The First Slave Deal

"This being your first time, I'm doing you a special favor. You take my meaning, don't you?"

Modric the slave trader, his belly jutting out in a heavy swell, wore the look of a man dispensing charity as he laid four gold coins in my hand.

Four coins rested in my palm. Four gold. The first deal I had closed in this world.

The goods were nothing I could have handled back on Earth, and I had never intended to drag these bastards home alive anyway. I had only kept them around on the chance they might prove useful. Now that it had come to this, I was glad I hadn't killed them. One way or another, they were going to pay the debt they owed me. Isn't that right?

Both were Egyptians, swarthy-skinned, and by the measure of this other world they had sturdy frames. They weren't short, and years of eating well on Earth had left a decent layer of flesh on them. Set beside the slave sold from the platform earlier they were a little light on muscle, but even I, selling slaves for the first time, could tell they were hardly poor merchandise.

That was why I had wondered whether I might squeeze out a better price. Think of it the other way, though, and what I had just watched was retail, knocked down at auction, while this was me handing goods to a wholesaler. Matching the auction price was never going to happen. Two gold a head—from where Modric sat, calling it a generous offer wasn't entirely a lie.

In truth he could have beaten the price down harder if he'd had a mind to. But I was a noble with a baron's title, driving a strange carriage unlike anything he had ever seen, and an apprentice mage besides. On top of that I carried a translation item so smooth it was as if the two of us were simply talking. The interpreting in our conversation was nothing more than a side function of the necklace, but Modric had no way of knowing that and took it for a top-grade translation piece. Expensive things, as a rule, are not for just anyone to use. For those reasons, stabbing me in the back left a bad taste in his mouth, and he bought the slaves at something close to the going rate.

With both sides satisfied, the deal was sealed, and in that easy, cordial air I started drawing industry talk out of him.

"Do you come through this market often?"

"Well, I pass through on the road between the Duchy of Enrique and the Kingdom of Zaragoza. Once a month, regular as clockwork. Why do you ask?"

"I see. The truth is, my house is a little short on coin. I may end up selling more slaves, and if I do, it would be easier on us to keep dealing with you, Mr. Modric, seeing as we've already opened business."

"Hahaha. Is that so. I'm not saying it just because it's my own caravan, but you won't find anyone, anywhere, who pays as well as Modric's Caravan. As you know, the slave market is crawling with highway robbers. A buyer you can actually trust isn't easy to come by."

"So it seems."

Beyond that I picked up more about the market and the trade. Where the big markets opened. Which slaves sold well, and where. How, in one region, dark-skinned slaves had poured in from lands across the sea and sent prices crashing. How women kept as sex slaves fetched a high price. How bagging a female elf, if your luck held, was as good as picking a lump of mithril up off the forest floor. Talk of that sort.

And between the lines I came to understand the practical workings of the slave trade as well. What I had most wanted to know was how they kept the slaves under control. That answered itself when I watched them clamp metal frames around the necks of the two I had just sold.

The necklace supplied the rest.

The name had a respectable ring to it. The function was savage.

Still. I liked it.

Oh? With something like that, I could bring slaves in and trust the collar to hold them—and it meant I could work them myself.

The second question was what they did with slaves who couldn't understand the language. To answer that, I first had to learn where slaves came from.

The main supply came from three places: prisoners of war, runaway serfs, and criminal sentences. Captives dragged home from a war; serfs who had fled, or slash-and-burn farmers who ran into the mountains rather than pay taxes to the crown and their lords; and people condemned for a crime and reduced to slavery. Those were the chief sources. And one line of supply had swelled sharply of late. Hunting beyond the borders.

Foreign peoples living on new continents and in unexplored lands, along with beastkin and other races, were seized by so-called slave hunters and sold into the markets. I had packaged Hassan and Amin the same way and sold them off.

Unlike the earlier cases, slaves taken from outside naturally ran into a language problem, but a simple fix had already been developed. Translation magic items. Nothing on the level of the necklace I wore, but interpreters good enough to pass along a simple intent could be bought in any quantity from the magic towers that made and sold enchanted goods. You didn't need one device per slave, either. From the master's side you only had to say what you meant, so a single interpreter let you command ten people or a hundred, as many as you liked. If anything, slaves who understood one another might band together, so quite a few masters deliberately mixed other races, tribes, and peoples so they couldn't speak among themselves.

I watched with satisfaction as the men I had sold were dragged off, collars around their necks. Then I looked down at the four gold coins left in my hand.

Each was a little thicker and broader than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠five-hundred-won coin, and the weight in my palm was satisfying. I wanted to know how much gold was actually in them.

I slipped a hand inside my clothes, found an item, and drew it out—a half-lens meant to sit over one eye. I fitted it on and looked down at the coins.

Huh? That came to roughly fifteen don, by the old Korean weight. I had heard gold had climbed past four hundred ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thousand won a don. Figured by the gram, each coin was worth more than six million won.

Hell. Two coins a head meant twelve million won a man. Selling the pair of them had brought in something like twenty-four million won.

Of course, as the price of a human life it was absurdly cheap. Even so, money aside, the satisfaction of selling the men who had tried to kill me into slavery more than covered whatever was left wanting. I watched them being hauled away, pleased with myself, and turned the thought over.

I'll find the one who set them on me, and I'll leave him in exactly the same state.

With that first slave deal successfully closed, I turned to the next task: finding a place fit for crossing between dimensions. Somewhere quiet, where people rarely set foot.

Luck was with me. From a conversation among children herding sheep in the hills, I learned of a promising spot—a cave in the forest, roughly ten kilometers out from Lorenzo's gate. Goblins lived there, the children said. In their own way they were only trading warnings about danger, but ten kilometers from the city was, from where I stood, not a bad location at all.

Goblins lived packed together in tribal bands. Orcs, a related stock, were recognized as a demi-human people the way elves and dwarves were, but goblins were classed as monsters. Orcs had climbed from clan to tribe, from tribe to confederation, and at last to something near a kingdom, while goblins had stalled at the tribe and never developed past it. Wipe them out, then, and no one would have a word to say about it. If anything, people more often hired mercenaries to exterminate them.

Clear the goblins, and this could make a decent hideout. I set it aside as a candidate and moved on to confirming where the place sat on Earth.

I spread the regional map I had picked up in Cairo, laid a protractor and a compass over it, and worked out the position. I fixed the bearing from my departure point toward Lorenzo, judged the distance, and drew a line. At that range it was well clear of Cairo proper. If the ground was empty, I could haul in a container and camouflage the site. Not bad. Simply not having to drive for hours out of the city, and not having to drop off a cliff again, would save a great deal of time.

"We'll start from here."

The necklace asked.

"First I go back to Earth. I need to confirm the coordinates there, and then pick up a few supplies."

"If you're dealing with vermin, you need pesticide, don't you?"

"Close enough. Gunpowder counts as medicine, too."

I drove the Hummer back to the dungeon. The return didn't take as long as the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠way out. Once I was back inside, I waited through to the small hours and crossed home to Earth again.

After I arrived, I found the mark on the map I had carried over and drove. A hundred kilometers or so toward Cairo brought me to a stretch of barren, empty ground. This would do.

I went into central Cairo, found a real estate agency, signed a brokerage contract, and gave them the location I wanted. I explained the purpose as a warehouse for trade. With the work left in their hands, I had other matters to settle while I waited.

First, getting ready to go home. Stay here too long and it would turn awkward—someone might file a missing-person report. It was time I headed back to Korea.

I still didn't know who had tried to have me killed, but in a case like this the sensible place to start was close at hand. Two people would know my schedule, and whom I was likely to meet.

My direct superior, Manager Park.

And my current wife, who knew my itinerary. Go Yumi.