LITMIR.BIZ

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fair enough?’

      The boy bowed with solemn formality. ‘My master is most generous.’

      Then the boy pulled some sausage from the sack. ‘I knew you would be a generous, kind master, so I returned with many things.’

      ‘Hold a moment, Suli. Where did you get all this?’

      The boy said, ‘In one of the rooms below, a woman’s sleeping chamber from its look, I found a comb with turquoise set within silver, left behind by a thoughtless maid when the quarters were last vacated. I sold this to a man in the bazaar. I took the coins he gave me and purchased many things. Not to worry. I moved along and purchased each item from a different merchant, ensuring no one knew what business I was upon. Here.’ He handed Borric a shirt.

      It was nothing fancy but obviously a significant improvement over the rough homespun the slavers had given him. Then the boy passed over a pair of cotton trousers, the kind worn by sailors throughout the Bitter Sea. ‘I could not find boots, master, that I could purchase, yet have enough left for food.’

      Borric smiled at the boy. ‘You did well. I can go without the boots. If we’re to pass as sailors, bare feet will not bring us any notice. But we’ll have to sneak to the harbour at night and hope no one sees this red hair of mine under a lamp.’

      ‘I have taken care of that, master.’ The boy handed over a vial of some liquid and a comb. ‘I have this from a man who sells such to the older whores down by the waterfront. He claims it will not wash out nor run with water. It is called oil of Macasar.’

      Borric opened the vial and his nose was assaulted by a pungent, oily odour. ‘It better work. The smell will have people marking me.’

      ‘That will pass, according to the merchant.’

      ‘You’d better put it in my hair. I wouldn’t want to pour it over half my head. There’s barely enough light for you to see what you’re doing.’

      The boy moved behind him and ungently rubbed the vial’s contents into the Prince’s hair. He then combed it through, many times over, spreading it as evenly as possible. ‘With your sunburn, Highness, you will look every inch the Durbin sailor.’

      ‘And what of you?’ asked Borric.

      ‘I have trousers and a shirt in the bag, too, my master. Suli Abul is known for his beggar’s robe. It is large enough for me to hide limbs when I play at being deformed.’

      Borric laughed as the boy continued to work on his hair. He sighed in relief as he thought, Just maybe we do have a chance to get out of this trap.

      Just before dawn, a sailor and his younger brother ventured into the streets near the Governor’s estate. As Borric had surmised, there was little activity near the Governor’s home, as it was logical to assume the fugitive was unlikely to be anywhere near the heart of Durbin authority. Which is why they made back toward the slave pens. If the Governor’s house was an unlikely place for the fugitives to hide, the slave quarters were even less likely. Borric was not entirely comfortable being in a rich part of town, as the presence of two obviously shabby figures near the residences of the wealthy and powerful was in and of itself sufficient to bring unwanted scrutiny upon them.

      When they were but a block from the slave quarters, Borric halted. Upon the wall of a storage shed was a newly hung broadside. Painted by skilled craftsmen, it proclaimed in red letters a reward. Suli said, ‘Master, what does it say?’

      Borric read aloud. ‘“Murder most foul!” is what it says. It says that I killed the wife of the Governor.’ Borric’s face went pale. ‘Gods and demons!’ He quickly read the entire broadside, then said, ‘They say a Kingdom-born house slave raped and killed his mistress, then fled into the city. They’ve put a reward of one thousand golden ecu on me.’ Borric couldn’t believe his eyes.

      The boy’s eyes widened. ‘A thousand? That is a fortune.’

      Borric tried to calculate the worth. It came out to roughly five thousand Kingdom Sovereigns, or the income from a small estate for a year, a staggering sum indeed for the capture, dead or alive, of a runaway slave, but one who had murdered the city’s foremost lady of society. Borric shook his head in pained realization. ‘The swine murdered his own wife to give the guards a reason to kill me on sight,’ he whispered.

      Suli shrugged. ‘It is no surprise when you understand that the Governor has a mistress who demands more and more from him. To put aside his first wife and marry his mistress – after the appropriate period of mourning, of course – will ease two sources of concern for him: keeping his mistress and Lord Fire happy. And while astoundingly beautiful, the mistress would do well to consider the future of one who marries a man who killed his first wife to make her his second. When she becomes older and less fair of face.’

      Borric looked around. ‘We better keep moving. The city will be at full speed within the hour.’

      Suli seemed unable to stifle his incessant chatter, except under the most dire circumstances. Borric didn’t attempt to shut him up, deciding the garrulous lad would look less suspicious than one who was sullenly glancing in all directions. ‘Now, master, we know how the Governor convinced the Three to help apprehend you. The Three and the Imperial Governor have little love amongst them, but they have less love for slaves who murder their lawful lords.’

      Borric could only agree. But he found the Governor’s means to achieve that reaction chilling. Even if he hadn’t loved the woman, he had lived with her for some number of years. Wasn’t there any compassion in him? wondered Borric.

      Rounding a corner, they saw the side of the slave pens. Because the auction had been cancelled, the pens were especially crowded. Borric turned his face toward Suli and moved steadily, but not so hurried as to attract attention. To any guards who might be looking, he was simply a sailor speaking to a boy.

      A pair of guards walked around a corner and approached them. Instantly, Suli said, ‘No. You said I would have a full share this voyage. I am grown now. I do the work of a man! It was not my fault the nets fouled. It was Rasta’s fault. He was drunk. You always liked him better and take his side.’

      Borric hesitated only an instant, then replied in as gruff a voice as he could muster, ‘I said I would consider it. Be silent or I’ll leave you behind, little brother or not! See how you like another month working in Mother’s kitchen while I’m gone.’ The guards gave the pair a quick glance, then continued on.

      Borric resisted the temptation of looking to see if the guards were paying attention. He would know quickly enough if they became suspicious. Then Borric turned another corner and collided with a man. For a brief instant the stranger looked into his eyes with a threatening mutter, his alcohol-laden breath in Borric’s face, then the man’s expression turned from drunken irritation to murderous hatred. ‘You!’ said Salaya, reaching for the large dagger in the belt of his robe.

      Reacting instantly, Borric put his fingers together in a point and drove it as hard as he could into Salaya’s chest, right below the bottom-most ribs. As his fingers smashed into the nerves there, Salaya’s breath was driven from his lungs. As he struggled to catch his breath, Salaya’s face turned crimson and his eyes went unfocused. Borric then struck hard into his throat, pulled him forward, and smashed down as hard as he could manage on the back of the slaver’s neck, at the base of the skull. Borric had him by the arm before the slaver hit the ground, and if any more guards chanced to glance their way a moment after the encounter, they would see nothing more suspicious than two friends, a man and boy, helping home a friend who had had too much to drink.

      Halfway down the street they came to an alley and turned into it, dragging the now-unconscious man along like so many sacks of rotten vegetables. Borric deposited him on a pile of refuse and quickly had his purse off. A fair number of Keshian and Kingdom coins weighed down the heavy leather pouch. That went inside Borric’s shirt. He removed the belt knife and sheath, wishing the slaver had carried a sword as well. As he hesitated as to what to do next, Suli stripped Salaya of his rings, four from his hands, two from his ears. Then the boy took off the slaver’s boots and hid them. ‘If we

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