“Janice!” she protested.
“You would doubtless be treated as what he had taken you to be, a slave,” I said.
“What would he do?”
“I do not know,” I said. “He might cuff you and throw you to the straw, where you might quickly learn what it is for a man to take his pleasure in you. And that would be but the beginning.”
“I would have to serve him?”
“Utterly, lengthily,” I said, “and as his least whim might dictate.”
“But you are not behind bars,” she said, “and you are not, surely, frequently and indiscriminately seized.”
“There is a roster for my usage,” I said. To be sure, in my view my usage was too closely restricted. It seemed there were two reasons for this, one, to make me something of a prize for guards, a delight which they were accorded less frequently than they might wish, thus serving as an instrument in their control, and, two, to serve as an instrument in my own control. Needless to say, I did not approve of this second reason. There was little doubt, however, as to its effectiveness. There are many ways to control a girl. Among them, of course, is that, the control of her gratifications.
“In my city, Besnit,” she said, “slave girls are numerous. One sees many of them. One things little of it. In most parts of the city they go about in relative safety.”
“Doubtless many men in your city own their own,” I said, “or have access to them, perhaps in taverns or brothels.”
“Yes,” she said. “But would it not be so, too, here, in the city above?”
“Yes,” I said. I smiled. “There is no dearth of slave girls in this city.” That was surely true. I had been startled by their number and beauty. This seemed to me an extremely rich city. It was only to be expected then, I supposed, particularly given the nature of the men on this world, that many of its riches would wear collars. I had been permitted, of course, from time to time, like the others, out of the pits. The city above was quite beautiful. It was like a lovely, lofty jewel set in the mountains.
“It would then be possible to be out of the cell, as a slave, and be in relative safety?”
“I suppose so,” I said, “assuming she is suitable collared, and owned, and such.”
“Are you ever permitted to go above?” she said.
“Sometimes,” I said.
“To the city?” she asked.
“Sometimes,” I said.
“May I rise to my feet?” she begged.
I regarded her though the bars.
“Yes,” I said.
She rose to her feet and hurried to the bars. She grasped them. “You have been so kind to me, Janice,” she said. “You let me bathe, you let me clean my clothing, you have showed me how to exerxise!”
“As a slave,” I said.
“Yes!” she said.
“It is the pit master, the depth warden, really, ultimately,” I said. “who permits such things.”
She then knelt behind the bars, looking up at me.
I had not ordered her to kneel.
I looked down, into her eyes.
She was before me, she, a free woman, on her knees, before me, before a slave!
I did not understand this.
But it is not unpleasant for a slave to have a free woman before one, so.
There were tears in her eyes.
“Janice,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“I beg!” she said. “I beg!”
I supposed she might want a hard candy, or a bit of pastry. I thought the pit master might permit that.
Her behavior had been much improved of late.
“Yes?” I said.
“I long to see the sun, Janice,” she said. “I want to see the sun!”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“I want to go to the surface,” she said. “Take me to the surface! I want to see the sun! I want to see the sun!”
“How can that be?” I asked. “That is not a trading city, some sort of multifaceted commercial metropolis. This is a city of thieves, of raiders and warriors. One does not have free women from foreign cities wandering about above.”
“I have thought carefully about the matter!” she said. “I must needs be disguised!”
“As what?” I asked.
“As a female slave, of course!” she said. “I would then attract little attention. There must be many of them above.”
“There are,” I granted her.
“Please, Janice!” she said.
“There is no escape for you,” I said.
“I know,” she said.
“And there would be even less chance of escape,” I said, “if you were clad as a slave.”
“I know,” she said.
“And your body would be muchly bared,” I said. “and men could look upon you, even casually.”
“Yes,” she said.
“You find that acceptable?”
“Yes!”
“I do not think you understand” I said, “what it is to be looked upon by men, as a slave.”
“Please!”
“You would not be permitted your veil,” I said. “Your features would be bared, publicly.”
“But no one would know me,” she said. “Do you not see? They would not understand that they were looking upon a free woman, especially one such as the Lady Constanzia of Besnit! Some wear masks that their features not be recognized. But I, contrariwise, conceal my identity by going unveiled!”
“The depth warden would not hear of it,” I said.
“Ask him for me, beg it of him, I beg of you. Please, Janice!”
“If the pit master should prove accommodating,” I said, “are you prepared, actually to go though with this?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes!”
“But we have no slave garment for you,” I said.
“Surely something might be devised!” she said. “Anything will do!”
“Even a rag?” I asked.
“Yes!” she said.
That thought amused me-to put a free woman in a rag!
“You would have to wear a collar,” I said.
“A collar!” she cried, softly. She put her hand to her throat, frightened.
“Yes,” I said.
She stiffened.
“Never,” she said. “Impossible!”
Clearly she understood the symbolism, the significance, of such a thing.
She was, after all, a free woman.
I, too, as a slave, understood the symbolism, the significance, of this. How momentously it marked the difference between us, between the slave and free!
“It would have to be,” I said.
She seemed then to shake with ambivalence. Within her two women warred, I thought, one who wanted her to be as she was expected to be, the other who wanted her to be as she wanted to be.
“In this city an uncollared girl,” I said, “would immediately attract attention, and suspicion.” And I supposed that would hold for other towns and cities on this world, as well. Indeed, how could one be “slave clad” without a collar? Men expect to find collars on slaves.
“I would not dare take you to the surface without having a collar on you,” I said.
“I do not know if I have that much courage-to go that far,” she said.
I shrugged.
“Is that really necessary,” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“What sort of collar,” she said.
“A slave collar,” I said, “the collar of a slave.”
“Might there not be something else?” she asked. “Something which might resemble such a collar?”
“No,” I said. “It would have to be a slave collar, an authentic slave collar.”
She turned pale.
That is the end of that, I thought.
Then it seemed she came to some sort of resolution. And it seemed her entire body suddenly shuddered with delight, thrilled. A bridge, it seemed, had been crossed.
“Of course,” she said. “Of course, I would have to be collared. Of course! Have me collared! And it must be the collar of a slave. Of course! Yes! Put me in a slave collar!”
“It would have to be an authentic slave collar,” I said, “an actual slave collar.”
“Of course,” she said.
“And it would be on you, truly on you,” I said.
“Of course,” she said.
“It would have to be locked,” I said, “and you would be unable to remove it.”
I would take no chances with her, if it was not locked on her, if she were not well fastened within it.