Compared to that, Grandpa had apparently treated his slaves well. They were given clothes to wear, even if the clothes were shabby, and they were fed properly. He didn’t abuse them, and if they fell ill, he looked after them. He also didn’t sell them off to any overly strange customers. It seems he was a decent slave trader.
It seemed Grandpa hadn’t wanted me to find out he was in this line of business, but it wasn’t that far away from the gentle image I’d had of my grandfather, so I was honestly relieved.
“But from everything I’ve heard so far, you had no reason to like him, either, did you?” I asked.
“What he did was good enough for us slaves,” said San. “Because, at the very least, we didn’t have to worry about anything strange and untoward happening to us. However, now, we can no longer be so sure of that.”
“Huh?” I asked.
“Your grandfather said when he was alive that you were unlikely to take over this business, Shopmaster. That this work would be too hard for his timid, much-too-kind grandson.”
Ah… So that was why he never told me, I thought. He probably kept it a secret because he thought the knowledge would eat away at me.
San continued. “However, if you choose not to take over the business, we will all be sold off to other slave traders. There is no trader who could afford to buy all of us at once. We would all be split up. There are slaves among us who are married, or are sisters, but there would be no consideration shown for that. In fact, there is no guarantee that the slave traders who would receive us would be decent like your grandfather was.”
“That’s…”
“Furthermore, there are those with young children among us. The present king, His Majesty King Souma, has forbidden the ownership of slaves under the age of twelve. As such, those children are not slaves, but if the buyers say they only want the parents, those children will be left in an orphanage. This is why we are all sad for the death of your grandfather.”
That made sense. They weren’t sad about Grandpa’s death itself, but for the situation it had left them all in… That was likely it.
I wasn’t a slave. So I couldn’t understand their suffering. Still, not being able to envision a bright future for themselves was, probably, even harder than I’d imagined.
While I was still at a loss for words, San handed me something.
It was a riding crop. While I was wondering why she would give me such a thing, San turned her back to me and suddenly began to take off her clothes. Then, having stripped down to only a single pair of underwear (her top was completely naked), and covering her front with the clothes she had been wearing, she knelt as if in penance. Her smooth back and fluffy tail were exposed to my eyes.
“Wait, San?! What are you doing?!” I shouted.
“I have spoken above my station as a slave. I want you to punish me.”
“But why?!”
“Voicing an opinion to the shopmaster is something no slave should ever do,” San explained. “Even if you were to kill me, or torture me, or sell me to the worst kind of owner for it, I would be in no position to complain. I do not want that. Once you have whipped me in front of everyone, I beg you, please, forgive me.”
“No, that’s not…”
“It will be fine,” San said. “That whip is of a special make. It causes intense pain without wounding the place where it strikes. You will not be lowering my value as merchandise.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about!” I threw the whip to the ground, walked around in front of San, then crouched down to look her in the eye. “Are you some kind of pervert that gets off on being hit, San?”
“…I don’t think of myself as one, at least,” she said.
“Then why did you say that when you knew you might get hit for it?”
When I asked that in as calm a tone as I could manage, San lowered her face. Her bangs fell to cover her face, so I couldn’t see her expression, but there were sobs as she spoke.
“So that even if you do close this store… you might pay the slightest bit of concern to our situations… At the very least, you might look for buyers who will let the families… stay together…”
“Do you have family here, San?” I asked gently.
San shook her head.
She did that it even though she didn’t have any herself…
I looked around at each of the slaves.
There was a woman who was squeezing her child to her breast, looking at me with uncertainty.
There were a pair of two slave girls, both around seventeen years old, who looked like sisters and were holding hands. One girl was quiet, but she seemed to have a mental fortitude (the elder sister?). The other one was trying to act tough, but looked shaken by uncertainty (the little sister?). The quiet girl was holding the other one tightly and trying to reassure her.
Had San put herself in danger for them?
“You take good care of your own, don’t you, San?” I asked.
She said nothing.
“Could you put your clothes back on for now?”
“But…!”
“It’s fine,” I said forcefully.
San reluctantly put her clothes back on. As she did, I noticed something shapely and jiggling for a second, but I looked away with all the strength I had.
Once San had calmed down, I spoke to all of the slaves. “I see your situation. That said, I have no intention of taking over this business. I could never be a slave trader. It just wouldn’t work.”
San said nothing.
“However, I think I will keep this business going until all of you are sold. Of course, I have no intention of selling you to any strange buyers. I will take responsibility for investigating them carefully. As far as I can manage, I’ll look for buyers that will allow families to stay together.”
If I had been rich, I could have closed up shop and released all of them. But, in my current state, I didn’t have the power to. Still, I wanted to do what I could. While the slaves’ faces filled with relief after they heard me speak, I smiled to San who was still in a daze.
“This is the best I can do. Is it good enough?”
“…More than,” she said. “You are too kind for your own good, Shopmaster.”
“Could you not call me that? I’m Ginger Camus.”
“Understood, Master Ginger.”
And so, I gave San a firm handshake.
“Hey there, mister!” one merchant said. “That’s one fine slave you’ve got servin’ ya.”
“How much’d she cost ya? You a rich kid from a good family or somethin’?”
“Um… er… Thanks…”
While politely brushing off the people who addressed me in merchant slang, San and I walked down a shopping street in the capital at midday, carrying bags with us. The bags contained mostly food and soap, along with new cloth to make simple garments. I’m sure you could figure this out without me saying so, but almost all of it was for the slaves.
“Well, we managed to get our hands on a nice amount of quality cloth,” I said. “That store, The Silver Deer, was good. The shopkeeper was a real dandy, and when he heard we would be using the material to make new clothes for slaves, he sold us a whole lot of it for cheap without looking the slightest bit unhappy about it.”
“How very nice for you,” she said.
“Ah…! Sorry, San. For making you tag along and carry stuff for me.”
“You needn’t show such concern for a slave,” San said nonchalantly. “Order me to do whatever you wish.”
She was a little taller than I was, and the way she looked walking with her back straight, she had such dignity that you never would have taken her for a slave. Maybe she had come from a good upbringing?
“But, still, these are stores, what’s with them having no shopkeepers other than slaves?” I asked.