Hands of Fate - Survivors of Flight AA214

Chapter 57

James

Day 45, Day 5 on the Road

Kronfeldt

How did it all come to this? Bartering for human slaves. What was the price of a human life? Well, it turns out to be 100 Firsts divided by 3.

“100 Firsts for the lot?” The rugged, tawny cat proposed to Sophie, his voice rasped like gravel grinding underfoot.

Bronzeclaw, the junior quartermaster, stood there with an air of practiced indifference. Tasked with selling and managing the Ironclad Company’s more sordid dealings, the guild now sold chattel as casually as they did swords. His scarred face—one particularly nasty mark slashing across his left eye—spoke of battles fought recently. What difference was there between him and the pirates we faced? One worked for a government, the other for a gang. The product was the same—flesh.

“100 Firsts? One of them is an old man. The other looks like he hasn't eaten in months, and the woman… she’s far too old for any decent brothel,” Sophie said coolly, glancing dismissively at the caged souls.

“That’s a glassblower right there!” Bronzeclaw countered, jabbing his clawed finger toward a tall figure—a man in his thirties with a scruffy, hay-colored beard and a face that seemed to carry the weight of too many winters. His limbs were little more than skin stretched over bones, bound tight.

“The woman’s comely enough,” he continued, “plenty of work left in her yet. Might fetch a decent price in a less reputable bordello.”

“She’s a couple months pregnant,” Sophie remarked, her voice casual, as she commented on something mundane like the weather. “You really expect me to pay full price for that?”

The woman, in her late twenties, had plain features framed by knotted, split hair. The old man huddled in the corner like a ghost, waiting for his time to slip away.

“Nothing a little tansy can’t fix,” Bronzeclaw replied, his confidence wavering. “I can let you have the woman and the old man for 10 Firsts. The glassblower, though, he’s a gem—worth at least 200 Firsts up north.”

I could hardly believe my ears. They were talking about human beings. Am I losing the plot?

“Does he have a class?” Sophie asked, her voice hardening.

“Well…” Bronzeclaw faltered, the hint of a lie creeping into his tone. “He’s a fine glassblower. Got his Slave card right here. Can attest he’s a master glassblower.” He produced a glowing blue card from his palm, showcasing three Slave cards, each a mark of ownership.

The Slave card system operated much like the Deed or Contract system. Even those without classes could inherit or obtain cards, despite lacking a class. The only issue was that they needed the appropriate class to forge the cards themselves. I suspected that a Mayor or Founder could create Deed cards, a Merchant or Banker could draft Contracts, and a Slaver or “Master” could bind Slaves.

“Order him to show me his class card,” Sophie said, her impatience bubbling just beneath the surface.

“Listen… he doesn’t have a class yet… but I assure you. These Chattels take to classes like fish to water. He’ll have a class in no time,” Bronzeclaw stammered, his bravado cracking.

“You’re trying to hock classless wares as Holders? A pregnant woman, a decrepit old man on the brink of death, and a classless glassblower for 100 Firsts? I should bring this up with the Merchant’s Guild. Perhaps they’ll reconsider their association with the Ironclad Company!” Sophie’s fists were curled into tight balls, her faux outrage playing for an audience.

Bravo, my girl. You’d be splendid in a theatre production, no doubt.

“Whoa, whoa, calm down, my lovely White Fox. No need to make a scene. Captain Stonehook will have my head if I don’t get at least 50 Firsts for them. The Duke’s gotta get his cut, too, you know,” Bronzeclaw said, his tail twitching nervously.

“Fine, I can maybe find some use for these… lost souls… for oh, 400 Seconds,” Sophie sighed, as though the offer were a great concession.

“But… 50 Firsts is 500 Seconds at least!”

“Not anymore, it isn’t. I take it you don’t pay much attention to the markets. 400 Seconds. Last offer.” She clicked her tongue, her annoyance hanging in the air like a foul smell, as though she had a much better place to be.

“Fine. Take them. Someone else can deal with feeding and washing em’.” Exhaustion was etched into Bronzeclaw’s scarred features as he produced the three Slave cards, each one a testament to a life reduced to mere property.

With the exchange of coins, Sophie reached for the cards, and with a simple confirmation of ownership, the shackles of control shifted to her. For a moment, she froze, her breath coming in heavy as if a great weight had been thrown over her shoulders. But then, like a seasoned actress recovering from a stumble, she straightened, her merchant’s facade sliding back into place.

As Bronzeclaw fumbled with his keyring to unlock the cage, I asked, “Why only Chattel? Where are the beastkin slaves?”

“The Eldrin usually only collar Chattel. Collars are a bloody fortune, you see—silver, finely crafted. The few beastkin that get caught can have their families pay for their freedom. We don’t charge much; beastkin gotta stick together.” Bronzeclaw shrugged as if the matter was hardly worth his time.

“These Chattel… they don’t have families?” I pressed, an uneasy feeling settling in my gut.

Bronzeclaw let out a hearty laugh.

Bloody hell, if I had to hear “You’re not from around here, are you?” one more time, I might just lose my mind.

“If they had family, they’d either be in Auriel or caught alongside them.”

Auriel. The very heart of the human slave trade. As a diplomat, I’d been forced to learn more about our grim situation abroad, and now, the land we stood on—the Duchies of the Azure Reach, ruled by Queen Seraphina—allowed Chattel slaves but banned Eldrin Slave Masters, those insidious foreign agents seeping over the border to snatch uncollared humans from the surrounding villages and farms.

Uncollared humans, huh? I knew just the place with a surplus of those. A shudder crawled up my spine.

Three humans stood before us, dressed in plain linen rags, stripped of their dignity. Their vacant stares reminded me of livestock, a sight that twisted my gut. At Sophie’s command, the middle-aged man rose as if pulled by an invisible string. In contrast, the elder wore a defiant scowl, a flicker of resistance still burning in his weary eyes—a look every human should carry, the desire for freedom.

We led them out of their cages, and they followed us to the Mercenary Guild’s lot, the weight of their new reality hanging heavily in the air. Bronzeclaw slipped away to return to the offices of the Mercenary Guild, leaving us alone with our conscience. Beastkin passed us by, their curious gazes flicking toward the three humans standing there, poised for commands.

“You’re free to go,” I said warmly in Lokan. The three exchanged puzzled glances. “You’re free, my friends.”

“What?” Sophie interjected, her voice laced with confusion. “We just paid good money for them.”

“Sophie, set them free,” I urged.

“We can’t.” She shook her head, a faint trace of sorrow—or was it just fatigue?—clouding her expression. “Someone will just capture them again. Besides, our town needs a glassblower.”

“What?!” I stared at her, incredulous. “You see them as property? Are you having a laugh?”

“Don’t think I paid 400 Seconds for no reason. What do you think we’re here for besides resources? Thornhill needs immigrants and workers.” Her voice was steady, but I hoped I noticed a hint of sadness.

“Can you just stop with your basic economics bullshit for once, Sophie? These are human beings, for god’s sake! Let them live their own lives! We must free them!” My fists curled tightly at my sides.

Everything I’d learned from history echoed through my mind, a relentless reminder of how wrong this was. We have a chance to do the right thing now. Free the slaves. Save our souls.

Just as our heated discussion reached a boiling point, a large dark blue bird swooped down, landing on Sophie’s shoulder. She let out a startled cry as it dropped a charcoal pencil onto the cobbled street. Once she calmed, she reached for the pencil and examined the jackdaw with newfound curiosity. This was the same bird that had taken a liking to Orion.

Sophie unwrapped a note from the bird’s leg, reading it with a soft laugh before jotting something down on the back. She tied the message back onto the winged messenger.

The bird scanned its surroundings before pecking Sophie lightly on the side of the head, as if to say, “Hurry it up!” The surprised yelp that escaped her lips only made it flap its wings and take off into the sky.

“What was that?” I asked, bewildered.

“Orion’s bird brought a message. He’s in charge of the expedition. He’ll agree with me.” Sophie wore a smug smile.

I turned to the bewildered humans, and their wariness was evident after our argument, which was conducted in an alien language.

“What’s your name?” I asked in Lokan, hoping to break the ice.

“My name is Wulfric, and this is Edith. The elder is named Ulf,” the glassblower replied, his voice carrying a subdued deference.

“Unusual. Anglo-Saxon names…” I mused aloud. “Are you from Englaland or Saxonland?”

“Englaland…?” Edith echoed, rolling the words off her tongue. Despite her Anglo-Saxon appearance, her accent was peculiar—melodic like Swahili rather than the harsh tones of Old English.

“Who named you?” I pressed, intrigued.

“Our parents did… before we ran away,” Wulfric said, a hint of sadness creeping into his voice.

“Ran away? Were you from the North then?” Sophie asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Yes, Master,” Wulfric said, the title slipping from his lips with a sense of resignation. “Only way to get free is to run south and hide.”

At the sound of “Master,” Sophie stiffened, her carefully crafted mask faltering for a brief moment. Ulf, the eldest, remained silent, his gaze averted, unwilling to engage.

“Sophie… can’t you see? They just want their freedom. They’re human beings. Surely, you can see that? We have to let them go,” I pleaded, my voice tinged with urgency.

“What happens if we free you?” Sophie countered, skepticism creeping in.

“You cannot. We are bound to your service, Master. Until you transfer us to another,” Wulfric replied, his tone flat.

“There’s nothing we can do, then,” Sophie shrugged, a hint of finality in her voice as if the matter was settled.

Before I could respond, Orion emerged from the shadows, almost ghostlike in his silence. I hadn’t even heard him approach. He glanced at the slaves, then back at us, a deep sigh escaping him. “Why did you buy slaves?”

“Because we are human beings with hearts?” I shot back. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with two sociopaths. Am I the only one here who cares about freeing slaves?”

“Let them go. This isn’t our problem,” Orion said, his tone cutting.

“Orion, we can’t free them. They’re bound to me,” Sophie insisted, brandishing the Slave cards like a shield.

“Oh, for Chrissake…” Orion groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Can’t you just unbind them? Tell them to get lost and run for the hills?”

“We have to take them back to Thornhill. Bianca would agree with me on this one,” Sophie replied.

Orion moved closer, examining the collars around their necks—a ring of metal unbroken at their throats, connected through a magical stream that held them captive. He reached out, attempting to loosen it, but a sharp jolt shot through him, and he recoiled, shaking his hands as if scalded.

“Will they follow any of your commands?” Orion asked.

“Protect me!”

At her urgent plea, the three slaves, even the old man, instantly moved, surrounding Sophie in a triangle guard position as if pulled by strings. Orion could only stare for a moment before shaking his head.

“Command them to go far away, to live a quiet, happy life hidden in the wilderness. We’ll give them the supplies they need to get there,” Orion said.

I moved behind him, rubbing his shoulders, my voice dripping with pride as I proclaimed, “O Captain! My Captain!”

“You boys are being ridiculous,” Sophie said with a disdainful scoff. “They’ll have a much better life at Thornhill.”

“As slaves?” I challenged, appalled.

“They can be free in Thornhill to do as they please. I won’t order them around; they’ll do as they wish,” Sophie shrugged.

“They’ll draw too much attention to us. We don’t know where they come from.” For the first time, fear tinged Orion’s voice, and it sent a chill through me. “We don’t know what baggage they’ll bring with them if we take them back. It’s too risky.”

“Orion, Bianca would agree with me. You know it. We need people and she would be more than willing to help shelter slaves. I’m surprised you’re so against this. If you want the village to grow, this is how,” Sophie said, crossing her arms and letting out a huffy sigh.

Orion rubbed his temple as if a sudden headache had hit him. It was clear he knew something we didn’t. Normally, he was so pragmatic about Thornhill’s needs, yet now he seemed resistant to Sophie’s ideas. I, on the other hand, found the thought of buying slaves for our city’s labor pool sickening. But... if they were free to choose their work, perhaps there was some merit in it.

I was slowly swaying to Sophie’s side, contemplating the idea of bringing them back to Thornhill.

“Let’s go back to the inn,” Orion decided. “We can talk there.”

So the five of us marched toward the inn, Orion’s corvid soaring above us. As we walked, Orion exchanged a few coins with Sophie for a sack of Thirds. A feeling of shame washed over me as we paraded our slaves through the streets.

Once at the inn, we retreated to the family room that Orion and I shared, shutting the door behind us. Orion removed his mask, revealing to the Chattel that he was a human, just like them. Sophie followed suit, and I took off my glamour as well. The three Chattel stared at us, caught between amazement and confusion.

“You’re Ch—” Wulfric gasped.

Sophie shushed them, placing a finger to her lips and winking.

“What happens if your master tells you to live freely? To do whatever you want?” Orion asked the slaves in Lokan.

“We would likely flee, only to be captured again,” the old man finally spoke up. “If we’re far from our former master, they can strip our current master’s claim, and we shall fall under new ownership.”

“Please. You are unbound Chattel,” Edith said, hope glimmering in her eyes. “If we must have masters, let them be other Chattel. You will treat us with decency.”

The cook gritted his teeth, clearly wrestling with his thoughts.

“Sophie, tell them to keep our identities quiet. If they don’t draw too much attention, we can take them back to Thornhill. But if they do, we’ll have to cut them loose.” Orion slipped on his cat mask, shaking his head with regret. “I’ve got a dinner rush to prepare for.”

It almost seemed like Orion was escaping, unwilling to face this reality right now.

“Wonderful! They can come work for me,” Sophie mused, clapping her hands together. “Oh, don’t give me that look, James. I’ll pay them.”

Afterward, the three of us parted ways, with Sophie leading the slaves to the market to buy them new clothes. I lingered in the street, torn about what to do, and realized I needed to return to the puppet master to prepare for tonight’s show.

How could I possibly perform with this weighing on my conscience? There were likely more like them out there. Back in my old world, I hadn’t exactly gone out of my way to help the unfortunate, but I could at least assist those close to me. To do that, I needed money. So, I headed back to the puppet master, hoping to earn enough coins to free just one more slave.