brown carpet. He had been taken from the mine, bathed with a strong-smelling
disinfectant, dressed in a pair of black breeches and a loose-fitting white shirt. His hair had been
thoroughly washed, deloused, and trimmed. He'd even been fed a decent meal. It was the first time in
months he'd had enough to eat. He had forgotten how good bread fresh from the oven tasted, forgotten
the taste of coffee. He swore again, remembering how the slaves had been lined up in front of their cells
that morning so that the owner of the mine could examine them. The man had walked up and down the
line, inspecting each prisoner, checking their teeth as he might have examined those of a horse he was
thinking of buying. It had been degrading, humiliating, and yet, with the bands at his wrists fused together
and the overseer standing at the ready, lightly tapping the pommel of his whip against his hand, there had
been little choice but to submit. And now he was here, in a small square room located in the back wing of
the main house. No longer would he toil deep in the bowels of the mine, deprived of sunlight and fresh
air. His lot in life had improved, Parah had informed him. In the future, he would work in the mine
owner's jinan, where he would be expected to do whatever he was told, without question or complaint.
Any attempt to escape would see him back in his cell, locked inside without food or water, until he died.
Falkon had nodded that he understood. And now he paced the floor. The room was not large by any
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means, yet it was more than twice the size of his cell at the mine. It seemed odd to be able to take more
than a few steps in any direction, to look out the window and see the sun shining, to have a real bed to
sleep in, clothes that weren't torn and stained, that didn't reek of his own sweat. He heard footsteps in the
hall, and then the door swung open and the owner of the mine stood in the doorway, one hand resting on
the controller at his belt. "I trust Parah has told you of the consequences should you try to escape?"
Falkon nodded. "Your escaping is not my primary concern," Marcus said tersely. "The security walls are
more than adequate to keep you in. Should you somehow manage to slip past them, the collar you wear
will lead us to you." He paused, his expression hard. "My concern is for my family. I have a wife and an
impressionable young daughter. Should you show either of them the slightest disrespect, should you dare
to lay a hand on them, you will loose that hand, and then your life. Is that clear?" "Quite clear." "The last
storm has played havoc with the foliage. Your first task will be to trim the shrubs and clean up the debris
left by the storm." Falkon nodded. He saw no reason to tell the man he had been here before, or that he
had seen the man's daughter only a few nights ago, peeking into his cell in the middle of the night. He
didn't know what the devil she had been doing in the compound, but he was reasonably certain she
wasn't supposed to be prowling around the mine after midnight, or at any other time. Marcus regarded
the prisoner for a few moments. He wasn't sure why he had chosen this particular slave to work within
the compound. The fact that the man appeared to be the youngest and the most physically fit of the
prisoners had certainly been a factor. He had almost changed his mind when Dain had informed him of
the prisoner's attack. When confronted, the man had not denied it. When asked why he had tried to
escape, the prisoner had glanced at his surroundings, then looked Marcus in the eye and said, "Wouldn't
you?" At the time, Marcus had been impressed with the man's candor. He shook his head, hoping he
hadn't made an error in judgement. "Come. I'll show you the way to the yard. You will stay there until
someone comes for you. Is that understood, Number Four?" Falkon choked back an angry retort.
disinfectant, dressed in a pair of black breeches and a loose-fitting white shirt. His hair had been
thoroughly washed, deloused, and trimmed. He'd even been fed a decent meal. It was the first time in
months he'd had enough to eat. He had forgotten how good bread fresh from the oven tasted, forgotten
the taste of coffee. He swore again, remembering how the slaves had been lined up in front of their cells
that morning so that the owner of the mine could examine them. The man had walked up and down the
line, inspecting each prisoner, checking their teeth as he might have examined those of a horse he was
thinking of buying. It had been degrading, humiliating, and yet, with the bands at his wrists fused together
and the overseer standing at the ready, lightly tapping the pommel of his whip against his hand, there had
been little choice but to submit. And now he was here, in a small square room located in the back wing of
the main house. No longer would he toil deep in the bowels of the mine, deprived of sunlight and fresh
air. His lot in life had improved, Parah had informed him. In the future, he would work in the mine
owner's jinan, where he would be expected to do whatever he was told, without question or complaint.
Any attempt to escape would see him back in his cell, locked inside without food or water, until he died.
Falkon had nodded that he understood. And now he paced the floor. The room was not large by any
Page 16
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
means, yet it was more than twice the size of his cell at the mine. It seemed odd to be able to take more
than a few steps in any direction, to look out the window and see the sun shining, to have a real bed to
sleep in, clothes that weren't torn and stained, that didn't reek of his own sweat. He heard footsteps in the
hall, and then the door swung open and the owner of the mine stood in the doorway, one hand resting on
the controller at his belt. "I trust Parah has told you of the consequences should you try to escape?"
Falkon nodded. "Your escaping is not my primary concern," Marcus said tersely. "The security walls are
more than adequate to keep you in. Should you somehow manage to slip past them, the collar you wear
will lead us to you." He paused, his expression hard. "My concern is for my family. I have a wife and an
impressionable young daughter. Should you show either of them the slightest disrespect, should you dare
to lay a hand on them, you will loose that hand, and then your life. Is that clear?" "Quite clear." "The last
storm has played havoc with the foliage. Your first task will be to trim the shrubs and clean up the debris
left by the storm." Falkon nodded. He saw no reason to tell the man he had been here before, or that he
had seen the man's daughter only a few nights ago, peeking into his cell in the middle of the night. He
didn't know what the devil she had been doing in the compound, but he was reasonably certain she
wasn't supposed to be prowling around the mine after midnight, or at any other time. Marcus regarded
the prisoner for a few moments. He wasn't sure why he had chosen this particular slave to work within
the compound. The fact that the man appeared to be the youngest and the most physically fit of the
prisoners had certainly been a factor. He had almost changed his mind when Dain had informed him of
the prisoner's attack. When confronted, the man had not denied it. When asked why he had tried to
escape, the prisoner had glanced at his surroundings, then looked Marcus in the eye and said, "Wouldn't
you?" At the time, Marcus had been impressed with the man's candor. He shook his head, hoping he
hadn't made an error in judgement. "Come. I'll show you the way to the yard. You will stay there until
someone comes for you. Is that understood, Number Four?" Falkon choked back an angry retort.
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