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"Shall we go, Master?" the woman named Fatimah asked.
"Thank you, Ronald."
"Be well, Darryl."
As we journeyed back home, Fatimah was very quiet and courteous. "A slave should not overstep their bounds," so she said.
I checked the documents. She was twenty-two years old and was skilled in entertainment; mostly exotic dances from the south, which I supposed would be quite valuable.
I couldn't help but feel suspicious at Ronald's gift. Could Fatimah be sent here as a spy? I didn't have any proof of it except a hunch. And a hunch wasn't worth much.
And so we went home.
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