Chapter sixteen
A price for Carrie“Twelve gold pieces, my friend, and I’ll throw in an extra five dhems.”
Carrying the girl sacrifice — her name she had whispered was Carrie — I tried to brush past in the crowded souk. The fellow with his black chin beard and gold chains and oily hair was persistent.
“Come now, my friend! I know why you are here! You cannot do better than deal with me, Honest Nath Ob-eye the Trancular. Fifteen gold pieces, then—”
He wore a patch over his left eye. His clothes were ornate if greasy, and he carried as well as a sword a whip coiled up over his left shoulder. If I sold Carrie to him he’d have no compunction in using that evil instrument on her. He’d do it in such a way as not to mark the merchandise. Slavers know how to strike in the pain ways.
Carrie and
