On the Auction Block (2 page)

Irene followed James through the shuffling
crowd. He found a place to stand in the center of the hall. All the
buyers turned to face the stage.

The arithmetic was obvious. A hundred men
were eager to buy one of only nineteen slaves. At least eighty-one
of them would have to leave the hall empty-handed. More if someone
bought more than one slave.

Irene hoped that James would be one of that
disappointed majority. She had little interest in seeing her
husband buy yet another slave to service his lust.

Not when she was available and eager to
satisfy him. That he visited his slaves in the day and never
visited her bedroom in the night was a cruel rejection. She
wondered what a slaves could do for him that she couldn’t.

As soon as the crowd had cleared the area
around the slave cages, the men in red tank tops – the slave
handlers – opened the first cage. One of the men clipped a chain
around the slave’s neck while the other one pulled her wrists
behind her back and snapped handcuffs on them.

They used the chain about the slave’s neck as
a heavy leash to lead her to the stage. As she mounted the
platform, the auctioneer said, “Gentlemen, I offer Violet.
Twenty-three years old and healthy. This is her first sale. She was
pressed into slavery this summer when she was unable to make
payments on her debts. Her purchase price will be divided among her
creditors. She has never been married and never born a child.”

While the auctioneer spoke, the handlers led
the slave across the stage twice, having her turn about so that the
audience could see her both back and front.

She was trying to be brave, but her steps
looked uncertain. Irene feared that her legs might give way and she
might collapse on the stage at any moment.

The handlers took her to the raised block.
They held her upper arms to make sure that she did not stumble and
fall off when she mounted the steps at the back.

As soon as the handlers stepped back, the
auctioneer cried, “I will open the bidding at ten thousand. Who
will offer ten thousand plaquettes sterling for Violet?”

Several hands shot into the air.

The auctioneer didn’t bother trying to figure
out who had the bid. “Fifteen thousand. Do I hear fifteen-thousand
plaqs?”

More hands.

“Twenty?”

This time there were only two hands.

“Twenty-five?”

One hand.

“Thirty?”

A different hand.

Bidding slowed after thirty-five thousand
plaqs and the auctioneer reduced his increments to a thousand plaqs
at a time. Irene could see bidders shaking their heads and dropping
out.

The auctioneer began interspersing
encouraging comments between bids. “She has never felt the sting of
the lash. … Discipline will be easy with this one. … She is highly
intelligent and has a university degree. … You can quickly train
her to meet your specialized requirements.”

There were some knowing snickers from the
audience at that last comment and someone bid thirty-nine thousand
plaqs.

Irene was astounded. Thirty-nine thousand was
a lot of money. More than a skilled laborer would earn in a
year.

Had James paid that much for the three slaves
that he owned?

“Do I hear forty thousand?”

No hands were raised. “Thirty-nine thousand
and five hundred?”

James raised his hand. It was the first time
that he had bid.

Irene stared at him in shock. She knew that
he bought slaves. He had come here to buy one today. But she wasn’t
prepared for the reality that now presented itself.

“I have thirty-nine thousand and five
hundred. Do I hear forty-thousand?”

She looked up at the slave standing on the
block. Twenty three years old. She was five years younger than
Irene. And beautiful. More beautiful than her? Irene knew that she
would never look into a mirror again without comparing her face to
the faces of her husband’s slaves.

Her heart pounded.

“Forty-one thousand,” a voice called from the
crowd. A grossly overweight man in his fifties raised his hand. His
shirt was stained yellow in the armpit.

The slave looked at the new bidder. Irene was
sure that she saw a slight shudder. The obvious had never occurred
to her – that a slave would care who owned her. Not that it made
any practical difference. The man who was willing to pay the most
was the man who would own the slave, no matter his personal
hygiene.

She glanced at James. He was one of the
youngest and most attractive men in the room.

If she were a slave, she would want to be
owned by James.

Especially considering that his slaves
received far more of his attention than his wife.

“Do I hear forty-two thousand? Forty-two
thousand plaqs for this fine new slave?”

“Forty-five!” A new voice joined the mêlée. A
dapper man in his seventies casually waved at the auctioneer. His
suit was silk and he wore a beaver top hat. The Governor of Arctus
was in attendance. Irene recognized him from the television news.
Some day, she would undoubtedly meet him in person, but that day
had not yet come.

“Forty-five,” the auctioneer said. “The bid
is forty-five thousand plaqs. Do I hear forty-six? Forty-six
anyone?”

No one bid against the governor.

The slave quailed on the block.

The governor was a legendary host. He threw
dinner parties for over a hundred couples most nights of the week.
Even with a large stable of slaves to share the load, Violet would
seldom have a slow night.

“Going once. Going twice. Done.” The
auctioneer slapped his clapper. “Sold to the governor for
forty-five thousand plaquettes sterling.”

Irene admired the governor’s fairness. He
could have bid at ten thousand and no one would have bid against
him, but he had waited until he was paying a fair price before
entering the arena.

He had class.

The handlers stepped forward and helped the
slave off the block. As soon as the governor had taken possession
of her leash, he handed it to the servant who was standing beside
him and then left the room. The servant, the slave, and two
bodyguards followed close behind.

Irene suspected that he had chosen his
purchase ahead of time and had told the auctioneer to offer it as
the first lot so that he would not have to wait around while the
other slaves were sold.

The handlers were already escorting the next
leashed and handcuffed slave to the stage.

“Gentlemen, I offer Anise. Anise is
twenty-nine years old. She was born into slavery and is
well-trained in all of the necessary arts. She would make a fine
addition to any man’s stable as she has much to teach
less-experienced slaves. She is particularly conversant with
disciplinary techniques. It has been said that a slave will never
again stray from her duties once she has been corrected by Anise.
Even long-time owners will learn new and exquisitely precise
procedures for correcting slaves from her.”

When Anise’s back was turned to the audience,
Irene could see a fine tracery of white scars covering her back
like a spider’s web. She had learned disciplinary techniques from
direct experience, not only from observing others.

“Will someone open the bidding at ten
thousand plaqs?”

“Ten thousand!”

Irene recognized the bidder. Lord Snow was
one of James’ best friends and a frequent guest in their house.

James nodded at him.

Lord Snow smiled and nodded back.

If he acquired Anise, then James would
undoubtedly enjoy her body the next time Lord Snow threw a dinner
party. Irene threw a nasty glance at the slave.

“Fifteen thousand?” the auctioneer asked.

As the bidding continued, Lord Snow stayed
in, doggedly alternating bids with two other men.

There was a real possibility that Snow would
win the bid. Irene examined the slave with renewed interest.

From the block, the slave watched the three
bidders. Her posture was casual but her eyes were keen as they
flicked from one man to another. She was older than most of the
slaves waiting in the cages and, being born into slavery, would
have been offered for sale as soon as she was of age. That meant
that she had undoubtedly been sold many times. Though the procedure
was old hat, her interest was intense. The course of her life would
be determined by which man won the bidding.

The slave on the block could never be a
disinterested party to her sale.

When the bid reached thirty-thousand, Lord
Snow dropped out.

Irene’s husband would not be serviced by this
woman after all.

The other bidder dropped out shortly after
Lord Snow and Anise was sold to the third for thirty-two
thousand.

He handlers led Anise to a scruffy-looking
man wearing cheap, serviceable clothes. She didn’t try to hide the
look of dismay on her face.

A man standing behind Irene whispered to
another, “He owns a brothel down at the docks. She’ll have to suck
a hell of a lot of sailor cock to justify a thirty-two thousand
plaq investment.”

“Lucky sailors. She’ll be good at it. The
brothel will charge a premium price for her services.”

Irene continued to watch while slave after
slave was led to the block and auctioned off.

Sometimes James cast a bid or two and Irene’s
heart leapt in fear that he would win the sale, but then he would
drop out. Irene was keenly aware that every time her husband
offered a bid, the slave on the block was younger and more
beautiful than her.

He showed no interest in slaves that were
older than Irene, even though they sold for fewer plaqs. He wasn’t
looking for bargains.

The next fifteen slaves were similar to
Anise. Each sold for between twenty and thirty-five thousand plaqs.
None came near to Violet’s selling price of forty-five
thousand.

The eighteenth slave that was led to the
block was the loveliest of the day. Her hair fell in auburn waves
down her back. Her skin was flawless. Her features were
aesthetically proportioned and perfectly symmetrical. Her body was
full and luscious.

“Gentlemen, I offer Feather,” the auctioneer
said. “Feather is twenty-two years old. A daughter of the upper
class. She was adjudicated into slavery last month following her
conviction for the crime of assuming a false identity for the
purpose of sedition. She is healthy and has never been married nor
borne a child. Bidding will open at twenty-five thousand plaquettes
sterling.”

A half dozen hands shot up simultaneously and
stayed up while the auctioneer shouted, “Thirty-five… Forty…
Forty-five…” in quick succession.

Irene understood the strategy of the auction.
The auctioneer had saved the two most desirable slaves for the end
to keep the audience in the room.

At fifty-five, hands began to drop but other
hands entered the competition. Serious bidding began at sixty-five.
Four men seemed determined to have Feather. James was one of
them.

Irene was appalled. Her husband was willing
to pay seventy … seventy-five … eighty thousand plaqs to own a
felon. A traitor to her lord and country. Eighty-five thousand.

She stared at him as his hand snapped up
every time the auctioneer shouted a higher number. Ninety.
Ninety-five thousand plaqs. And he kept bidding.

Lord Snow was in the competition as well, but
dropped out when the bid reached a hundred thousand plaqs.

It was a ridiculous sum.

And her husband was willing to pay it.

The last bid was a hundred and fifteen
thousand plaqs. A fortune for a single slave.

The auctioneer clapped his boards. “Sold to
Lord James Fortson for a hundred and fifteen thousand plaquettes
sterling.”

The crowd applauded and James grinned.

Irene blushed scarlet with humiliation. Her
husband had bought the most expensive whore of the day. And the
most beautiful.

He would never want to come to his wife’s bed
again.

The handlers brought Feather down from the
stage and handed the end of her leash to James.

He sighed with satisfaction when he pulled
his new slave – the convicted traitor – to stand next to his
wife.

Irene couldn’t even look at her. But she was
keenly aware of the slave’s full young breasts heaving with every
breath that she took. Of the smell of sex and sweat that wafted off
her body. Of the heat of emotion that boiled off into the air
around her.

Irene wondered about her story. A daughter of
the upper class, convicted of sedition. Was she the daughter of a
lord? A marquette? Were she and Irene alike in any meaningful
way?

James had his slave. He could leave now. But
he didn’t. He was determined to stay for the last sale of the day –
the nineteenth slave.

He had to know that he had humiliated his
wife. Was he staying only to force her to endure her humiliation
for as long as possible?

If so, it was working. The other men in the
room kept glancing over at James, Feather, and her. They couldn’t
resist comparing the wife with the slave. And Irene knew which one
they would most like to have service them.

Lord Snow was the worst. He knew that he
would be using Feather the next time that he was invited to the
manor and he was almost drooling as he turned to stare at her.

The final lot was another beauty. Bidding was
enthusiastic but faltered after eighty thousand. James didn’t
bother raising his hand.

As the bidding trailed off the auctioneer
began calling increments of five hundred in a futile effort to
cajole the crowd higher. No one was interested in paying more than
eight-five thousand.

It was another ridiculous sum but it paled
next to the hundred and fifteen that her husband had paid.

So, despite the drama of another sale at the
front of the room, men were still distracted by Feather, turning to
look at the highest-priced slave of the day.