The 18th Day of Fall, 515 AV
A strange feeling of agitation hung over the marketplace that morning. Words as yet unintelligible to Kaitanu followed him like the sharp wind before a storm. There were looks, too; curious, distant, mistrusting. Those he understood. The pale kelvic would have thought it was just himself drawing the unwanted attention, but he noticed the way other foreigners- obvious in their dress and language- hurried from one place to another as though to keep out of a heavy rain. A few met his gaze with the earnestness of warning, though no words passed between them. They must not have known that he was a slave, or else they didn’t care. They seemed to have the need for someone else like themselves, one from the outside, to confirm that they were not alone. Wondering what this was about, Kaitanu nevertheless didn’t stop to ask. It was not in him to do so by training, even if it might have been by nature. The sky overhead was overcast and moody, reflecting the muted thunder in the streets. He would rather not make some misstep and turn it into a storm.
As Kaitanu passed through the main thoroughfare there was a knot of anxious and angry Drykas near one of the larger tents. They seemed to be talking rapidly, both by mouth and hand, about something. What it was Kaitanu couldn’t tell, but there was a familiar scent in the air that rose above the others. It was the same that wafted out of the butcher’s tent a few yards back- a copper tang which clung to the roof of the mouth. In the dirt near the feet of the group was a dark stain, but it had been much trampled and could now be anything. Kaitanu didn’t want to think about it. He hurried past as their eyes followed his dark-clad figure, resting on the dagger Dravite had given him with some portentous meaning. Perhaps they thought him too slight to do harm and let him go, but the feeling of being watched followed him wherever he went. It pressed down on his body from all sides, making an already difficult task that much more arduous.
Never before had Kaitanu been compelled to get a job, and a paying one at that. Slavery was the only line of “work” he had ever known, and that required no extra searching on his part. The pale kelvic merely had to stand on display while the auctioneer tried to interest the crowd. In some twisted way it was easier than what he was doing now; walking from tent to tent and seeing if they needed an extra hand. One look at his bleached, very non-Drykas appearance and most wouldn’t even give him a hearing. When they did stop to listen, Kaitanu’s meagre skills didn’t fit the bill. They also seemed to think that he was using the Blackwater pavilion as a portal to their favor. To Kaitanu it was necessary, by every rule of propriety for a slave, to make mention of his “master” in all things. That, and his appearance, were against him. Had the horse kelvic shown them his considerable strength they might have been more willing to listen.
However, being too used to taking what came to him Kaitanu didn’t argue any point. At each dismissal he walked humbly from one tent to the next, driven by fear rather than hope. In spite of Dravite’s unaccountably non-violent behavior toward him, the slave still feared to return to the Blackwater pavilion without having obtained some acceptable employment. He still did not understand that, because of Dravite’s intervention, he was no longer a slave at all. So far as he knew this whole “job” thing was just a means to an end for Dravite; more income for the pavilion as a slave was being put to good use.
Unfortunately, this was no place for a personal slave to find such employment. By the 11th bell Kaitanu had no prospects, though he had been at the market since just after sunrise. If anyone was hiring they didn’t want a slip of a man who couldn’t understand their language or customs. They would probably have taken on slave labour, but Dravite had been very clear on the subject. Kaitanu must get paid work. Why not use the kelvic at home? He didn’t know. Dravite was…odd, inexplicable. Kaitanu couldn’t figure him out at all. For the first few days the Drykas had brought him food, or had him eat with the family around their fire- something no master would ever have allowed. Kaitanu hadn’t been chained up, he had a bedroll, clothing, a weapon…
The pale man shook his head. He’d gone down that route so many times and still didn’t understand. There was no use getting distracted now. Only a few tents remained at the edge of the city, and then it was off down yet another of the winding thoroughfares. He fully expected to be sent off without so much as a glance, but the beaten slave in him pressed on in the face of failure. Every avenue must be trod before he made his way back to the black tents and submitted to the inevitable punishment for failure.
A strange feeling of agitation hung over the marketplace that morning. Words as yet unintelligible to Kaitanu followed him like the sharp wind before a storm. There were looks, too; curious, distant, mistrusting. Those he understood. The pale kelvic would have thought it was just himself drawing the unwanted attention, but he noticed the way other foreigners- obvious in their dress and language- hurried from one place to another as though to keep out of a heavy rain. A few met his gaze with the earnestness of warning, though no words passed between them. They must not have known that he was a slave, or else they didn’t care. They seemed to have the need for someone else like themselves, one from the outside, to confirm that they were not alone. Wondering what this was about, Kaitanu nevertheless didn’t stop to ask. It was not in him to do so by training, even if it might have been by nature. The sky overhead was overcast and moody, reflecting the muted thunder in the streets. He would rather not make some misstep and turn it into a storm.
As Kaitanu passed through the main thoroughfare there was a knot of anxious and angry Drykas near one of the larger tents. They seemed to be talking rapidly, both by mouth and hand, about something. What it was Kaitanu couldn’t tell, but there was a familiar scent in the air that rose above the others. It was the same that wafted out of the butcher’s tent a few yards back- a copper tang which clung to the roof of the mouth. In the dirt near the feet of the group was a dark stain, but it had been much trampled and could now be anything. Kaitanu didn’t want to think about it. He hurried past as their eyes followed his dark-clad figure, resting on the dagger Dravite had given him with some portentous meaning. Perhaps they thought him too slight to do harm and let him go, but the feeling of being watched followed him wherever he went. It pressed down on his body from all sides, making an already difficult task that much more arduous.
Never before had Kaitanu been compelled to get a job, and a paying one at that. Slavery was the only line of “work” he had ever known, and that required no extra searching on his part. The pale kelvic merely had to stand on display while the auctioneer tried to interest the crowd. In some twisted way it was easier than what he was doing now; walking from tent to tent and seeing if they needed an extra hand. One look at his bleached, very non-Drykas appearance and most wouldn’t even give him a hearing. When they did stop to listen, Kaitanu’s meagre skills didn’t fit the bill. They also seemed to think that he was using the Blackwater pavilion as a portal to their favor. To Kaitanu it was necessary, by every rule of propriety for a slave, to make mention of his “master” in all things. That, and his appearance, were against him. Had the horse kelvic shown them his considerable strength they might have been more willing to listen.
However, being too used to taking what came to him Kaitanu didn’t argue any point. At each dismissal he walked humbly from one tent to the next, driven by fear rather than hope. In spite of Dravite’s unaccountably non-violent behavior toward him, the slave still feared to return to the Blackwater pavilion without having obtained some acceptable employment. He still did not understand that, because of Dravite’s intervention, he was no longer a slave at all. So far as he knew this whole “job” thing was just a means to an end for Dravite; more income for the pavilion as a slave was being put to good use.
Unfortunately, this was no place for a personal slave to find such employment. By the 11th bell Kaitanu had no prospects, though he had been at the market since just after sunrise. If anyone was hiring they didn’t want a slip of a man who couldn’t understand their language or customs. They would probably have taken on slave labour, but Dravite had been very clear on the subject. Kaitanu must get paid work. Why not use the kelvic at home? He didn’t know. Dravite was…odd, inexplicable. Kaitanu couldn’t figure him out at all. For the first few days the Drykas had brought him food, or had him eat with the family around their fire- something no master would ever have allowed. Kaitanu hadn’t been chained up, he had a bedroll, clothing, a weapon…
The pale man shook his head. He’d gone down that route so many times and still didn’t understand. There was no use getting distracted now. Only a few tents remained at the edge of the city, and then it was off down yet another of the winding thoroughfares. He fully expected to be sent off without so much as a glance, but the beaten slave in him pressed on in the face of failure. Every avenue must be trod before he made his way back to the black tents and submitted to the inevitable punishment for failure.
