Ely Michel (1)

Ely Michel. White hair, white brows, a beauty both striking and refined — any adventurer or man of means in the city knew that name. She was a rabbit beastkin, and the recent affair had been far too large to keep quiet. Rumors seeped outward whether anyone wanted them to or not.

And so, at the City Official Slave Market — where Charles Locke worked, and where she now stood — curiosity and unease passed back and forth in equal measure. Who would be the one to buy her?

Most of the exchange staff expected an ugly ending. Then the other party to the incident walked through their doors, still not fully recovered, and the conversation changed.

Charles had stood witness to the sale of countless slaves. He had met every kind of merchandise and every kind of buyer. And most of those stories ended badly.

There was the sadist with money, a man who purchased slaves several times a month. Where all those people went afterward, no one could say.

There was the adventurer who tormented his slave so viciously that he was eventually carved apart by that same slave's own blade. Charles knew better than most what disobedience cost. Imagining the size of that slave's hatred had not been difficult.

Those were only the extreme examples. How many slaves were being abused beyond the reach of his eyes was not something he could readily guess.

Of course, not every slave was a figure of pity. A few cases aside — Ely Michel, who had come up for sale today, being one of them — the majority were criminals. Serial pickpockets. Thieves. Bandits. Charles approached his work with the sense that sinners were being made to pay their due. But there were transactions involving the truly wretched that he could not endure without a drink afterward.

If even the City Official Slave Market was like this, how much filthier were the markets that operated in the dark?

Today's sale, though, Charles thought, might be different.

It was possible the man's manner came from having no memories. But Charles guessed otherwise. The man was good by nature — that was why he had so deeply understood her situation, and why he had been angry on her behalf.

If today's transaction closed without incident, and if the man standing before him had money enough, Charles would be able to finish the day with a clear conscience.

The door creaked open.

"You...!"

Her eyes flew wide and trembled for a moment. Then her head dropped, as if the strength had gone out of her neck.

"Mr. Marcus Ahn. Before we begin, I shall outline the nature of this transaction. It has been confirmed that you stood as a victim in the recent Novice Adventurer Killer case, and that Ely Michel, who was implicated in that affair, has been reduced in station due to bankruptcy—"

"Hh—..."

Ely Michel looked as though she were crying. Her head bowed even lower, and her hands seized the hem of her skirt so hard the fabric crumpled in her fists. The veins standing out along her fingers laid her rising emotion bare, with nothing held back.

The work still had to be done.

"Ely Michel. Stand at attention."

"Ngh... Yes."

Before I could say a word, she heard the command and hurriedly gathered her hands again, drawing herself up straight. Then she bent at the waist toward me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a second time.

"Forgive my discourtesy."

Looking at her like that, I found I could not open my mouth. The institution of slavery had never sat well with me. Seeing with my own eyes the kind of treatment I had only ever read about in books was not a pleasant thing.

"My apologies. I was of course informed in advance that you are a man of considerable standing, but I must ask your understanding for the necessity of presenting her in this manner."

Had he seen how uncomfortable I was? Charles offered the apology with genuine formality, dipping his head as he spoke. I let a long breath out through my nose and slowly parted lips that had been heavy the entire time.

"I would like to ask her price."

I simply wanted to pull her out of this wretched place as fast as I possibly could. That seemed like the best I could do. Charles glanced at my promissory note, nodded, and held a pen out toward me.

"Her particulars, first. Ely Michel is twenty-four years of age this year. As a female rabbit beastkin, she is characterized by a generally lean, agile build and exceptionally keen hearing. Her strength has also been measured as exceeding that of the average rabbit beastkin — ah, to give you a sense of the degree, perhaps..."

He paused.

"Ely Michel. Lift that weight over there."

"...Yes. I will."

She moved her feet with care, crossed to the back of the room, and lifted the weight in one hand. She raised it as if it weighed nothing, without a sound, and I could not begin to guess how heavy the thing actually was. Charles seemed to know that, because he gave her another command.

"Now hand it to Mr. Ahn."

"Understood."

Having shown me how easily she could hold it, she set the weight down in front of me with great care, then stepped back three paces with her head still bowed.

"Would you care to try it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠yourself?"

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠picked it up with one hand, and... it was quite heavy. If the question was whether I could lift it as lightly as she had, the answer was no.

"That is the measure of her strength. In addition, Ely Michel is proficient in housework, physical labor, and self-defense... and as you are no doubt already aware, having served as an inn receptionist, she can read and write, and her arithmetic is quick."

I set the weight down with a dull clack. Charles watched, allowed himself a faint smile, and went on.

"Her diligence has already been well established, though I must ask your understanding that this particular mark has been scored slightly lower in light of the recent incident. Furthermore, in addition to her distinctive beauty, there is one more feature of note. She does not know a man's body... if I put it that way, do I make myself clear?"

"...I beg your pardon?"

"That is to say, she has... no experience. Sexually speaking. She is a complete novice. For that reason, her price will run somewhat higher."

The woman standing beside me bowed her head once more. Tendons stood out on the backs of her hands, but she clasped her fingers together and lifted her face again. Damn it. They were even selling that as a feature.

"I... see."

She was trying to keep her expression even, but her face had gone considerably red, and her clasped hands were trembling in small, helpless increments. Anyone looking at her would have said she was mortified.

The man in front of me, however, finished his account of her value as calmly as if none of it were remarkable at all.

"That is as far as my explanation need go. Her more... personal characteristics would be improper for me to describe any further, so I shall leave off there. Which brings us to the price. Tallying the debt she was originally required to repay together with the qualities I have just outlined... the sum comes to 1,200,000 Dicat."

"Mr. Marcus Ahn. Do you intend to pay this amount?"

She was, without question, absurdly expensive.

Here, the Dicat was the unit of currency, reckoned in gold, silver, and copper. One gold coin was worth 10,000 Dicat, one silver coin 100, and one copper coin a single Dicat.

To put her price in perspective: with that much money I could have taken a fine house in the heart of the city, furnished it decently, and still had enough left to live without want for some time — without working at all.

...But I had expected as much. Even to my eyes her appearance was extraordinarily striking, and the fact that she could do skilled work across so many fields was a clear advantage. Then there was her strength, greater than my own. That, too, would help with the dungeon-delving I meant to do.

But did she want this? Was she at peace with this entire process? That was the part that sat uneasily in my chest. If she became my slave, the benefits I stood to gain would be enormous.

If I simply ignored her will... I could take pleasure from her, and enjoyment, and wealth on a staggering scale.

But that was not what I wanted. It might sound foolish to say so — truly foolish — but I wanted to treat her as a person, at the very least. "Partner" might have been the fitter word, if I was being honest.

She had been swept up in my affair by chance, and I wanted to show her that I was sorry for it. The first step, ironically enough, would be making her my slave.

The bounty money and what remained of Paul's inheritance came to exactly 1.3 million Dicat when I put them together. It was close. If the price had climbed even a little higher, I would have been in real trouble.

Strangely enough I could read, but I did not know how to write — I had only barely learned to sign my own name — so I put down nothing but the signature, left the amount blank, and passed him the promissory note.

"Ah... I understand. I shall write 1,200,000 Dicat in for you, then, quite clearly."

With a fluid hand nothing like my own clumsy script, he inscribed the figures handsomely and held the note up for me to see.

"Yes. 1,200,000 Dicat, confirmed as a draft on the City Bank, signature confirmed as well. I hereby officially declare that ownership of Ely Michel is transferred to Marcus Ahn. Mr. Ahn, would you be so kind as to give me your identification papers once more? I mean to register the owner-and-held relationship on both her papers and yours."

"...Here."

"Good. Now then..."

Charles took my identification, drew hers from his own pocket, and slotted them into a device one after the other. Each time a set of papers went in, the device lit with a glowing pattern. He withdrew them, examined both carefully, nodded once, and handed the pair back to me.

"The imprint was successful. Please take good care of her identification papers."

"...You're not giving them back to her?"

"You may do so, of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠course, but ordinarily the master retains them. It has been the customary practice, one might say."

I looked at her without a word, then stood and held the papers out to her.

"...These are yours. Take them."

"I— I..."

She laid both hands against her chest and looked at me as if she did not know what to do, but I had no intention of taking them back. Whatever else was true, these papers at least belonged to her. After a long hesitation she accepted them in both hands and bowed to me, deeply.

"...Thank you."

I put my own papers away and sat down again. Charles was busily preparing something, which was why. He passed a sheaf of documents across to me and offered a brief explanation of the various articles.

Most of it was what he had already told me — the slave's position in society, the relevant laws, all set down in careful detail. And last of all... there was the article concerning the Death-Binding.

The Death-Binding. It was one of the reasons a slave was, in practice, bound utterly to the master, and one of the reasons that loyalty became absolute. If the master died, the slave died with him. That was why a slave would sometimes wreck their own body to keep their master's life intact.

"Of course... this portion can be altered, if you wish. But for the safety of the slave's owner, I would recommend you leave it as it stands."

"If you mean her, that's fi—"

"I am not speaking of her, Mr. Ahn."

He swallowed once, then went on quietly.

"This world has no shortage of madmen, and no shortage of men without a conscience. There are lunatics who will kill a person for some garbage reason, who will violate them, who will do every unspeakable thing you can imagine. If you die and she is released — who do you think will protect her?"

He let out a long breath and pointed at Ely Michel.

"Her appearance is first-rate or better. So is what she can do, and so is her body — honestly speaking, her value exceeds 1,200,000 Dicat. If this were an illegal market they might well have asked more than twice that. And there may be madmen who will try to take her from you by force."

He sighed again, deeply, and kept going.

"The law and the contract will protect you and her as far as they are able, of course. So leave this article as it is. If you truly wish it, there is also the option of adding a few further clauses. For instance: the Owner shall not compel the Slave to perform any act against her will. Something of that kind. What do you say?"

There was nothing in his words I could honestly refute. This clause was also a provision that would protect her from the outside. And her qualities were the sort that anyone would covet.

"...All right."

He rolled the pen with a flourish and wrote the additional article in. I could not write, but I could read, and I checked the wording with care before turning the page so that she could see the clause was there as well.

She read it in a daze, then quietly bowed her head to signal her agreement. Seeing that, Charles brought over a small instrument fitted with a single needle, wiped it carefully with a damp scrap of cotton, and set it down in front of us.

"Mr. Ahn. Ely Michel. I must ask you both to affix your thumbprints."

She and I each held out a thumb, pressed it onto the needle with a small, sharp sound, and stamped the blood onto the document. Charles then drew a cylindrical case from beneath the table, slid the rolled papers inside, laid his hand upon it, and muttered something under his breath.

A heavy clunk.

Something locked into place with a sound of real force. The cylinder glowed with a muted light, then faded.

She was now, beyond any remaining doubt, a slave. A slave I was responsible for protecting.