'You're coming with me this time.' Geranium grabbed Sarti's hand as she emerged from the taxi and pulled her down off the slave platform.
The woman resisted for a fraction of a second, until instinct kicked in and she slid off the platform to stand beside her mistress. Her palms were sweaty from gripping the support bar on the ride to the slave market 'You're going to trade me in, aren't you, miss?'
'Don't be ridiculous, Sarti. Why would I do that?'
'Then why are we here, miss?' Sarti gazed up at the entrance to the market with a shudder.
It was a good question. Geranium had debated with herself for a long time about whether she should return to the market, and was almost surprised when she found herself ordering the taxi. Perhaps it was sheer bloody-mindedness: her mother would return just to show the salesman she was a woman of her word, that the deForêt-Bassyngthwayghtes were rich and stylish enough to buy as many slaves as they wished, and because she liked shopping.
Shit. Am I turning into Mother?
No, it had to be something nobler than that. Somehow, seeing the slaves yesterday had made her interested in them. Sarti didn't count—she'd lived most of her life in well-placed domestic service. But other slaves, ordinary ones who didn't have Sarti's good fortune, what were they really like? What did they think and feel?
She'd even dressed for the occasion: a blue skirt, white blouse and an expensive black wool jacket her mother had bought for her at Ushant and Sons in London for her birthday the previous year. Why she'd taken the trouble to dress up was another mystery; perhaps she'd just wanted to give Sarti something to do that morning, arranging for the AI to clean and press the clothes and making sure her mistress looked perfect in them. And the hair and make-up had taken another investment of time that Geranium usually didn't bother with.
At the entrance to the market the two sentinels were there. Again they didn't move as the door opened automatically.
The reception this time was different. Enrique Campillo was there in what looked like the same suit, but his manner was friendlier, more earnest now his customer from the day before had returned. Perhaps the scent of a genuine sale had entered his nostrils. He wore some cologne that wrinkled Geranium's nose when the first wave hit her.
Campillo ran a professional eye over Sarti, who stood shivering a little under his gaze.
'A bit old, my lady,' the salesman said. 'Has she mostly done domestic work?'
'I'm not here to trade her,' said Geranium. Why she had brought the old slave along was another mystery she didn't have time to think about. 'As you may recall, I wanted to inspect your...pens, or whatever you call them.' The man's eyes narrowed. 'Before I buy another slave,' she added.
'The slave quarters,' he said. 'Yes. An unusual request, my lady. If it was anyone less noble, I—'
'Never mind. Let's have a look.'
Campillo led the way to the back of the building.
'We maintain a gap between the pens and the showroom, of course, he said. 'As you saw yesterday, the guard fetches the stock as required. We usually don't permit buyers to view them in their quarters as it creates a security risk and tends to upset them.' He unlocked the same door as the day before, and this time they all proceeded to the door at the side of the viewing stage. Another guard was there, who stepped aside as they approached. He was a tall man who, unlike the other guards, wore no helmet. A pair of bright green eyes flashed under dark brows. His left hand, which gripped the stock of his carbine, bore a red scar, long healed but still livid. He glared at Geranium so hard it crossed her mind that she might pull rank on him and demand he treat her like the nobility she was. But the thought that that was what her mother would do drove the idea away.
'Come with us, Marshall,' Campillo said to the guard, who fell in behind the group as they entered. 'This is Richard Marshall, our head of security.' Neither he nor Geranium acknowledged each other.
Sarti groped for her mistress's hand again as they approached a locked door at the end of a short passage, but Geranium batted her hand away. It wouldn't do to be seen in such intimacy with a slave. They reached the end and the guard opened the door with a security code.
From the other side came a powerful smell and sound of Helot. Their muted words were incomprehensible to Geranium as they entered a small antechamber. Beside her, Sarti started breathing more deeply.
'This is the guard's space,' said the salesman. 'The...cells are on the other side of that barrier.' He indicated a sealed door. Beside them was another door opening onto a small refectory for the guards. 'As you might understand, security is paramount. Now, if you will pardon me for a moment.'
He stepped to the sealed door and pressed a contact. At the same moment Marshall drew his pistol. The door slid open.
'The finest slave pens on Mars.' Campillo actually bowed as he indicated for Geranium to enter. 'Please keep behind the yellow line.'
Geranium had no idea what to expect. Once when she was a little girl she'd seen a holovision movie about pirates, set way back in the seventeenth century. There had been a scene where slaves had been chained in filthy conditions, and others transported on wooden ships across the sea (imagine: sailing the ocean on something made out of wood!). There had been a slave auction too, very different from the civilised browse-and-buy style here in Campillo's market. Perhaps she'd expected something along those lines.
All she saw was a series of doors placed around the room at equal intervals. A yellow line passed in front of each door. In the centre of the room sat a woman at a desk. Guards stood at strategic places in the corners: all had their weapons in their hands. The woman rose as the party entered the room and nodded to Campillo.
'This is our slave supervisor, Elsa Graham,' said Campillo. 'She can tell you anything you wish to know.'
'You must be her ladyship.' Elsa was tall and severe: she reminded Geranium too much of her mother for things to be entirely comfortable. 'I understand you wish to see how the stock is kept?'
'Yes.' Geranium held out her hand but Elsa didn't take it. 'Before I buy, I want to see that the condition of the slaves meets my expectations.'
Those were the words she had prepared on the way here. They sounded ridiculous now, said out loud.
More and more like Mother every single freaking day.
'I assure you that our keeping is top quality.' Elsa glanced at Campillo, who merely smiled. 'If I might show you a typical cell. An empty one, of course.'
The woman indicated for the party to move across the room. Geranium headed there with Campillo and Elsa. Sarti tried to follow, but Geranium frowned at her and shook her head; The slave shrank back, encountered Marshall standing there with his drawn gun, and flinched away from him. But Geranium didn't want the woman to see a cell: too many bad memories had been stirred already. She shouldn't have brought her to this place.
An open door revealed a small cell with a single bed and a few other items of furniture. There were no books, no holovision, and a single small wardrobe for clothing. The only possessions slaves had were those granted by their owners.
'They sleep here, of course, but eat in a common refectory.'
'What about exercise?'
Elsa nodded. 'We do exercise them on a rotational basis. There's a yard nearby where we take them. An hour's exercise a day, and in the case of males destined for heavy labour, a rigorous body-building regime in our gymnasium.'
'Not too rigorous!' Campillo chuckled. 'We don't want them getting stronger than our guards!'
Geranium ignored him.
'How many do you have?' she asked Elsa.
'At the moment, forty-one. We have space for sixty. New stock is due to arrive soon, which might mean a bargain price for current stock.'
The Helot cell looked like a prison. Of course, there would be no luxuries, no sentiment for mere commercial goods, but only an hour's exercise a day, and mealtimes, outside of this cell? It didn't seem right, not even for slaves.
Beside her, Elsa fidgeted, as if wanting Geranium to be satisfied with what she'd seen.
'Can I see the gymnasium?' she asked, but not because she really wanted to.
'That would take a few more minutes,' said Elsa. 'Some of the slaves are exercising at the moment, and it would not be safe for you to—'
'I see. All right, then. I've seen enough.'
Campillo threw a look at Elsa. 'If her ladyship wants to...'
Now was there some meaning in the glance Elsa threw at Campillo? Geranium just caught the glance. There was anxiety in it, and negativity. There was something Elsa didn't want her to see in the gymnasium.
'We may as well head back to the store, then,' she said. 'I've decided on what I want.'
They left the pens and returned to the antechamber.
'I hope, my lady, you are still intending to buy.' There seemed to be a gleam of sweat on the man's brow.
Geranium wondered what she could say that would allow her to retire with dignity. All she wanted to do now was leave the market.
From the direction of the refectory came a dull, flat sound.
Marshall turned his carbine back towards the cell room, then realised it was the wrong direction and aimed at the refectory.
'What was that?' he said.
'We might...um...' muttered Campillo.
Geranium stared at the refectory door. A revolt? No, that would come from the cells, surely. The guard and Señor Campillo seemed to realise this as well, glancing between the source of the sound and the door to the cells.
'Look, I think it's best we move away from here.' Campillo pointed back the way they'd come. 'I don't know what's—'
The door opened. A woman stood there, long red hair around her sweaty face. Marshall raised his pistol and sited on her.
'Hands up!' he growled.
The woman put her hands in the air. 'Please!' she said. 'I'm being followed. Two men...Helots...they're trying to kill me.'
Campillo, seeing it was just a Sape woman, put his hand on the guard's arm and pushed it down. 'It's all right,' he said. 'Who are you?'
The woman took a cautious step into the room. 'Please...I need help.
'Was that a gunshot?'
'Keep your hands up!' roared Marshall.
Behind the salesman, Geranium could tell the woman was scared, and no amount of standing around debating things was going to help that. Typical grown-up things were going on and obviously someone intelligent had to sort it out. She stepped in front of the guard and pulled the woman by her arm into the refectory. 'Are you all right?'
The woman gripped Geranium's arm. Her fingernails could be felt through the sleeve of her jacket.
'Close that door.' Geranium stared at the two men. 'Go on, do it! Can't you see she's terrified?'
Marshall walked into the kitchen and looked out the door, cautiously keeping his carbine ready. He shook his head at the blasted lock and pulled the door to.
'This is an intrusion!' began Campillo. 'Who are you?'
'My name is Linda Jones. I need help!'
'The lock's been shot,' the guard said. He turned to Maddy; she was reflected in his black plastic visor. 'Where's the gun? I heard a shot.'
'No gun,' Linda said, barely audible. 'The lock was like that. I tell you there are two men out there trying to catch me.'
Marshall shrugged. 'There's no gun out there I can see. Or men.'
'Look, let's not just stand around like this!' Geranium still had Linda's arm and started to tug her back along the corridor. 'I won't bother with the cells now. I have to get her out of there.'
'My lady!' Campillo ran after her. 'Please, I need to know—'
Geranium turned on him, all one hundred and sixty-five centimetres of her facing up to his tall, lanky frame. 'You need to know only what I wish to tell you!' she shouted. 'My father will hear of this, how you treat distressed women!'
She headed back along the corridor and out into the showroom. Campillo followed them back into the reception area. Sarti scuttled behind all of them, forgotten for the moment.
On the street outside, Geranium turned for one more withering blast.
'I was intending to buy a slave,' she lied. 'But now I see how you run your business, I'll be taking mine elsewhere.'
The taxi was waiting. The door opened as they approached. Geranium helped Linda in and then followed. Sarti clambered onto the slave platform. The car moved off, leaving Campillo standing there looking outraged.
***
As the taxi turned the corner, Marshall emerged from the market and followed his employer's gaze.
'Trouble?' he asked.
Campillo sneered and fished in his pockets for a sedative. His fierce blue eyes stared out, seeing little good with the world.
'Maybe.'
'I told you that alleyway needed more defences than just a lock on the door. At least they had the sense not to show themselves in front of the Elite girl.'
'We can find out who she is. I'll talk to Reed.' He swallowed the sedative and straightened his tie.
'There was a carbine in the rubbish bin,' the guard said. 'That's what she used to gain entry, I'd say. And even you can guess who she is without asking Reed.'
He frowned and stared again at the end of the street, although the taxi was no longer visible. 'Maddy Hawthorn?'
'Must be. They said she's dangerous.'
'They don't know anything.'
'They'll find out we let her get away. There could be trouble.'
Campillo felt hot in his suit. The city council always kept the air conditioning up too damn high.
'I'd better find Reed and see what's happened,' he said eventually. 'He'll want us to chase her up, I guess.' Another few seconds passed. 'Well don't just stand there, go and check on the stock. If they heard that gunshot they could get the wrong idea.'
Marshall grunted and headed to the cells.