Slavemaster's Woman, The (30 page)

Out of desperation, Cushla stalked to the
door of her chamber and pulled it open. The two guards posted
outside turned to look at her, and Cushla’s mouth twisted to one
side. Whenever she left her room, they followed her everywhere. She
needed to ditch them. Quietly, she closed the door and then turned
around leaning against it.

With a heavy sigh, she scanned the room,
searching the recesses of her for memories, her eyes falling to the
large wardrobe cabinet that she remembered playing in as a child.
There was something about it—something. A smile curled her lips. “I
remember,” she whispered.

Bending, Cushla lifted the hem of her gown
and found the seam. She tore it and then made quick work of
shredding parts of the material. She then stalked to the wardrobe
and retrieved a hooded cape hanging inside of it. She tore the seam
on one shoulder and partially tore off one of the pockets. Her aim
was to make the garments appear as tattered as possible. She
wrapped the cape around her shoulders, her eyes falling to a
full-length mirror inset within the wall across the room.

She moved to stand in front of it, gazing
toward the top. When she was small, she had to stand on her vanity
bench to reach those high corners, but now—Cushla reached and
tapped thrice on the top, right corner. She sighed nervously.
Moving her hand to the left corner, she tapped twice and then
crouched to study the bottom edge. “One hand width from the right,”
she murmured. It had been two hand lengths when she was a small
child.

After eyeing the distance, Cushla pressed
her palm against the mirror. It would take a moment because the
trigger was heat activated. “Aye—yes!” She breathed out in relief
as the mirror silently opened inward to reveal a secret staircase.
With a quick look around, she threw the hood of the cloak over her
head and then stepped through the opening, and made quick work of
closing the mirror door behind her.

From where she stood, Cushla could see
through the two-way looking glass and directly into her bedchamber
a feature that had come in handy if someone was in the room
whenever she had decided to return from her explorations and
adventures. An old nursing maid had shown it to her, but she never
found out how the woman knew of its existence. She could’ve never
speculated how handy it would be so many phases later in her life,
but at this point, she was just grateful to have it at her
disposal.

Turning, Cushla hurried down the steep steps
of the narrow passage, now lit dimly by lights that were activated
by triggering the mechanism in the mirror. They would only remain
on for a short period of time so she had to hurry, less she be
feeling her way in the dark. She passed two more doors hidden
within the castle’s walls, memories of to where they led
returning.

Cushla grinned as she brushed at the cob
webs that were thick along the walls. No one had been in there for
a long, long time. The castle was filled with secret hideaways and
escapes that she loved exploring as a child. Perhaps she was the
only one who ever knew about them with the exception of the maid
who’d passed on, not too long after.

Reaching the bottom of the stairwell safely,
Cushla found herself facing the familiar brick wall. “One, two,
three,” she counted. “And four bricks down.” She pressed and a door
opened. Peeking through it, she was pleased to see it was still
shrouded by the Ospor bushes, now thick and overgrown. She shimmied
her way along the castle wall tugging at her cloak, which kept
snagging on the branches, until she was finally clear of them. She
repressed a laugh and scanned the area to be sure no one spotted
her.

Satisfied she hadn’t been seen, Cushla
strolled casually toward the fields, purposely keeping her gait
slow to avoid drawing attention. She intended to question the other
thralls about Tarken’s whereabouts, but who to ask? Marching
directly to Tarken’s favorite place, Cushla stood and surveyed the
fields. It now made sense why he chose this spot. From here, she
could see the expanse of the grounds, the quarry, the gardens and
the orchards.

It occurred to her rather quickly that Mecor
owned a vast number of slaves and for that her stomach suddenly
felt sour. She had finally figured out what the king wanted with
her. She was the means to her father, though she still didn’t know
of what value he was to the evil royal.

Her attention fell to a group of women
examining fruits in a basket. She shuffled down the incline of the
hill and casually walked to where they were working, stopping in
front of them. “Excuse me—ah please?”

The three women and the one child with them
stilled, one of them sheepishly lifting her eyes to get a gander at
Cushla, her gaze slowly curving its way up the length of her
clothes, and then stalling on her slave band before dropping while
not making eye contact with her.

“Do you know where I might find the
slavemaster?”

The woman ignored her, turning back to her
work.

Perhaps they failed to understand her?
Clearing her voice, Cushla asked again. This time a little more
loudly. “Please, do you know where I might find the
slavemaster?”

One of the women whispered something so low
that Cushla was unable to hear what she said, but the answer to the
question she asked was quite clear when they picked up their
baskets and walked away from her without saying a word, one of the
woman turning the child’s head forward as she attempted to glance
at Cushla over her shoulders while being pulled along.

Well, Cushla wasn’t about to give up that
easily. She attempted to converse with another group of women, and
then a few more, but was met with the same coolness and still no
answers. Before long, she realized the problem. With her being a
stranger to them, few were willing to offer up much in regard to
information, despite the slave band she too wore.

Moreover, if they recognized her as one who
lived in the castle, that in and of itself was cause to mistrust
her…apparently? It didn’t help that despite tearing her clothes,
the materials she wore were still of better quality than what they
all wore, and she wasn’t sweaty or dirty from working dawning to
dusk as they did.

With nowhere else to turn, Cushla decided to
inspect Tarken’s dwelling. She knew which one belonged to him as
she watched him emerge from it each and every dawning, though
refusing to admit it was because she missed waking with him. She
knocked on his door and waited. When no answer came, she peered
through one of the windows to the small abode, thinking perhaps he
was ill, but the place appeared empty and undisturbed.

“The master is gone.”

Cushla pivoted quickly coming face to face
with an old man, another slave she figured, by the band he wore
around his forehead. “What do you mean, gone?” Her heart was
sinking fast. “Where?”

“Come with me.” The man held out his
hand.

Staring at it, Cushla was hesitant, unsure
if she should trust him. Thinking on it, she concluded that there
was little worse that could happen to her that had not already
occurred, so she took the chance and placed her palm in his.

The man’s fingers curled around hers and he
patted the top of her hand with his other, warmly, almost too
warmly, affectionately even.

Cushla wondered now, if she was indeed doing
something she might regret. Nevertheless, she went with him, down
the hill, past the orchards, down the path that traversed the
quarry and then out to the planting fields.

“Help me plant,” the man told her as he bent
and opened the lid to a wooden box. He took out a cylindrical can
and pulled the lid off. Taking Cushla’s hand, he turned it over and
poured a few seeds into her palm. He crouched to pick up a small
shovel and began poking at the dirt with it.

Odd,
Cushla thought as she studied
the man, then the seed in her hand, and gazed at the man once
again. With a shrug, she knelt down beside him and poured the seed
into the hole he’d dug.

“You do not recognize me do you,
Cushla?”

Cushla’s breath caught in her throat at his
use of her name. She stared wide-eyed at him, fret filling her.
Glancing at the area surrounding them, her mind immediately began
seeking out places to run, to escape, but the instant panic she’d
started to feel, subsided a margin, and she returned her gaze to
him.

“My name is Kleb.” He smiled at her, a warm
smile, one that shone clear to his eyes, his expression filled with
what seemed to be…endearment.

Kleb…Kleb?
Her lips mouthed the name
silently as she angled her head and studied his face. She realized
there was something familiar about that name—about him. Who was he?
One of Mecor’s guards who would turn her in or…or maybe he’d had
his way with her at some time? Perhaps someone from another
planet—a former owner.
No, no he too is a slave, so that
couldn’t be…

The man chuckled. “Fear not little bird.
Your enemy, I am not.”

Little bird…
Cushla’s lips parted
slightly. She froze, her breaths becoming quick and
shallow—
little…bird...Grandfather!
“Grandfather?” Joy filled
her, and Cushla could barely contain herself. “Gran—!”

Kleb cupped his hand over her mouth and
looked around quickly. “Sh-h-h,” he shushed her, pressing his
finger to his mouth. Cushla nodded and he removed his hand. “There
are eyes and ears everywhere, little bird,” he told her. Turning,
he spread the seed she’d poured into the dirt and then picked up
the small canister the seed had been contained in. He pried off the
bottom.

Cushla watched his actions curiously and
then realized the container had a false compartment in it.

Inside, there was a metal piece that fell
into his hand. Nonchalantly, Kleb dropped it into the dirt with the
seed, his head unmoving remaining in a downward position, though
his eyes darted around.

Cushla did the same, her gaze shifting to
the other slaves who were busily working the fields and the guards
who seemed to pay them little heed. Her attention returned to the
ground as Kleb covered both the seed and the piece of metal, and
she finally figured out what she was seeing—a trigger piece. “That
looks like a part to a—”

“Sh-h-h,” Kleb whispered low, his eyes
darting around once more. “Say nothing, follow me.” He then shifted
down the crop’s row.

Cushla followed him.

Next to them, another slave shuffled into
the space, and he made quick work of removing the stunner trigger
from the dirt and concealing it within his clothing.

Tucking her chin close to her chest to hide
the movement of her mouth, Cushla mumbled, “You’re arming
yourselves.”

“Piece by piece, little bird,” Kleb
returned. “For many, many dawnings now we have gathered the pieces
to assemble, our plans taking many phases.”

Cushla felt her heart sinking as she thought
about her parents. “Father—”

“Hush.” Kleb stood and held out his hand.
“Come with me.”

Without hesitation, Cushla placed her hand
into his and stood. He led her from the fields and they strolled
along the length of a cobbled path until they reached a cluster of
buildings. Cushla remembered the place. It was where transportation
was stored.

“Wait here.” Kleb released her hand and then
entered one of the buildings. He emerged shortly after, standing on
the small platform of the familiar scooter supported between two
wheels.

Cushla angled her head and smiled when she
realized the open cart he towed behind him was the very same one he
used to ride her around in when she was a child. The memory filled
her with a delight she thought had forever faded, and she was
pleased that some things on Buranis had remained unchanged.

Kleb depressed the break lever on the cross
bar handle that steered the self-balancing vehicle. With a tip of
his head, Kleb indicated the wagon.

Still smiling, Cushla climbed in. “Where are
we going?” she asked her grandfather.

“To town.”

Cushla’s eyes widened. “You can leave the
castle grounds?”

“I am trusted to buy the goods we need
there.” With that, Kleb depressed a button on the handle of the
scooter and within moments they were moving, the small engine
humming low.

They reached the castle gates, but were
immediately stopped by two of the guards there.

“Who is this slave?” One of them reached
toward Cushla and grasped her beneath the chin, turning her head
from side to side to examine her like one would look over chattels,
which she supposed she was.

Even so, it irritated Cushla, though she
kept quiet, biting back the urge to snap her teeth down on the hand
that held her.

“New to Buranis, a textile expert,” Kleb
responded. “She goes with me to choose the cloths for the king’s
new garments.”

Oh…
Cushla groaned inwardly. Had her
grandfather lost it? They would never fall for such a lame design
of an explanation, especially since she knew little about textiles.
What if they questioned her?

“We should check this with the king,” the
other guard suggested while reaching for his communicator.

“No need,” a third voice spoke. “The king
knows nothing about this.”

“My lord.” The guard who’d been grasping
Cushla’s chin released her and nodded his head to the royal who was
approaching them.

As required of all slaves, Kleb lowered his
gaze, but not Cushla, of course. Instead, she turned her head and
looked directly into the royal’s eyes. She wrinkled her brow at the
very subtle, almost undetectable smile the royal gave her.

It was Rube.

“My lord,” the first guard began. “If the
king knows nothing about this, then how might we allow her to
pass?”

Rube stalked to nearly a hairsbreadth from
the guard, the expression on his face turning threatening, his
voice concise and low. “Because I authorize it.” His gaze shifted
quickly to the other guard and he narrowed his eyes.