A Jewel in the Dirt - 1. Slaves simply get sold

The sales hall had emptied and by the absence of customers and thus without sales talks, the clinking of the chains sounded even louder in the ears. The suppressed noises of the slaves became even more insistent. The orders of the merchants and their overseers became even sharper.

It was the third of five sales days and the business was traditionally the weakest. Dante shifted his weight a little, the stool on which he sat creaked slightly. The saleswoman, who owned him for the moment, walked along the sales platform assigned to her, her dark red coat slapping against the heavy black boots. Her boots were the only thing Dante looked at, which he followed with his gaze as she walked up and down and finally stepped to him. With her crop she patted his cheek.

"You should have made me a lot of money," she growled.

Dante pushed his back straight, but at the same time lowered his head even further. It was a mystery to him why his former mistress had sold him to a transit-merchant of the lower middle class, of all people- or vice versa, why a transit-merchant of that class would spend so much money on an upper-class slave when her normal customers hardly had the funds to buy him.

The saleswoman snorted and gave him a not-so-soft pat on the cheek with her crop, muttering something that sounded like 'bad investment'. She turned away and the slave sitting on a stool to the right of Dante gave a shaky sigh of relief. He was almost still a boy, much too thin and with a cast on his left arm. Tomorrow and the day after, when the prices of human goods were falling, someone would probably come and buy this bunch of misery, too.

Dante swallowed bitter saliva.

Sick, wounded slaves did not belong here. He did not belong here, not in such a run-down sales hall, not in heavy chains and not displayed practically naked. His teeth were grating, but then he raised his eyes when his saleswoman turned to the friendly customer tone.

A tall muscle-bound man had stopped in front of the platform. His shirt had a large open neckline and three-quarter sleeves to flaunt the absence of slave collars and bracelets. A freedman. A free man who wanted to buy a slave.

Dante's heart slipped into the ridiculous panties he had to wear.

"...with muscles, you say?" The merchant twirled her long dark braid between her fingers. "Well, my friend, come up here and look at my goods." Invitingly, she pointed to the platform and the man jumped up, ignoring the four steps on the side.

"Not only muscles, but brains as well," he said determinedly.

Dante had his eyes back on the shoes- the man wore worn-out but well-groomed work boots.

"Brains? Brains like general intelligence or like education?", the saleswoman wanted to know and the man grunted almost disparagingly.

"Education." He was probably here on someone's behalf.

"Hmm. Well, this one is educated..."

Another grunt. "No."

"This one-"

"No."

The steps approached Dante, and then the crop tapped against his shoulder. "Fresh from the upper class."

"Stand up," growled the man after a short hesitation, and Dante obeyed. After a moment, he turned once around himself and then stopped motionless again.

His stomach growled.

The man hummed wordlessly to himself.

The saleswoman cleared her throat. "According to his records, he has been trained in all kinds of areas and-"

"Can you drive?"

"Yes, sir," Dante said coarsely; his mouth was terribly dry from thirst and he hadn't really spoken for days.

"Even big ones?"

"No trucks, but stretch limousines, sir," Dante replied, reaping an almost amused chuckle.

"Can you take care of a household?"

"Yes, sir." And then he was brave enough to clarify his answer without being asked: "I have always been a butler, chauffeur and bodyguard until now, sir."

Now the man actually gave a short laugh. "What's the price?" Prices were not discussed in front of the slaves' ears and the transit-merchant and the man moved away.

For a second, Dante raised his eyes. The man had to be in his mid-fifties, his almost black curls greying here and there. Perhaps he was not here on someone's behalf after all, but needed himself someone who could lend a hand. A free man who wanted to remain free and not be subordinate to a wife.

Dante stood there waiting, while the murmuring in the hall changed. The selling time was nearly over for today and the first traders began to shoo their goods into the rest areas.

"Cleo! June!" The sharp voice of his saleswoman made Dante flinch. He saw her waving her hand impatiently and the two overseers hurried away - they knew what to do. "Come here!"

The request was addressed to him, and he walked over to the merchant and his new master in the small steps the chains on his ankles allowed.

"Don't worry, my friend, we provide all the sold slaves with comfortable clothing in which they can begin their journey to their new home," the saleswoman said in a confidential tone, and then pulled out a key to remove the chains.

"Do I have to put new chains on you or are you behaving?" his master asked threateningly.

"No chains necessary, master," Dante said quietly, not moving. One of the overseers - Dante didn't look up to know which one - brought him his backpack with his personal belongings and plain dark blue long-sleeved shirt and gray sweatpants; he had to keep those ridiculous panties on, for better or worse.

Dante had already been sold several times, but he was surprised how little paperwork a stopover at a transit-merchant meant. His new master took the papers, a small black pouch and then exchanged a few polite phrases.

"May the Great Mother bring you good business," he said in farewell.

"And to you, brother, and to you," replied the merchant. To any other woman these half-hearted words would have been disrespectful, but Dante's new master was a free man, and even a free man was below any woman, however low in ranking herself.

"Come."

Dante's stomach rumbled again as he followed his master. His feet were not used to walking barefoot- barely two weeks in the hands of a transit-merchant were not enough- and after the smooth planks of the platform, the rough concrete of the hall hurt. He remained half beside half behind his master, his gaze lowered.

Outside, the sun had already set, but the asphalt was still warm. To the left of the main entrance were several small snack bars, and their smell was like torture for Dante. Since he had been sold, he had been given nothing but cheap, uniform mash with little taste, and his stomach was again making a loud noise.

"Are you hungry?"

What an unnecessary question, he thought, but said humbly: "Yes, master."

His master grunted and stepped to one of the stalls selling Hot Dogs and fries. "Two small menus."

"Eight dollars," came the bored reply from the girl at the counter.

"Come here, son. What's your name, anyway?"

Hadn't his master read the papers? "Dante, master," Dante replied, hinting at a bow, and then stepped to the bar table where his master waved him over.

A sigh, then: "I’m not your master. I bought you for my daughter. You may call me Blaise."

"Yes, Blaise." Another sigh, but this time annoyed.

Dante stared at the tabletop covered with ketchup drops and only raised his eyes when Blaise went back to the stall and came back with a loaded tray.

"Eat."

Dante ate his hot dog and fries, but kept a third of the water in the small bottle. He was forced to wipe his hands on his pants.

Blaise brought the tray back and then nodded at him. "Over there," he said, pointing to a puny bush, "go pee. The road is long."

"Yes, Blaise." Dante nodded, and as he followed the order, he wondered how long this long might be. He knew spoiled brats for whom five minutes of waiting was already endlessly long. As best as possible he shook the last drops off the penis and cage and then re-packed himself, with the hem of the panties snapping uncomfortably hard against his skin.

Blaise had watched him with a frown and just nodded.

They walked across the large parking lot, which was almost completely empty, to an unmarked blue truck. The door lock beeped and Blaise pulled open the driver's door. "Sit in the back on the bed."

Dante swallowed, but did as he was told. The inside of the cabin was very clean, smelled faintly of lemon, and the narrow bed looked unused. It was softer than expected and Dante pushed his backpack into a corner while Blaise got in as well.

"I'm going to send you to sleep," he announced and bent over for something. Seconds later he held an injection pen in his hand and twisted it somehow. "Oh, damn..." he murmured and slid very smoothly for his enormous stature behind the seat. "Lie down, shirt up. You'll sleep twelve hours and then we'll be home soon."

Dante nodded silently, lay down and pulled up his shirt. The needle hit him without disinfection on the side of his belly and he hissed because it hurt much more than expected. The injection pen also hissed until it clicked twice.

Blaise retreated, flipped up a narrow grille so Dante couldn't fall out during the drive, and then lowered a barrier between the tiny sleeping area and the seats.

Dante welcomed the artificial sleep, for since his former mistress had sold him, he had been electrified and restless. Now he had a new owner, but until he met her, he didn't have to worry about anything else - he knew how to behave. His eyes were already closed, but his ears twitched when it clicked, and when the heavy engine started, he shivered. But he didn't notice that Blaise was saying anything else.

~

When Dante awoke, the sun was shining brightly and Blaise was humming just as cheerfully to a song from the radio. "Good morning, Blaise," he said politely and quietly so as not to startle Blaise.

"Morning, son." Blaise clicked his tongue. "You slept longer than you thought. Another hour and we'll be there."

Dante stretched until it cracked several times. Although he had to pee urgently, he drank the rest of the water from his bottle. "May I ask where my new home is?" he asked, trying to strike a humble tone. There seemed to be nothing but fields and small woods around the highway.

"In all, quite several hundred miles from the glittering Denser's Port. Still 50 to go, I guess." Had they been driving all night, they would probably have been there by now, but Blaise had taken for sure a break somewhere and thus a nap.

A few minutes later Blaise stopped at a rest stop and Dante was allowed to get out to pee, and he was given a croissant with chocolate cream in it- he had to eat it outside so he wouldn't get crumbs all over.

"If you're asked, it was a dry roll," Blaise growled, and Dante suppressed a grateful smile.

"Yes, Blaise."

They passed a small town and then again only endless fields and forests. At some point Dante caught sight of a sign announcing a town called Townsend, but the distance was illegible. Again and again narrow, badly paved roads branched off to the left or right, and on one of them Blaise skillfully steered the big truck. On the left was a pasture with sheep, on the right a corn field. They passed a very artificial-looking woodland area and then Dante saw his new home: a huge farmhouse. The ground-floor was made of stone, the first floor of solid wood. In the background were several barns and before Dante could look around further Blaise stopped the truck as the asphalt turned into gravel and crushed stone.

With knees softened by the excitement, Dante got out and grimaced as the sharp stones tore open his feet and he bit his lip in pain. To distract himself, he slung his backpack over one shoulder and then flinched in surprise as Blaise pressed his documents into his hand. Blaise had said absolutely nothing, except that Dante now belonged to his daughter. That could mean anything and much of Dante's nervousness resulted from that very non-knowledge. Until now he had always known what to expect, but this was a damn farm! The Great Mother punished his incapacity severely.

The front door flew open and a small plump woman stepped on the wooden porch. "Blaise! You didn't-"

"He's for Alice, Ma!" Blaise said firmly, and while the woman barked a laugh, Dante raised his eyebrows in confusion. The woman was badly bleached and badly made up, but she didn't look like she could be Blaise's mother. Two little girls suddenly appeared behind her and stared curiously at Dante, but when one of them opened her mouth, the woman said sharply:

"Go in." She didn't let her eyes off Dante while the girls obediently retreated. "Come here," she finally said, and carefully Dante walked the few meters over the painfully stinging gravel.

"I'll bring the truck into town," Blaise said, waiting for no response, but seemed to swing right back inside.

Arriving at the steps, Dante gently wiped his feet and then entered the porch. "Mistress," he said quietly, not knowing how to address her properly otherwise, bowing and handing her the documents.

She snorted, but accepted the papers. "Alice!" she shouted into the house and Dante flinched. "Alice, get your ass over here!"

There was a dull reply Dante didn’t understand. Nervously, he waited and swallowed dryly as footsteps approached.

"What is it, Ma?" a young woman wanted to know and stepped out of the shadows inside into the light outside.

A part of Dante registered Ma as addressing for the older woman, while the far greater part of him caught Alice with one look and then fell to his knees. She was light blond, wearing a dark green long-sleeved dress over dark blue leggings and fluffy slippers, which Dante now stared at.

"What is this?"

"Honey, your father has brought you a surprise," said the woman smugly. "This handsome boy is all yours now."

"What?" Mistress Alice made disbelieving.

"You must finally learn to take responsibility." The tone of voice became harsh.

"But Ma! I-"

"Enough! Take good care of him, he was expensive."

"Yes, Ma..." Mistress Alice sighed and the older woman- her mother?- disappeared with heavy steps into the house.

Dante, filled with nervousness, clasped the shoulder strap of his backpack; he had a very bad feeling, which grew stronger the longer Mistress Alice seemed to look at his papers.

Finally, she made a sound that was more of a growl than a sigh. "Fuck."