"Suppose some women were natural slaves," I said.
"Some wicked, low women?" asked Boabissia.
"If you like," I said.
"Continue," she said.
"If some women are natural slaves, and know this in their hearts," I said, "would you prefer that they conceal this from the world? Do such lies please you? Do you commend them, truly? Would you advise these women to indulge in deceit, to rejoice in the practice of hypocrisy? What do you say to their needs? Are these of no importance, because they may not appeal to you, personally? Do you encourage them to deprivation? Do you really prescribe for them in their tumult and yearning larger and larger, and more and more bitter, does of frustration? Must everyone be as you think perhaps you yourself should be, as you desperately command yourself to be? What do you fear? What accounts for your hostility, your venomous resentment? Would you truly keep them from their natural fulfillment?"
"I suppose not," said Boabissia, "if they are truly such things."
"Yet, there are some I have heard of," I said, "who might deny a natural slave her bondage, even by law, no matter what might be the mental, emotional and physical damage of this."
"That is absurd," said Boabissia. "Slavery is fitting, morally and legally, for the natural slave, of course. No one in their right mind could conceive of denying that."
"For natural slaves?" I said.
"Yes," she said.
"A wench such as Feiqa?" I said.
"Of course," said Boabissia.
"In such a case then," I said, "if Feiqa is a natural slave, it might be fitting, don't you think, that she acknowledged this, and then entered humbly upon her authentic reality?"
"Yes," said Boabissia, "as she is such a slut,"
"Perhaps you think it was even morally incumbent upon her, given what she was, to have done so?" I asked.
"I think it was fitting, that it was fully appropriate," said Boabissia, uneasily, "but I do not think it was her actual duty to have done so."
"Then you might see her act, considering all that is involved, the bold confession, the loss of status, the stern nature of bondage, the now belonging helplessly and totally to a master, how free women will now treat her and look upon her, as the act of a very brave woman," I said.
"Or of a very desperate one," said Boabissia, "perhaps one who has fought with herself for so long and so painfully that at last she can stand it no longer, and in piteous surrender and relief flings herself to the feet of a man, where she belongs."
"Perhaps," I said.
"Such a fate is appropriate for natural slaves," said Boabissia scornfully. "The sooner they get the collars on their necks the better."
"The better?" I asked.
"The better for themselves, the better for men, the beasts, and the better for noble free women, whom they can then no longer pretend to be like."
"I am glad to hear you say that," I said.
"Oh?" asked Boabissia.
"Yes," I said, "for all women are natural slaves."
"No!" said Boabissia. "No!"
"And no woman," I said, "can be completely fulfilled unless she understands this, accepts it and behaves accordingly."
"No!" said Boabissia. "No! No!"
"It is just a theory," I said.
Boabissia clung to the rail, gasping. Her hands were white on the rail. She was trembling.
"Are you all right," I asked.
"Yes," she whispered, her head down, clinging to the rail. I could not help thinking how lovely a collar would look upon her throat.
She looked up. "It is only a theory, is it not?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
She shook, clinging to the rail.
"To be sure," I said, "it may be a true theory." She did not respond. I then, seeing that she was distressed, returned to my seat. After a time, she returned to, too, to her place on the bench. She did not meet my eyes, then, nor those of Hurtha, nor, I think, of any of the other men in the cart.
19 The Checkpoint
"They are gone!" I whispered, tensely.
"What are gone?" asked Hurtha, sitting up in the furs, a few feet from me. The camp had been stirring now for better than an Ahn.
"The letters of safety," I said, "those of safe conduct for our party." "What is wrong?" asked Boabissia, her hair wet and loose, come from the nearby stream, where she had washed it.
"Our letters of safety," I said, "are gone. I had them here, in the sheath." "Perhaps they have fallen out," she said.
"No," I said. "They were firmly lodged within. They could be withdrawn only purposefully."
"There is supposedly a checkpoint down the road," said Boabissia. "I heard of it last night."
"So, too, doubtless," said I, "did the thief."
"We were all about," said Boabissia. "How could anyone have done it?" "Presumably it could have been done only by one practiced in stealth, who knew for what he was searching, and where it might be found. He might even have had a tool for the extraction of the papers."
"The blade was in the sheath, was it not," asked Boabissia, "and the sheath beside you?"
"Yes," I said, "and the sheath was on its strap, slung about my shoulder. The blade would have had to be removed, I assume, and then replaced, after the extraction of the papers."
"Why would it be replaced?" asked Hurtha. "That the absence of the papers not be immediately noticed," I said. "I would not have noticed the matter had I not, as a matter of habit, this morning, tested the draw of the blade."
This habit, unnecessary and trivial though it may seem, is one inculcated in warriors, in many cities. The theory is not only that it is well to practice the draw frequently, as the first to draw may be the first to strike, but also to be familiar with it on a daily basis lest its parameters alter from time to time, due to such things as contractions and swellings of the leather, these having to do with temperature and moisture. Less obviously, but more deviously, the blade could be tightened, or even fastened, in the sheath by an enemy, by such means as a tiny wooden shim or plug, or a fine wire looped below the hilt. The practicing of the draw, and the associated testing of sheath resistance, is a small, but seldom neglected detail, in the practice of arms.
"Such skill seems impossible," said Boabissia. "Who is there who could of done such a thing?"
"Some warriors could have done it," I said. "Many red savages could have done it."
"But who is about here?" asked Boabissia.
"Some thief," I said, "one who is highly skillful, one worthy even of the thief's scar of Port Kar, though I doubt he wears it." The thief's scar in Port Kar is a tiny, three pronged brand, burned into the face over the right cheekbone. It marks the members of the Caste of Thieves in Port Kar. That is the only city in which, as far as I know, there is a recognized caste for thieves. They tend to be quite proud of their calling, it being handed down often from father to son. There are various perquisites connected with membership in this caste, among them, if one is a professional thief, protection from being hunted down and killed by caste members, who tend to be quite jealous of their various territories and prerogatives. Because of the caste of thieves there is probably much less thievery in Port Kar than in most cities of comparable size. They regulate their numbers and craft in much the same way that, in many cities, the various castes, such as those of the metal workers or cloth workers, do theirs. "Feiqa," said Boabissia. "Yes, Mistress?" said Feiqa, frightened. The lovely slave had knelt immediately, being addressed by a free person.
"Did you see anything?" asked Boabissia.
"No, Mistress," said Feiqa, putting her head down.
"Stupid slave," said Boabissia.
"Yes, Mistress," whispered Feiqa, not looking up.
"Are such papers needed at the checkpoint?" asked Hurtha.
"Quite possibly," I said. "We are near Ar. I do not know."