I gaze at him for a moment, then nod – once.

  “I’ll note down your decision,” I tell him, picking up my pen and moving it to hover over the piece of parchment that I pulled from my Inventory earlier. “I’ll do my best to find you a new master without needing to send you back to the auction block, but I’m afraid I can’t recommend you in any way. You may go.”

  “Wait just one darn flicker,” Thalon exclaims. “Ye said we could make the choice!”

  “And you did,” I remind him with disinterest the only expression visible on my face. “You want more than I have offered. This is not a negotiation.”

  “But I never said I didn’t want te come!” Thalon exclaims, leaning forwards, his fingers pressing whitely on the table top. He looks one step away from climbing over it to attack me. I just gaze coolly at him. “Ye need me – ye think those weaklin’s out there’ll do anything than run screamin’ the first time a beast attacks? I’ve been in fights since I was a lil’un!”

  “I can train fighters,” I answer him coolly. “But I’m not taking anyone who doesn’t want to be there. Final chance – would you like to take advantage of my offer, in full understanding that I will not tolerate someone who deliberately causes problems for me or for others in my group? Or are you too dubious about my intentions to risk it?”

  Honestly, I’m dubious about whether I should take him even if he agrees – I can tell that this one is going to be trouble. But at the same time, I’m fully aware that there will be lots of problematic slaves for one reason or another – the whole system basically encourages it. Whatever I propose needs to work for at least the majority – including the Thalons of this world.

  Thalon growls wordlessly at me, but something about my demeanour makes him take a mental step back.

  His fists clench and unclench several times, but the flush leaves his face and he leans back in his chair, a calculating look in his eyes.

  “So…what ye say is we fight for ye, an’ ye pay us. An’ there’ll be other rewards iffen we done good? What? Food? Luxuries?” He smirks. “Women?”

  I don’t allow my disgust to show on my face, instead allowing only my disapproval through.

  “Food and luxuries, certainly. Privileges, training of your choice…even Classes and Skills if you prove yourself worthy.” If he doesn’t change, I doubt that the last two will ever be relevant to him, but a carrot is no good if no one knows about it. Then I lean forwards, making sure my expression conveys my utter seriousness about my next words. “However, sexual favours will never be on the list. And any attempt to take them will be met with serious consequences. Permanent ones.”

  Thalon clearly does his best to meet my gaze, but the sneer has fallen away from his expression and his eyes slide quickly away. Perhaps he senses my resolve in this matter.

  “Yes, boss,” he responds in a subdued tone, then looks startled, as if he hadn’t meant to say that.

  I let the silence and my gaze linger for a moment, then lean back in my chair.

  “Now, your decision, please,” I prompt briskly.

  Thalon eyes me, then nods shortly.

  “I’ll come…master.” The last word holds more grudging respect than the first time he said it, but I’m not convinced.

  “Very well,” I agree. “You’ll need a soul Bond, of course.”

  Thalon tenses.

  “What?”

  I raise an eyebrow at him.

  “After all that, you don’t seriously think that I’ll let you run around without one, do you?”

  “I never killed no one!” he protests.

  “Not for lack of trying,” I point out. “Anyway, it’s less about what you’ve done, and more about the attitude you’ve shown me so far.”

  “What, no one’s allowed te ask questions?” he demands aggressively, his eyes narrowing.

  I give him a hard look until he drops his eyes, the motion instinctive and unwanted judging by the way he clenches his fist convulsively.

  “Ask questions, yes. Be difficult for the sake of it, no. And the Bond will ensure that everyone else is safe from you.” And that any ‘transformation’ that takes place is real, I think but don’t say. “This is one of the conditions for coming with us. Do you wish to change your mind?”

  Thalon thinks about it for a long moment before shaking his head angrily. I don’t prolong the conversation, and instead initiate the Battle of Wills. In the grey space, I feel Thalon’s stubborn defiance, anger, disbelief, and the thick underlayer of fear. Being a non-Classer, the Battle is quick and easy, and soon another Bond has snapped into place.

  “Loran will tell you where to go,” I tell him in dismissal once we’re both fully aware again. Thalon hesitates but he pushes himself to his feet a moment later and then stomps out without another word.

  I breathe in and out slowly, calming myself after that particular interview. Hopefully the others won’t be quite as challenging.

  The next interview turns out to be difficult in a different way. In complete contrast with Thalon, this one is with Maxen, the calm man with a military demeanour that I saw at the auction. His crime, as it turns out, was insubordination.

  “I refused to lead my squad to set fire to a house,” he explains.

  “And why did you refuse?” I ask curiously. He looked so uncomfortable at the idea of taking a seat that I didn’t force the issue. His background in the military is clear by the ramrod straight posture he’s taken that reminds me of the ‘at ease’ position in films I’ve seen.

  “The house contained a mixture of criminals and civilians, sir,” he replies frankly, his eyes staring somewhere above my shoulder. “I wasn’t willing to risk killing children in order to smoke out the criminals. Additionally, I was concerned that the fire might spread to other homes – it was in the slums area where all of the dwellings are close together.”

  “And your…commanding officer wasn’t willing to hear your thoughts?”

  “He heard them, and denied them. The civilians in question weren’t citizens, and the dwellings around were tolerated but not officially permitted. He deemed the capture of these gang members to be most important. I did not.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. Nothing in his body or expression indicates that he’s being dishonest in any way, nor does it seem like he’s holding anything back.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  When it comes to the matter at hand, I completely understand Maxen’s point of view. At the same time, I can also see how the commanding officer might have wanted to make an example of him. But even so….

  “Slavery seems rather a severe sentence to levy,” I point out, especially given the unusual clause that his contract includes – a minimum sentence of fifty years unless he swears a life oath to a noble House. Is this an attempt to protect themselves from ex-military radicals? They don’t seem concerned at him being a tool in the hands of whoever buys him, however. “Doesn’t the military usually deal with such things in-house?”

  “Usually, yes,” Maxen answers, then I see him shift slightly, the first movement he’s made since he took the position. “But it wasn’t the first time.”

  “Hm?” I prompt.

  “I came from the slums myself, you see, sir,” he explains, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “Seeing them dismissed as nothing, or as criminals in the making always…frustrates me. I fear that this was just the last incident that my commanding officer was willing to tolerate.”

  “I see,” I comment slowly. “I can’t set you free,” I tell him bluntly a moment later – he’s been straightforward for me; I’ll return the favour. Anyway, from the lack of reaction, it’s no surprise to him. “But if you choose to join us on the expedition, you will still receive a salary. You can use that for your own luxuries, send it to your family, invest it in business…whatever you like. And when your time is up, I promise I will release you, assuming you have given good service in the fifty years.” After all, unless he gains a Class in the meantime, that’s basically a life sentence.

  For the first time, Maxen meets my eyes.

  “You are generous, sir, and kind to those less fortunate. I will join you.”

  After another brief Battle of Wills – given that I’ve mentally earmarked Maxen as the commander of my troops, I thought it would be wise – I continue with the other interviews, meeting each of the people one by one.

  By the time I’m reaching the last of the slaves, I’m feeling more than a little worn. Is this what a social worker feels like? I wonder at one point. To be the constant witness to a litany of human tragedy?

  Everyone has their story, their reason for ending up where they are. Of course, not everyone is honest about it, but the Battle of Wills, whether completed or ended before the conclusion, is a good way of finding the truth. Not a single person is innocent of the crime of which they were accused, but that doesn’t mean they deserve to be here.

  There are a few murderers: the woman who poisoned her husband; the man who set fire to his employer’s house – with him and his family inside it; the mugging gone wrong. And three more were convicted of attempted murder or multiple counts of assault – all of them hard-looking men.

  But not everyone is guilty of murder or assault. Debt is the reason that almost half the people ended up in the collar – when the final date became due and they couldn’t pay, the debtors were taken and sold to cover what they had borrowed. Two even knew what the consequence would be when they took out the debts, knowing from the beginning that there was little chance they would be able to repay their loan. They still did it because it was the only thing they could do to save their families.

  All of them were tentatively grateful at the prospect of gaining a salary – even though not everyone believes me yet. I have a feeling that few of them will choose to set their salary aside for their own freedom. In fact, two even asked anxiously if it would be possible to have their salary paid directly to their families. Of course, I agreed. Frankly, I would have been willing to forgive their debts and send them back to their families now, but I figure that they will be better off later returning with some new skills and means of generating income.

  The other most frequent crime, accounting for a third of the group, was theft in various forms. Though not always the reason, many stories are similar to Loran’s in that the person committed the crime due to few other options for them and their families. Two started stealing as children, either because they got involved early in a crime gang, or, in Misli’s case, because other members of his family were also thieves.

  Misli was one of only two who refused my offer. Based on what I felt in the Battle of Wills, I suspect that he thinks his chances of escaping are better if he remains on Moriax. He’s probably right, and I honestly don’t know what to think about it. On the one hand, he’s a thief, and I doubt he’s going to change his ways anytime soon. On the other, he’s clearly suffered as a slave – he’s slim and lightly-built, and I doubt he’s been given the privileged position of a guard in his previous households.

  I decide to speak to Nicholas about him. It’s possible that he could use someone with the skillset of a thief somewhere in his estate. At least that way I’ll know he’s being treated reasonably well – and that they’re forewarned about his intentions.

  The second refusal is from another of the slimly-built men – Kael. In his case, he’s too frightened about what might await him on an expedition to the Lost Continent. He’s an accountant by trade, who had been caught falsifying data for a particular merchant in exchange for bribes. In one fell swoop, he’d been hit by charges of bribery, financial fraud, and falsifying data. Despite a spotless previous record, those three were serious enough to see him sentenced to the collar immediately. Unfairly in my mind, the only consequences for the merchant had been a heavy fine.

  In his case, however, I have a good idea of what I could do with him.

  By the last interview, I’m almost numb to tales of suffering. Yet, even so, the injustice that the damayar experienced is enough to cut through.

  “What?” I demand flatly. “Please repeat that.”

  “Ah was charged wit’ tresspassin’, breakin’ an’ enterin’, an’ theft,” Sor’az repeats, his mouth set in hard lines.

  “When you’d already paid for the room and meal?” I demand incredulously. “How did that get past the truthteller?”

  “‘Cos the innkeeper was tellin’ t’ truth – from his view,” he replies, an old and tired resentment clouding his words. “He sent notice in t’ mornin’. Told me te get out, ye see. Slipped it under me door. ‘Twarn’t his fault tha’ I’d already left for t’ day – or so he says.”

  “Still! He hadn’t given you your money back – you’d paid for those services. I don’t understand why the judicator didn’t just throw it out of court.” I don’t even need a Battle of Wills to determine whether he’s telling me the truth. Either he’s honest or he’s the best liar ever made.

  Sor’az gives me a long look and I strongly suspect he’s stopping himself from calling me an idiot.

  “Ah’m not a citizen. The innkeeper was. T’ innkeeper’d given me marks o’ warnin’. Offered t’ let me pick up t’ refund any time afore lunch. Not his problem ah never got t’ notice. Or so t’ judicator said.”

  I shake my head, outrage at the injustice going through me.

  “I’m sorry for what happened to you,” I tell him earnestly. “You should never have been given this sentence.”

  Quiet despair shines in Sor’az’s eyes.

  “Perhaps not, but…life ain’t fair.” I can’t help but admire the quiet sense of dignity that radiates from him. Despite the unfairness of his treatment, he doesn’t rail against fate, but accepts it with a kind equanimity that I wish I had.

  “That’s true,” I admit. “But I’m not going to continue perpetrating it if I can help.”

  I pull out So’raz’s contract, write ‘I free you of my own will’ at the bottom, sign it, and then walk around the desk to press the contract against his collar. He watches me unmovingly, with eyes that are equal parts wary and hopeful.

  The hard lines of his face soften slightly as he reaches up to feel the collar – and the opening that is now present.

  In one sharp movement, he tears it off and throws it away. It clatters against the wall off to the side and falls still, a shackle no longer.

  “Ye didn’t have te do tha’,” he tells me quietly, one hand massaging his naked throat, the other pressing hard against the table in front of him.

  “Believe me,” I tell him firmly. “I did. Now, you said that this all happened in Whalehost? We’ll be heading that way in less than two tendays. If you’d like to travel with us, you’re welcome to stay. Otherwise,” I reach into my money pouch and pull out ten silvers, “hopefully this is enough to get you there – and to rejoin your crew. And your ship.” Though I fear that with the captain taken captive almost half a year ago, the fate of both is uncertain. I take my seat once more and give him a moment to think.

  So’raz stares at the coins for a long moment, then shakes his head, pushing them back towards me.

  “Keep yer coins, lad,” he replies. “Wit’ what ye done for me here, ah owe ye enough o’ a debt. Ah’ll stay, an’ ah’ll work for me bread and bed. An’ iffen me crew an’ ship are still around when ah get te Whalehost, perhaps there’s someway ah can repay ye.”

  “As you wish,” I agree, nodding at him respectfully. “I’ll make sure you’re given a suitable position in the household until we depart.”

  “Thank ye,” he responds, touching his first two fingers – of which has five instead of four – to his brow.

  He quickly leaves the interview space leaving me staring blankly at the parchment now filled with names and notes. Fragments of the stories I’ve heard today replay in my mind – faces, voices, choices made with no good options.

  After a long moment I clear my throat and stand up, tucking the parchment away decisively. I can’t change the system all at once. Perhaps I will never achieve my goal. But if I can change even these few lives for the better, I will consider it a victory.

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