The Crazy Bastard of This District
Three days after the ferry left Beirut, in the thin gray before dawn, I drove a rented car out toward the port of Naples. At that hour there was hardly a soul to be seen along the waterfront. I took the car down to the pier where the ferry was meant to come alongside.
Harbor hands who had already been called out were standing there, smoking and idling through their gossip. I rolled up in front of them, stopped, and offered an easy greeting.
"Early hour. Much obliged."
Their eyes traveled over me from head to foot.
"You the man Mr. Moreno sent word about?"
"I am."
"Moreno getting on all right? Town's been loud lately. Heard his house burned."
"He's well. Keeping his head down for the moment, but as you know, he'll be back without a scratch this time too."
Naples had been noisy for a good while over two separate affairs. One was the discovery of some hundred refugee girls, presumed to have been trafficked. The other was the house of the man who headed Naples's violent syndicate—himself suspected of a hand in that trade—burning clean to the ground, and dozens of his men, the boss among them, vanishing along with it.
That boss was Alessandro Moreno.
No one could say whether he was dead or alive. But for the people who did business with him, a message out of his inner circle was not something they could ignore. Not until a corpse turned up could anyone be certain.
One of them passed the envelope I had brought to the hand who was still measuring me with a suspicious eye. The man cracked it open just far enough to look, then tucked it inside his coat.
Right then another beside him spoke low.
"I think that's her coming in."
I followed the line of his hand. A ferry, showing only a faint wash of light, was easing slowly in toward the pier.
The moment she was fast alongside, the ferry dropped her ramp onto the dock as if she had been waiting for the chance. Three trucks that had been standing by crawled up onto dry land with their headlights on, pulled off to one side, and lined up abreast. Slaves climbed down from the cabs and came over to greet me.
"Boss. Good day, sir."
"Quarters first. Let's go."
"Yes, sir."
While they climbed back into the trucks, a sailor came down off the ship and approached. I met him halfway, drew an envelope from inside my coat, and handed it over. It was a good three times thicker than the last.
"Charter fee and fuel, both in there. You did the work."
The sailor checked the money and nodded.
"Glad it ended without any trouble."
"If I happen to call again, we could do another run?"
"We'll see when the time comes."
"Figured as much. Until next time."
"Sure."
He went back aboard. I left the ferry to her preparations for departure and returned to the car.
"All right. We move."
The harbor hands who had been loitering nearby turned their backs and made a thorough show of seeing nothing. I let out a short, dry laugh, turned the key, and pulled away. The three trucks strung out behind me and followed.
Only after ten days out of Sorbonne Harbor, on the western side of Baldar Fortress, did they finally make port at Gerona. Marco, the mercenaries, and the slaves filed off the ship in a weary line, bodies spent from the long crossing. Once the heavy trucks had been unloaded last of all, Marco set about putting the company in order.
"All right. Mercenaries, gather the slaves in one place, if you would. We need a head count before we move on to camp."
Just then the mercenary Hans, looking off to the right, brightened.
"Hey. Over there. Isn't that the Baron of Terra?"
"Where? I'll be damned, it is. Isn't that the master of the Sahara Merchant Group? How's he here ahead of us?"
"Right? I had him arriving after we did."
"You don't think he used a long-distance gate at the Mage Tower?"
"No way. You know what those cost?"
"What they cost? A baron of his rank could swing one easy. Expensive, sure."
"You think?"
"Look, there are other slaves with him. You're telling me that whole crowd came through a long-distance gate? There wouldn't be a coin left."
While the mercenaries batted the talk back and forth, I walked over to Marco.
"Long haul, Marco."
"Guildmaster. How are you here already?"
"There's always a way. Don't let this much rattle you. There's plenty more ahead that'll surprise you."
"Ah. Yes, sir."
"Then let's go. We got in first and already laid out the camp. Eat first, then we'll talk about tomorrow's work."
"Yes, sir. Moving out!"
I took the Toyota trucks and led the company into the woods east of Gerona. Vehicles and mounted mercenaries ran the night road in a long file until, at last, the camp came into view. The moment they climbed down from trucks and horses, their eyes went wide.
"What the—who are all these people?"
"Where did this many come from in the meantime?"
"They're not sharing the ground with another group, are they? No way this is all Sahara."
Hundreds—no, a crowd that looked a full thousand strong—waited among tents and burning bonfires to receive them. Marco's own face had gone blank.
"What... what is all this?"
The first thing his eyes caught was the iron at their necks. Look wherever he liked, every one of them was a man in shackles. And he could not begin to imagine how so many had gathered here, when none of this had been in sight the day they sailed.
"I listened to what you said, and that same day I went to the royal city of Drail and bought every slave they put on the market. Every last one."
"You went to Drail? All of these people? How many did you even buy?"
"Every piece of goods they brought out. Eight hundred and seventeen, all told."
"E-eight hundred?!"
"Yeah. Which is why the cash on hand is hanging by a thread. If you don't sell them properly tomorrow, the group might actually go under."
"Why in the world would you buy that many... no, more than that—how are you already here from Drail? You left later than we did..."
"That part's still a trade secret. Do a little more work for us, settle into your place, and I'll tell you then."
Even after the guildmaster's explanation, Marco could not make the scene in front of him feel real. Buying eight hundred slaves was one thing. Bringing that many people from Drail to Gerona in under ten days was another. But they were walking around right before his eyes, and disbelief had nowhere left to stand.
Then he heard the guildmaster calling.
"Hey. What are you doing? Get over here and sit. Eat first. We talk about tomorrow after."
Marco shook loose the knot of thoughts that would not come undone and hurried to him. Catch the man's eye, secure a place in the group, and the secret would come out in time. For now he had no choice but to put everything into producing results.
West of Castle Gerona, merchant groups that had flocked in from every corner of the continent to catch the city's peak season were settling their camps and taking their evening. Gathered across much the same stretch of ground, the guildmasters found themselves, for once, all in one place.
"Not long now until the peak."
"The market's been strong across the board this year."
"I hear the wheat came in remarkably well. The estate owners' purses are heavy, so slave demand was bound to rise with them."
"True enough. Lucky for us."
"The Aldrich Merchant Group must be having a fine year."
"Hardly. About the same as any other year. I heard it was your side that sold rather well."
"Just us? Honestly, everyone at this table is in much the same boat."
"Fair. The market is good this year. But that isn't only a good thing."
"No? What could be wrong with trade going well?"
"Demand like this, and every manner of riffraff comes pouring in to muddy the water. Doesn't it?"
"Ah. There is that. I hear the number of registered groups this year is more than double the usual."
"Step into the market and see how many faces you've never seen. Puffing themselves up as slave merchants when they don't know their place. These days any brat who shows up dragging a few slaves thinks that makes him a trader. Far too many of them."
"Most of them amount to nothing, true, but a few are putting up real sales. Those Sahara bastards who left a little while ago, for one."
"Still, it's a relief Sahara actually left. When I heard they'd taken the Night Cat guildmaster alive, I half worried they'd come charging at us for revenge."
"Revenge? For what? What did we do wrong?"
"Exactly. And even if they did learn we egged the bandits on from behind, what can the likes of them do? How many groups have flashed once, posted a result, and vanished? They got lucky this time, but they won't last. They'll shutter before long. No—we'll see to it they do. Isn't that right?"
"That's right. Ha ha ha."
"Of course. You think it's easy to get into this trade? We don't hand out seats for free."
"Well said."
So the drinking went on in warm good fellowship, and it did not break up until nearly midnight.
And the next day, the Gerona slave market. Groups that had come out early were busy making ready to sell.
"Tie that down tight! Don't let it come loose!"
"There's a gap open here. Fix it, now! You think a customer sees this mess and still wants to buy? Hurry! Before they show up!"
Onto the street where the hands were rushing about, the Sahara Merchant Group rolled into the market with its trucks in the lead.
"That... isn't that Sahara?"
"What? Didn't those bastards leave half a month ago?"
"Yeah. Looks like them, though."
"Right. I did think it was strange that spot over there stayed empty. They shouldn't have any slaves left to sell. What are they doing back?"
"No idea. But what's that behind them? What are they—wait."
"What is that?"
"Guildmaster! Guildmaster!"
A clerk came running for Heinz, master of the Aldrich Merchant Group.
"What is it, making a scene first thing in the morning!"
"G-Guildmaster. Outside. You need to come outside."
"And why is that?"
"The Sahara Merchant Group is back."
"What? Sahara? Hold on. You raised all this noise over those nobodies? Boy, you're going to catch—"
"N-no, you really need to see it yourself. Quickly."
Sensing something off, Heinz put the clerk ahead of him and went out to the avenue.
"What in the world did you see that..."
What met his eyes, once he was outside, was a mass of people filling the avenue and walking on.
"What is all this?"
An endless column of humans and demi-human orcs was crossing the heart of the market.
"All of them slaves the Sahara Merchant Group brought in."
"What? That doesn't—where did they drag all of these from?"
Speaking as if the sight were absurd, he turned his eyes back to the column. Along the avenue where the slave market opened, at the stalls to either side, hands who had been preparing the day's trade had stopped cold, staring dumbstruck at the procession passing in front of them.
We reached the spot the Gerona Merchants' Guild had assigned us. Marco moved briskly, settling the slaves and opening the stall. Since morning we had strung them out in a long line and come in at a slow walk straight through the center of the city. Thanks to that, rumor was already running through every quarter of Gerona.
The Sahara Merchant Group has appeared, leading a staggering number of slaves.
For the first time in a while, I taught Marco a move. What marketing is. While the other groups were still setting up, hauling the slaves in for everyone to see was itself a kind of declaration of war.
The next lesson after marketing was simple. Bury them in volume.
Showing an overwhelming mass of stock had already taken the fight out of them once. But the real volume offensive started now.
Marco came over.
"Guildmaster. We're nearly ready to sell. All that's left is to hang the price board. But... do you truly mean to sell at that price?"