LITMIR.BIZ

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A healthy man could easily climb over the ten-foot fence, but by the time he reached the top and crawled through the space between the fence and the crossbeams supporting the roof three feet above, guards would be waiting for him.

      Borric considered his plight. Once he was sold, his new master might be lax in his security, or he might be even more stringent. Logic dictated he attempt to escape while confined close to the sea. His new owner could be a Quegan merchant, a traveller from the Free Cities, or even a Kingdom noble. What would be worse, he could be carried deep into the Empire. He was not sanguine about letting fate make the choice.

      He had a plan. The only difficulty lay in getting cooperation from the other prisoners. If a long enough diversion could be arranged for, then he could be over the fence and out into the city. Borric shook his head. He realized as plans go, it wasn’t much.

      ‘Pssst!’

      Borric turned to see from where the odd sound came. Seeing nothing, he turned back into himself as he considered improvements on his plan.

      ‘Pssst! This way, young noble.’ Borric looked again through the bars of the pen, but this time down, and in the scant shadows he saw a slight figure.

      A boy, no more than eleven or twelve years old, grinned up at him from the meagre shelter of a large roof support. If he moved more than inches in any direction, he would certainly be spotted by the guard.

      Borric glanced around, seeing the two guards at the corner speaking to one another. ‘What?’ he whispered.

      ‘Should you but divert the guards’ attention for an instant, noble sir, I will be indebted to you for ages,’ came the answering whisper.

      Borric said, ‘Why?’

      ‘I need but a moment’s distraction, sir.’

      Counting no harm from it, save perhaps a blow for insolence, Borric nodded. Moving to where the guards stood, he said, ‘Hey! When do we eat?’

      Both guards blinked in confusion, then one snarled. He jammed the butt of his spear through the staves of the fence, and Borric had to dodge not to be struck. ‘Sorry I asked,’ he said.

      Chuckling to himself, he moved his shoulders under the rough shirt they had given him, fighting the impulse to scratch. The sunburn was healing after being dressed for the last three days, but the peeling skin and the itching were making him doubly cross. The next slave auction was over a week away, and he knew he would be on the block. He was regaining his strength quickly.

      A tug at his sleeve caused him to turn and there beside him was the boy. ‘What are you doing here?’

      The boy gave him a questioning look. ‘What do you mean, sir?’

      ‘I thought you were trying to escape the pens,’ said Borric in a harsh whisper.

      The boy laughed. ‘No, noble youth. I needed the distraction you so magnanimously provided, so I might enter the pen.’

      Borric looked heavenward. ‘Two hundred prisoners all dreaming continuously of a way out of here, and I have to meet the one madman in the world who wishes to break in! Why me?’

      The boy looked up to where Borric’s gaze went, and said, ‘To which deity does my lord speak?’

      ‘All of them. Look, what is this all about?’

      The boy took Borric’s elbow and steered him to the centre of the pen, where they would be the least conspicuous to the guards. ‘It is a matter of some complexity, my lord.’

      ‘And why do you address me as “my lord”?’

      The boy’s face split with a grin, and Borric took a good look at him. Round cheeks burned red by the sun dominated a brown face. What he could see of the boy’s eyes, made narrow slits by merry amusement, suggested they were dark to the point of being black. Under a hood several sizes too large, ill-cropped coarse black hair shot out at differing lengths.

      The boy made a slight bow. ‘All men are superior to one as low as I, my lord, and deserve respect. Even those pigs of guards.’

      Borric couldn’t help but smile at this imp. ‘Well, then, tell me why you, alone among sane men everywhere, would wish to break into this miserable company?’

      The boy sat upon the ground and motioned Borric to do likewise. ‘I am called Suli Abul, young sir. I am a beggar by trade. I am also, I am ashamed to admit, under threat of punishment from the Three. You know of the Three?’ Borric nodded. ‘Then you know their wrath is great and their reach long. I saw an old merchant who had paused to sleep in the midday sun. From his torn purse, some coins had fallen. Had I waited until he had awoken, and chanced he would not miss his coins, then I would have but found them upon the ground, and none would think the worse of me. But not trusting the gods to keep the man from noticing his loss, I sought to pick them up while he dozed. As the Lady of Luck decreed, he did awake at the worst moment, and cried “thief!” to all who were nearby. One who recognized me added my name to the shout, and I was pursued. Now I am being sought after by the Three for punishment. Where better to hide than among those already condemned to slavery?’

      Borric was silent for a moment, at a loss to answer that. Shaking his head in wonder, he asked, ‘Tell me, in nine days when we are to be sold, then what shall you do?’

      With a laugh, the boy said, ‘By then, gentle lord, I shall be gone.’

      ‘And where shall you go?’ asked the Prince, his eyes narrowing.

      ‘Back to the city, young sir. For my transgressions are slight and the Three have much to concern their attentions. Some great issue is being decided now, at the Governor’s palace, or so the rumours in the streets tell. Many officials of the Three as well as Imperial envoys come and go. In any event, after a few days, those who are searching for myself will be about other business and I may safely return to my craft.’

      Borric shook his head. ‘Can you get out as easily, as you got in?’

      The boy shrugged. ‘Probably. Nothing in life is certain. I expect I shall be able to. If not, it’s the gods’ will.’

      Borric gripped the young beggar’s shirt, pulling him close. In whispers, he said, ‘Then, my philosophical friend, we shall cut a bargain. I helped you in, and you shall help me out.’

      The boy’s dark face paled. ‘Master,’ he said, almost hissing between his teeth, ‘for one as adroit as I, we might contrive a means to release you from your captivity, but you are the size of a mighty warrior, and those manacles upon your wrists confine your movement.’

      ‘Have you the means for my release of these?’

      ‘How could I?’ asked the frightened boy.

      ‘You don’t know? What kind of a thief are you?’

      The boy shook his head in denial. ‘A poor one, master, if the truth be known. It is the height of stupidity to steal in Durbin, therefore I am also a stupid one. My thievery is of the lowest order, the most inconsequential of thefts. Upon the soul of my mother, I so swear, master! Today was my first attempt.’

      Shaking his head, Borric said, ‘Just what I need, an incompetent thief. I could get free myself if I had a pick.’ He took a breath, calming himself so as not to frighten the boy more. ‘I need a hard piece of wire, so long. A thin nail might work.’ He showed the boy by holding up thumb and forefinger, two inches of length. The manacle chain made the gesture difficult.

      ‘I can get that, master.’

      ‘Good,’ said Borric, releasing the boy. The instant he was released, he turned as if to flee, but anticipating just such a reaction, Borric’s foot went out and tripped the beggar. Before the boy could scramble to his feet, the Prince had him by the shoulder of his garment. ‘You make a scene,’ said the Prince, indicating the guards a short distance away with a nod of his head. ‘I know what you are going to do, boy. Don’t seek to flee my grasp. If I’m to be sold at auction in a week’s time, I might as well not go alone. Give me

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