutral face. If that girl was fourteen, then either her species has a very short life span, or she had been... he did not even try to think how she was treated. Transfer ownership? OK, that might be good if this bastard thinks later about taking her back, that is, if that poor girl survives.

“Master Heran, you may be right; maybe we should do the property transfer formalities. Also, I would ask if you could tell me what chemicals might be affecting the girl?”

“Oh, you are interested in trying to save her? Yes, I think that could be a good exercise for your esteemed wife! I understood that she is a healer? So let me put this on paper. Zera Heran sold to Geral Shatterkopf for 1 silver”

“Was she not discarded?” - wondered Geral

Master Heran sighed and raised his shoulders.

“Should I put gifted? You know the imperial tax authorities demand a five per cent tax for any slaves sold for more than one gold. If they see a transaction 'gifted' or 'discarded', they may start making inquiries and their own estimations. It does not come to it in most cases, but it may happen. Do we want to go there?”

Geral sighed. Tax men. The horrors in all universes.

“OK, you are right.” - nodded Geral - “One silver is OK. Can you tell me what chemicals she was working with last time?”

“Sure, that will be one silver.”

“You mean the girl?”

Heran sighed.

“I thought that we had clarified the girl. I am talking about the information.”

“Oh. So you want one silver for the information about the chemicals?

“Precisely. One silver for the girl and another one for the information of the chemicals she had worked with last time.”

Geral sighed.

“OK”

Geral reluctantly paid the two silver and received the information, but just when he was about to leave, master Heran stopped him with a thinking face.

“If you would ask me, I fear it is not the chemicals that she used last time that are killing her.”

“No?”

“No, she had used mercury before and... ahm, that would be one silver.”

Geral wanted to strangle him but tried to keep his cool.

“You mean I should pay another silver to know that she worked with mercury?”

“Oh no. Mercury is an ingredient that many alchemists use. I mean, there is something else that you may want to know.”

Four silver later, Geral went out of master Heran's coach. The caravan had already started to move, and he waited in place for Anabella to come with her carriage, trying to calm himself. He had the feeling Heran had enjoyed ripping him. At least feeling how Anabella was coming closer had a calming effect on him.

When the carriage passed by, he climbed in. Noviel was again on the bench, and Anabella waved at him. He saw Awa smiling at him and felt good. He could finally breathe freely.

They did not arrive for Silver City that day as was planned. Many slaves had to walk, and the cutuza had refused to force the pace or to continue advancing during the night, so they made another halt for the night about four hours away from Silver City.

They made their own fire and ate, and Geral learned what Anabella had learned from the slaves: why the caravan was heading for Silver City. The new city administration had inquired the Empire about slaves, and this was the first caravan to test the new market and establish a relationship with the new administration. A certain Grackak, a very powerful mage, was the new consul.

He went to sleep, and Anabella graciously borrowed him one of her pyjama dresses as his only pyjama had been scorched in the morning. Not long after he set his head on a pillow, Awa came and pushed herself to his side.

“Come on, tell me a story.” - asked Awa.

“Oh, come on, you are a big girl; you do not need stories?”

She pouted and pushed herself into his side.

“Please, Geral. You are an adventurer; did you not do some heroic things?”

He almost laughed, thinking at his not-so-heroic adventures. OK, why should he not tell her some of those?

“Heroic things? No, but I'll tell you about our first visit to the three horns dungeon.”

“Cool.” - said Awa with a happy grin, making herself comfortable.

Just seeing that grin on her face was reward enough for him. To his surprise, a minute later, a Noviel-in-pyjama stood beside them.

“May I?” - she asked

“Sure”

She put her blanket on the other side, but this time she put herself facing him and closed her eyes. He watched her gentle traits and her beautiful face until Awa poked his side.

“And?”

“Oh, true!”

And he continued to tell the story. Outside Anabella was cooking something in her giant cauldron.

“You know mom has levelled?” - asked Noviel, suddenly opening her eyes

“Leveled?” - he wondered, observing at the same time that it was the first time he had heard Noviel calling Anabella 'mom'.

“Yes, she is level nineteen now!”

“Oh, nice!”

Ah, he wondered if that was the reason why she was healing all those slaves? Is she levelling also by cooking? That's pretty slow levelling, but it seemed to work; she was now at the same level with him and Noviel.

Speaking of Noviel, before he had the impression that she was the consummate mercenary. Now not so much, even if she had the same level as he had. She was still partially a child. Level does not make one mature.

He shrugged. He had been nineteen in the other world, just three years older than Noviel, and yet he felt old.