“Roet.” Dannyl shook his head. “It has become quite a problem.”
The Ashaki nodded. “Slaves of one of the southern estates acquired some, recently, though I do not know how. Perhaps an enterprising trader from Kyralia brought it across the mountains. It had an alarming effect, causing slaves to rebel or refuse to work. Their owner has forbidden its use – and the possession of it, too – and recommended that others do the same.”
“A good idea,” Dannyl said. And yet … if roet induced slaves to revolt, perhaps it could be the key to ending slavery in Sachaka. But afterwards the country would be in trouble, with most of its workforce rendered useless. It would take a ruthless or desperate enemy to do that, and if roet production took hold here what would that mean for Kyralia?
“Would you like to eat, or wait until later?” Chakori asked. “I could take you around the estate, if you are not tired from your journey.”
Achati looked at Dannyl and Tayend. Dannyl lifted his shoulders to show he was amenable to either choice. Tayend nodded.
“Both are inviting offers,” Achati told his cousin. “Whatever is most convenient.”
The Ashaki smiled. “Then I will give you a tour, since I have ordered a special dish prepared for you that is always best cooked for at least three hours.”
Chakori led them through the mansion. Though the estate was unconventional in its lack of an outer wall, the mansion’s interior layout and decoration were traditional. A main corridor wound from the Master Room where they had met Chakori past two clusters of rooms, but unlike in the Guild House the corridor branched and the passage Chakori led them down took them to a rear entrance.
They stepped out into a generous courtyard area and headed toward the work buildings. The two tall, circular structures made the mansion look small and meek. The smell of raka beans roasting was strong.
Chakori gestured at the buildings. “The one on the left is for storage and fermentation; the one on the right for roasting and packing.” He headed toward the store, ushering them through a heavy wooden door into a lamp-lit room. A globe light fizzed into existence above his head and brightened to light the whole interior.
The room was divided into sections, with wooden walls radiating out from a central area. Slaves had removed one of these walls and were raking a great mound of beans into the neighbouring space. Another group were shovelling beans into barrows. As a slave moved from one group to another, clearly watching over the progress, Dannyl felt a shock of recognition.
It’s Varn!
Chakori led his guests into the central area, the slaves throwing themselves onto the floor at their master’s arrival, and as Varn turned, his eyes flicked from Chakori to Achati. He hesitated for the tiniest moment in surprise, before dropping in turn.
Dannyl looked at Achati. Varn’s former master looked surprised, and a little dismayed, but he quickly recovered his composure.
“I used to own your supervising slave,” he told Chakori.
His cousin nodded. “Yes, the man I bought him from told me Varn was yours once. He has been a good worker.”
“He is. A good source slave, too. Why did Voriki sell him, do you know?”
Chakori shrugged. “I don’t know. I suspect he needed the money. Do you regret selling him? Do you wish to buy him back?”
Dannyl was glad he was standing behind the two Sachakans, and they couldn’t see him wince at the way they so casually discussed buying and selling people.
Achati didn’t answer straightaway. “It is tempting, and at times I do regret selling him, but no.”
Nodding, Chakori gave the order for the slaves to resume work, and began explaining the storage and fermentation process. Dannyl resisted the urge to watch Varn to see if he cast any looks in Achati’s direction, and whether they’d be reproachful or not. He could not help remembering catching sight of the two of them during the hunt for Lorkin, when they thought themselves unobserved and that nobody would see the obvious affection and desire between them. But what was it that Achati had said later?
“Only when you know the other could easily leave you, do you appreciate when he stays.”
Was that why Achati had sold Varn? Had he come to suspect that Varn’s adoration was faked? Or had he known it, from reading Varn’s mind?
As Chakori finished explaining, he invited them to look around the room. They moved around the storage segments, inspecting the glistening beans. A pile of discarded leaves that looked like large elongated bowls stood nearby. Dannyl turned to their host as they drew level with Varn and the slaves raking the fermenting beans.
“What do the raka plants look like?” he asked.
Chakori smiled, pleased at the question. “They are small trees about double the height of a man. The beans come in pods – like these.” Dannyl followed as Chakori headed for the discarded leaves, but Achati hung back. Chakori picked two up and handed one each to Dannyl and Tayend. They were thick and as inflexible as gorin leather.
“Do you make anything from these?” Tayend asked.
“I give them to a neighbour, who chops them up and spreads them over his fields. He swears they repel insects and make the plants grow faster.” Chakori shrugged.
“They look like little boat hulls,” Tayend observed. “Or they could be used as bowls. Do they burn? Does the smoke smell like raka?”
Dannyl glanced back at Achati. His friend was talking to Varn. The slave’s gaze was lowered, but he smiled faintly and nodded. Achati looked relieved. Dannyl turned back to find Tayend rubbing the inside of his pod.
“Shoes,” he muttered. “I wonder if you could carve them into shoes.”
Achati appeared at Dannyl’s elbow. “I wouldn’t want to walk for long in them.”
“No. You’re right,” Tayend agreed. He gave the pod back to Chakori, who tossed it back on the pile.
“Now,” Chakori said. “Let me show you the roasting process.”
Lorkin had discovered something that nobody in the Guild, perhaps not even his own mother, knew.
Being drained of magic over and over gives a person a dreadful headache.
His captors had kept him from recovering magically by taking power at regular intervals. It left him unable to even remove the blindfold over his eyes. Even when he’d had the strength to move, the few attempts he had made to push the blindfold off by rubbing his head against the wall had resulted in a whack over his head that left his ears ringing.
Having no strength also left him unable to ease the strain and ache from having his arms tied behind his back and the sleepless hours lying on the cold, uneven stone floor. It should not have left him incapable of calling out with his mind, however. Something else was preventing that. He was not sure what. The idea that someone might have blocked his magic while he was unconscious had left him feeling very vulnerable and violated, until it occurred to him a little while later that they wouldn’t be draining his power so often if he couldn’t use it.
The hours that passed were long and miserable.
He could do nothing but think, and try to find a way out of his predicament. His captors were most probably members of Kalia’s faction. It was very unlikely that outsiders were living in Sanctuary, though he couldn’t dismiss the idea. Perhaps the Guild had arranged for his rescue, recruiting disgruntled Traitors or promising them something – like Healing knowledge – in return for rescuing him. Perhaps the Sachakan king already had spies here, and wanted Lorkin removed from Sanctuary before it was invaded.
Trouble was, in either case it didn’t make sense for him to be abducted like this.