The Slave World Abductions Ch. 08.2

Kim smiled and looked at the Duchess. "I'm well fed and cared for myself. Thank you, but no."

"You're a free woman. You feed and care for yourself. Always remember that. Ah well, Your Grace," I turned to the Duchess, "I thank you most graciously for your hospitality and cooperation, and I wish you success in your campaign. We'll see how this whole affair plays out after I tend to the others. I think events might continue favorably in your direction."

"I'm sure they will," the Duchess didn't smile. People like her rarely do, but her eyes were bright.

I went to my horse, gave the attendant an extra tip ("For your trouble, and no obligation"), mounted, tipped my hat, "Your Grace, Miss O'Brien," and rode away.

The shocked look on the goblin's face, when I reached the gates, was a minor pleasure. The orc and ogre were present as well, equally stunned. Surprised looks varied on their colleagues' faces (albeit I noted some confusion among a few orcs. They looked to be new personnel, freshly hired).

I didn't gloat exactly, or rub it in, just tipped my hat, and rode out when the gates opened.

I would say that was the end of the O'Brien affair, but not quite. Other issues needed clearing up down the road. I wasn't quite through yet, but right now the priority was Sara Sundstrom and Lola Pandit.

My destination was Tharbad, a city near the Southern Marches. Smaller than Umbra but the main hub for caravans. I could buy a ticket at the main station there. Plus, Alfheim kept a consulate where I could send off another report.

Compared to the journey between Umbra and the Duchess' plantation, the journey to Tharbad was a light breeze. It took three days, the weather stayed warm and sunny. The inns I stayed at were on the up and up; no tourist traps.

Proprietors were a mix of tieflings and humans mostly. Elves ran inns too but they tended to the expensive side (plus the few elvish run traps were more elaborate, so travelers were best advised to get an Oath of Hospitality first). The inns were located in villages and towns that grew progressively larger, the closer I approached the city.

Tharbad bustled just like Umbra. Not surprising, given the caravans constantly cycling in and out.

I'd turned on the main road coming near; the closest thing to a highway on Slaveworld. Wagons full of cargo and merchandise, travelers on horses, mules, in coaches, on foot, streamed to and fro, on the two lanes leading to the city.

It was a hodgepodge of every sentient representing Slaveworld: humans, tiefling, dark and light elves, orcs and ogres, goblins; merchants, slaves, free folk, soldiers, mercs, adventurers, and tourists. Plus more than a few thieves and slavers.

The city itself was built on a grid, different from Umbra's. Tharbad's configuration was more like a large square. There were sections for commerce, auctions, marketing, and the like, but the city's main occupations were trading, and lodging travelers.

The volume of product passing through its confines gave Tharbad an economy rivaling Umbra, the difference being the greater diversity of merchandise.

The inn and lodgings market, the closest Slaveworld has to a hotel industry, is unrivaled in this realm.

Tharbad is actually safer than most Slaveworld cities, insofar as tourist traps are a rare occurrence. The city masters see such establishments as bad for business, not that they interfere if someone is already slaved before the constables act. As such, it's always smart to exercise caution when looking for lodgings in this city.

Entering Tharbad is not like entering Cassari. Lone travelers aren't ignored this time, as there are so many of them. After paying the entry fee, I went straight for the consulate.

The Diplomats Quarter was more upscale than Umbra, but weary, dusty travelers were common around the consulates.

I glamoured for disguise and entered the Alfheim building. The consular agent at the main desk, a young, fresh-faced light elf, smiled.

"Greetings sir, how may I help you?"

I gave him an elvish name I use as a code sometimes. "I need to send a report to the Department, plus an updated schedule of caravans leaving Tharbad."

"Oh," the agent smiled, "Mister Firavel, you were expected. A message came for you by flash portal, two days ago." He handed it to me. I read.

Report on Surtur situation received and sent to the Committee. Good work. Case worker assigned to Kim O'Brien. Intelligence reports increased raiding activity, Avarakan sector. Advise caution.

Department Head.

I decided to just send acknowledgment.

Message received. Proceeding to Avarakan.

The agent handed me an updated schedule. "There are at least five caravans leaving for Avarakan over the next four weeks; the first leaves in two days."

"Thank you," I said, taking the schedule.

"You're welcome, good success on your endeavors."

I tipped my hat and left the consulate. The Tourist and Travelers quarter was right next to the Diplomats. Travelers lodgings were cheaper but I decided on the Tourists' (closer to the Diplomats, less chance of tourist traps). More expensive, but I wanted to play the less worldly tourist. The type of guy, not naive exactly, but not overly savvy either. I figured this image wouldn't attract much attention from the upscales.

I picked a nice looking establishment called Silver Tree, run by, of all things, light elves.

"We cater to the diplomats mostly," the proprietor, Elasha Blueflower, beamed. "They tend to trust us more than the darks and tieflings."

Understandable, the latter two operate the most tourist traps, but it's not uncommon for an occasional light elf to earn some extra coin this way.

I checked in, using an Atlantean identity this time, turned down the usual complement (yes, light elves have a lad or lass, but more often employees, rather than indentured or slaves), and went to my room.

Made the usual scans, powerful ones; light elves can be subtle with it comes to tourist traps), ran through my spell list, plus a few I invented; nothing. I settled in.

Two days 'til the first caravan leaves; gives me time to rest and check out the prices, and conditions.

The place wasn't the Duchess' manor, but at least it had warm baths, laundry service, and good food. I turned in early.

Next Morning

The Mangamen (Market Quarter) formed the hub for the caravans. It bustled more than the Goblin Market in Umbra. Pickpockets and cutpurses abounded but constable presence was greater than other Svartalf cities. The City Masters favored commerce above all, and imposed quotas on the thieving guilds. Theft was bad for business.

The Angaraxa, where the caravans awaited departure, took up half the quarter. It also held slave pens for the sentient merchandise, parking areas for the carts and wagons, pens for the pack animals, storage areas for other merchandise, and stalls representing the caravan masters.

Hitching with a caravan is not like buying a train ticket. The conductors have every right not to allow you to board. Passengers do not always survive the journey. Depending on the scruples and integrity of the caravan master, a traveler might hitch on as a passenger, and arrive as a slave.

It pays not to wear your tourist credentials on your sleeve. Caravans hate tourists. It's perilous enough traveling through the Desert of Gold, without distractions from some fat, entitled idiot from New Atlantis, or other wealthy realm, and I do mean idiot, especially if they haven't read the Baedecker section on caravans.

It's not uncommon for a fool to get left behind in the desert for being a prick. The very, very few who survive the experience whole, intact, with all their vital parts still with them, often arrive at their destination, considerably less foolish, and less prickish.

It helps to be of use on some level. Not that caravans don't take tourists exactly; just that they charge dear, and don't exercise customer service. Tourists are expected to earn their place. Their level of usefulness even affects the price. If you can work, or add to security, you can hitch on cheap, or even be hired as a guard.

My general impulse was to hitch on to the first caravan scheduled to leave, but a quick glance at its stall told me, "Nope."

The pack animals looked well enough. The guards, mostly orcs and tieflings, seemed manageable. It was the dark elf, the caravan master obviously, I didn't like.

He looked at me with the disdain dark elves always reserve for humans. I also saw calculation and assessment on his face, like I was potential product. My wardings also itched, which meant dark sorcery around him.

My assessment took only a few seconds. Definitely not this joker, and meet him with iron if he tries something. I gave him a friendly smile and tip of the hat as I passed his stall.

The second caravan looked too small in number. The caravan master told me they were delaying until next month to merge with a larger one, for greater numbers and security.

"You can wait 'til then," he offered.

"Naw, I need to be in Avarakan by harvest moon to finalize some purchases or I'm out a thousand sovereigns. Thanks anyway."

The third caravan wasn't taking on any personnel, passenger or hire.

The fourth caravan didn't look too large or too small, but slave and passenger wagons were present. Slaves and tourists, an uncommon combination but not unheard of. Still, it meant possibly greater expense as a passenger, and some moral issues, given my views.

I decided to check out the fifth caravan before coming back to this on . . . ". . . that lowborn Midgardian slut . . ." Eh? What was that?

Midgard, and other closed realms, are rarely discussed among open worlders (excepting the context regarding my current mission), so the phrase caught my instant attention.

It came from the caravan's slave pens. Ten slaves, mostly light elves and a couple of humans, well fed and cared for, from the furnishings and sanitation. A good looking bunch, possibly destined for harem work, most of them. Two caught my attention.

They were both light elves, by all standards, stunners. I suspected their price made a substantial dent in their buyer's purse. The lowered voices came from these two.

The two were ignoring the others, muttering dolorous soliloquies on their dreadful fate.

If I sound a little disdainful, it comes from my initial impression of the two. Everything about them, from their supermodel looks to their high speech Elvish, screamed privilege. Looking on them evoked memories, bad ones, of the highborn queen bees I had to endure in Oro Parmen (a secondary academy I attended on Alfheim). I was tempted to leave them there but they mentioned Midgard, and a woman, which meant a possible lead on an abductee.

I approached the pens. The other slaves looked at me curiously, expressions ranged from blank to slightly hateful. The two elves were curious as well, but then their expressions changed to desperation. Seconds later, I was subjected to a classic damsel in distress cliché.

The two elves rushed to the bars, hands raised and clasped in supplication, all wet-eyed and weepy.

"Oboy," I thought. "Here it comes."

"Oh please kind sir," the first elf, a cerulean blue-eyed blonde, wept. "Save us from this horrible dungeon. We are but travelers kidnapped into this hell."

"Our families are of great wealth and prominence sir," the other, deep emerald green eyes and red hair combo, begged. "They will pay generously for our deliverance."

The two humans in the other pen snorted derisively and turned away. The other light elves cast cold and hateful stares at the two. These girls were not popular.

I had no doubt these two were telling the truth. Someone untrained in cold reading would think they were selling me a line. The girls, however, were speaking in the high speech vernacular usually reserved for nobility and the uber wealthy (kind of like the archaic Japanese spoken by Emperor Hirohito meets the mid-Atlantic of the northeastern American elite). If these girls were con artists, they were extremely well-educated ones.

"I would think they'd offered ransom or sent paid mercenaries, or redeemers already," I said.

"Alas, we've not heard from our families since before our abduction," moaned the blonde, "We've been treated with the most horrific tortures and abuses in the dungeons, with naught allowance to inform our embassies 'sob!'"

I noticed nary a bruise on this couple's flawless skin. The tortures were non-scarring sexual obviously.

Highborn elves tended to have the same flaws as wealthy Midgardian elite. These two wouldn't be the first born to families whose parenting philosophy was, "Let the servants handle it, and pay for everything."

I'd be shocked if this couple's respective families even knew they were missing. Rescue, though, needed to take a backseat. I needed to find about this Midgardian.

"I overheard you talking about a third party. Do you have any information about this one?"

The redhead looked at me blankly, then blinked, "Oh! The low born Midgardian slut our captors housed us wi . . ."

"Here! Here! Here!"

I turned at the shouted interruption to view a tall, blue-skinned dark elf striding towards me with Svartalf indignation. I detected no magic, but activated my defenses anyway.

"What are you doing talking to the merchandise? Passerby are not allowed conversation with the slaves."

Two others, a tiefling and an orc, came up behind her, hands on their blades. Time to defuse this.

"Oh, I apologize," I took off my hat and bowed. "I was just killing time until the caravan master arrived. That is you, I take it?"

"You are correct."

I took out a business card, presenting my Atlantean identity. "Corlan Okombo, New Atlantean spice merchant. I was hoping to hitch a ride to Avarakan on your caravan. I can pay."

The caravan master looked over the card. "We're full up on merchants and tourists," she said. "I'm not taking on anymore, unless you can offer extra."

I took one of my elven knives and threw it into a nearby post.

"I have some skill. I can help with security, plus provide my own transport."

"Mage trained?"

"Third level (actually, I was higher but she didn't have to know)."

She put her hand to her chin, considering. "Humph! Fee is four gold sovereigns, round trip, with one gold deposit to reserve your place. An extra cargo fee if you return with merchandise. You get a discount 'pending your skills. A possible refund if you're good. If you prove really good, you might even receive pay, minus the fee."

"The trip is one way for me. I have business elsewhere after Avarakan."

"Two gold, then. We offer free amenities with the booking."

"No thank you. I'll pay the extra (nice try lady)."

The dark elf smiled, satisfied I knew my business. "Elyssa Baralis at your service. The caravan departs, sixth bell on Tenday. Be on time, or lose your deposit. Oh, and do not talk with the merchandise. They're for the Sharif."

I bowed, "I respect your rules." I glanced at the disappointed faces of the two elves. "You have a cashier?"

"His stall is in the western corner."

"Thank you, and I will see you on Tenday," I tipped my hat and retrieved my knife. The caravan master nodded and left with her body guards.

I went to the cashier, booked my place, and paid the deposit. I walked back by the slave pens. As I passed the two light elves, I made a surreptitious four-fingered symbol with my left hand. The redhead gasped. She recognized the elvish hand language for "I will not forget." Probably surprised a simple "Atlantean" knew elvish hand signs. Much as I disdained their entitled classism, I felt obligated to try and help, and possibly the others as well.

Rather than return to the inn, or try a tavern, I went straight to the consulate.

I wrote a message to the Department: Possible lead on an abductee. Request information on abductions, disappearances, highborn, elite, aristocracy, past twelve months. Plus one Elyssa Baralis.

I added a description of the two elves, and flashed it off.

Nothing much of note happened in the days leading to the departure. I killed time hanging around the hotel lobby, checking with the consulate, browsing the market and taverns, establishing the appearance of a minor merchant exploring new markets and business opportunities.

Three days in, I received a response. A file on Elyssa Baralis, very interesting, and information on two prospects matching the description of the elves: Liselle Autumnleaf, from the Tir Na Nog Autumnleafs, a powerful trading family with assets across five realms, and Lady Ariella of Goldenhall, high ranking Alfheim nobility. Last reported location, Capricia township, New Lemuria.

Collegiates, both of them, on vacation in a realm known for beautiful beaches, top quality resorts, and tourist traps.

New Lemurian authorities were getting better at interdiction (tourist traps tainted New Lemuria's rep, and discouraged tourism) but cracks in the system persisted. These two obviously slipped through one.

I chanted the Baralis file and the two elves to my memory and disposed of both.

On Tenday morning, I checked out of the inn, got my horse from the public stables, saddled him, and rode to the Angaraxa. I paid the fee and, at six bells, set off for the Desert of Gold . . . and a whole bunch of headaches.

To Be Continued.