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“Was that all you came out here to say? You could have said goodbye in the tavern.”
“Just thought I’d make sure you’re really going this time,” he replies, turning back around. “You have a habit of lingering.”
I chuckle, sticking my head out to watch him depart.
When I’m in the area again, perhaps I’ll invite him out for an ale. I may have been too curt.
Not that he didn’t deserve it.
“The kids.”
I grunt in disbelief, remembering the gathering of children around my cart earlier just within the city bounds.
They must have pilfered the nimond beans.
“Guess I’m not leaving town yet,” I say, getting the carriage ready for one last detour.
I’ll have to double back to the city. It isn’t that I enjoy taking nimond beans from children. But failing to reclaim at least some of the product would be a huge loss. I don’t like marking through anything in my ledger.
New Solas is so much more quiet in the mornings than back home. The streets are almost deserted. Back home, the shops open at first light, but New Solas is slumbering still.
“Whoa, there,” I say, trying to calm down Zinni. Pinni, on the other hand, shows much more restraint. “I’ll only be gone a moment.”
I make sure to lock the cabin before I leave.
There’s no sign of the children. I still remember how they played together in front of the auction houses, acting out the one trade I want no part in.
Instead, a stray, wandering carriage passes through the district, its wheels eerily scraping against the cobblestone streets.
I wave at its driver cautiously, but the xaphan holds up his nose.
“Yeah, that went about as expected,” I say, loud enough for the driver to hear. He either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care.
I might not care for the xaphans, but perhaps while I’m waiting, I can learn why demons drive themselves mad for this trade. Anything that might give me insight into the mindset of my clients is worth my time.
I walk off the street and move through the district until I find the first sign of commotion. A large, open-facing building with a grotesque golden roof greets me, coupled with an unfortunate scene.
“And here we have Miss Jerilee! She’s built well and will serve all of your needs!”
Apparently, many businesses sleep, but the slave trade does not.
The xaphan auctioneer aggressively slaps the depressing human female, motioning her into place in front of the crowd. I can smell strong hints of kaffa beans as I stand among the crowd, observing.
Everybody in the crowd stands at attention, ready for bidding to begin. Xaphans and demons alike, of all ages—but only male bidders—stare down the woman, turning their heads sharply to analyze the movements of their adversaries.
“Five hundred thousand nodal!”
An elderly xaphan who can barely stand, his wings flailing behind him with every step, moves to the front of the crowd, ensuring he can be heard.
But he isn’t uncontested.
A demon, pale green in color and almost as large as me, cuts off his movement, knocking him to the hard stone floor.
“Five-hundred eighty!” he shouts.
Nobody moves to check on the elderly xaphan, who might well be trampled underfoot. In the uproar, the man is overruled.
The audience erupts, bidding exorbitantly high prices on this woman. She looks like she can barely stand, her disheveled brown hair falling loosely over untoned and muscle-starved shoulders. Her eyes dimly reflect the light, her head hung low in shame.
