"A left-leaning signature!" he announced. "And the angle is the most severe I have ever encountered!"
"And there are no Forestallments to map!" the other said. "His blood is unadulterated, just as Krassus predicted! We could not have asked for more!"
Stunned, the two men sat back in their chairs. The one on the right looked up in awe at the confused slave. Then he nodded to a nearby bleeder.
"Take him," he ordered. The bleeder immediately stepped behind the man and grasped him by both arms. "Should any harm befall him, you forfeit your life!"
"I understand, my lord," the bleeder answered obediently.
The man behind the table then turned to another bleeder. "Go and fetch Janus," he said. "Tell him we have good news. And for the moment, none of the other slaves are to go anywhere."
"Yes, my lord," the monster answered. In a flash he was gone, easily wending his bulky form through the crowd.
Twenty-Nine looked back down at the tabletop, and to the design on the parchment, and the weird devices the two men had used in their examination of the slave's blood. He shook his head, understanding none of what had just transpired.
The man named Wulfgar was faring no better. Confusion and hate filled his eyes as he stood there gripped from behind, waiting for the one called Janus.
Finally, the crowds of slaves began to part. Turning, Twenty-Nine looked to see who it was.
It was the Harlequin.
Ignoring everyone but the men seated at the table, he strode forward to face them. "What is it?" he asked.
"We have finally found him, Janus," one of them said proudly, as if having just obediently returned with a bone thrown by his master. "The blood signature is conclusive."
Janus picked up the two parchments. He gazed back and forth between them for some time. Finally he returned his red-masked eyes to the ones behind the table.
"You are sure?" he asked sternly. Turning, he looked briefly at Wulfgar. "Trust me when I say that Krassus will not be amused should he again return to this forsaken place, only to find this to be yet another false alarm."
He turned back to the robed ones. "What did the blood assay reveal?" he asked.
"A blood quality of one and a half," one of them replied promptly. "We have never seen its like. That is, of course, with the exception of the Chosen Ones."
"And the craft tendency?" Janus asked.
"Left-leaning," the man seated on the right answered. "To a degree never before seen."
"You don't say," Janus mused. Removing his fancy handkerchief from a pocket, he dusted off the lens atop the tripod. Placing his eye to it, he examined the design on the parchment for some time. Finally, he raised his head back up.
"Very well," he said finally. "I stand convinced."
The painted freak turned toward Wulfgar. "All of that magnificently endowed blood, just waiting to be trained," he mused. Grasping Wulfgar's chin, he examined the slave's face as he turned it this way and that in the dim light of the torches.
"And you are so beautiful, as well," he added. Then, letting out an exasperated breath, he backed away, all the while staring with revulsion at the slave's soiled, torn loincloth and filthy, bare feet. Reaching into a pocket, he produced a small, golden tin of snuff. With careful movements, he held a pinch up to his nose and sniffed hard. A sudden, forceful sneeze followed. Then he smiled.
"No matter," he said, sniffing twice again. "Your disgusting aroma can be remedied. And beautiful you are, my dear Wulfgar, despite your current state. You are living proof that the licentious tart that was your mother somehow always managed to vomit forth impressive children, no matter the quality of the fool she laid with. How nice."
The slave's answer was immediate: He summoned all the saliva he could and spat it directly into Janus' face.
Slowly Janus wiped the spittle from his face with his embroidered handkerchief. "So much defiance," he said softly. "And how like your half brother and sister you seem to be."
Confusion flashed across Wulfgar's face.
"Ah, but you don't know about them yet, do you?" Janus asked nastily. "All in good time. We'll see to it that the demonslavers watch over you well."
Twenty-Nine looked over to the white-skinned monster on his right. Demonslavers. So that was what they were called.
Janus turned back to Wulfgar and looked into the slave's hazel eyes. "Assign this one to Krassus' personal quarters," he ordered the ones at the table. "And keep the door securing our new charge locked at all times. See to it that he is bathed and properly fed. Nothing but the finest for our friend, wouldn't you agree? Also see to it that our guest has some finery to wear. His forthcoming station shall require it. Otherwise, he is not to be disturbed unless I order it." He smiled again. "I want him to be sleek and happy when he first meets his new teacher." The robed men nodded.
Wulfgar struggled in vain to free himself from the demonslaver's iron grip. "What do you want of me?" he growled. "What is it that I am supposed to do for you?"
Janus smiled. "Be at peace," he cooed softly. "For the time being, all that matters is what we shall be doing for you."
It was at that point that a single, defiant voice rang out from the crowd of slaves.
"Leave him alone! He has done nothing to you!"
Turning quickly, Janus narrowed his eyes and searched among the slaves. "It seems we have a wolf among the sheep!" he said loudly. "How wonderful! Come and show yourself!"
A man stepped out of line and began shuffling toward the table. The nearest demonslaver moved to strike him down, but backed down at a quick gesture from Janus. With a cavalier wave of one hand, Janus beckoned the loinclothed slave forward.
The man had served on the oaring deck. Twenty-Nine had never been afforded the opportunity to speak to him, for their stations had been too far removed from each other. But he did know that this slave had been one of the most quarrelsome. He had purposely given the demonslavers a great deal of trouble, sometimes even mocking them. Many of the others manning the oars had looked up to him. The grisly evidence of the demonslavers' love for both the nine-tails and trident showed over much of his lean, hard body, and yet this man, like the slave named Wulfgar, had somehow managed to keep not only part of his strength intact, but also most of his dignity. As he walked slowly forward to face Janus, the demonslavers grudgingly made way.
"You are in no position to give orders," Janus said, looking the man up and down. He grinned as he fingered the black-and-white spheres at his hip, rubbing them together in a circle around his palm. Twenty-Nine cringed at the perverse, metallic sound of their clinking together.
"Turn your left shoulder to me," Janus ordered. The man obeyed. Janus narrowed his eyes.
"Talis," he said approvingly. "Good. Your death shall be no particular loss. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you a head start-say, twenty meters. Run as fast as you can toward the edge of the pier, where the ships lay docked. If you make it, I'll let you live. And if you don't, well, let's just say that you will be saved the unpleasant experience of this place."
After an indication from Janus, one of the demonslavers unlocked the slave's manacles. The slave rubbed his tortured wrists in disbelief.
Smiling, Janus took the black-and-white rope from the hook on his belt and slowly began uncoiling it. Then he grasped the line at its center, letting the small iron spheres at either end hang down almost to the stone floor. Casually, he looked up into the eyes of the slave who had dared defy him.
"I suggest you start now," he said softly.
The slave turned and began running toward the ships docked at the end of the pier.
Calmly, almost slowly, Janus raised the checkered line high over his head and began to swing the spheres around in a circle.The line and spheres sang hauntingly as they tore though the air-faster, faster, until they were a glimmering pinwheel of black and white.