all?”
Lime leaned close. “That’s an open
secret. Some owners have only good-looking girls to sell. People are pretty
sure that they kill the boys at birth and the homely girls by the age of two so
that they won’t have to waste money raising labor slaves. I don’t know if that’s
true but it seems likely.” She stroked two small scars on her lower belly.
“I’ll never have to find out, myself. My second owner had me spayed.”
Irene was horrified. “Sterilized?”
“Those pesky tubes are history.
They were gone by the time I was twenty-five. They left the ovaries, though, to
make sure that I still get a full complement of hormones. Slaves with no
ovaries aren’t as good at servicing men so their value decreases dramatically.”
“Did you have children before you
were pressed into slavery?”
“A boy and a girl. They’re my
sister’s children now. It was a relief that she was willing to adopt them.
Being pressed into slavery would have been a lot worse if it had put my
children in an orphanage. The youngest was one and a half. I guess she’s in
second or third grade today. She wouldn’t recognize me. The boy probably
wouldn’t, either. He was four when I was sold. I don’t think four-year-olds
remember people very well. Do you?”
“I think he’d remember his mother.
I’m sure that he treasures those memories of you.”
Lime wiped a tear from the corner
of her eye. “It doesn’t matter, does it? He’s never going to see me again.
Children never see slaves, except on the street when we’re running an errand.
And then their mothers tell them not to look. My sister might have told my
children not to look at me some time when I was out on an errand.”
“I’m sorry I brought this up,”
Irene said.
“No. It’s good. I like to remember
that I did something good before I was sold. My children are good, you know.
I’m certain of that. They’re going to grow up to be fine people. They won’t
make the kind of mistake that I did, getting involved with a gambler.”
“I’m sure they won’t.”
“Anyway, I better go clean up. You
never know when the owner is going to decide that he wants service.” She left
in the direction of the bathroom.
Irene stayed and listened to the
muffled sounds of Apple and Cherry’s exuberant romp with Lord Snow in the
pleasure room.
Their joy made her want to weep in
despair. But she didn’t. Slaves learned to be tough.
* * *
On Wednesday morning, the kennelman brought Nickel to the table to eat with the other slaves.
She was naked – her corset
and strap were nowhere to be seen – and her hair was wet.
The kennelman had made her shower and wash her hair before coming to the kitchen. He didn’t
want her rank smell to ruin the other slaves’ appetites. She hadn’t been able
to wash for three days but that was not the worst of it. The kennelman’s instructions had been to provide a bucket for
her to relieve herself but made no mention of toilet paper.
Using the bucket in total darkness
had been a messy business.
Lord Snow told the kennelman not to clean Nickel’s cell. He was to leave a
brush and soap for her to clean up her own mess. She already had a bucket. Her
first task would be to clean that out.
Lord Snow was considerate of his kennelmen .
Nickel’s eyes were red with hate
when she glared at Irene but she dared not speak her mind for fear that the kennelman would snatch her precious bowl of porridge out of
her grasp.
A kennelman had the duty and the authority to keep the slaves in order when he was tending
to them and he had discretion about how to do it.
Nickel never took her eyes from
Irene, never once looked down at her bowl, as she shoveled spoonful after
spoonful of oatmeal into her maw.
Only when the bowl was completely
empty, did she look down to make certain that she cleaned up even the tiniest
smidges of food.
The kennelman did not offer her a second bowl. The slaves never got seconds and they would
never dream
Lime leaned close. “That’s an open
secret. Some owners have only good-looking girls to sell. People are pretty
sure that they kill the boys at birth and the homely girls by the age of two so
that they won’t have to waste money raising labor slaves. I don’t know if that’s
true but it seems likely.” She stroked two small scars on her lower belly.
“I’ll never have to find out, myself. My second owner had me spayed.”
Irene was horrified. “Sterilized?”
“Those pesky tubes are history.
They were gone by the time I was twenty-five. They left the ovaries, though, to
make sure that I still get a full complement of hormones. Slaves with no
ovaries aren’t as good at servicing men so their value decreases dramatically.”
“Did you have children before you
were pressed into slavery?”
“A boy and a girl. They’re my
sister’s children now. It was a relief that she was willing to adopt them.
Being pressed into slavery would have been a lot worse if it had put my
children in an orphanage. The youngest was one and a half. I guess she’s in
second or third grade today. She wouldn’t recognize me. The boy probably
wouldn’t, either. He was four when I was sold. I don’t think four-year-olds
remember people very well. Do you?”
“I think he’d remember his mother.
I’m sure that he treasures those memories of you.”
Lime wiped a tear from the corner
of her eye. “It doesn’t matter, does it? He’s never going to see me again.
Children never see slaves, except on the street when we’re running an errand.
And then their mothers tell them not to look. My sister might have told my
children not to look at me some time when I was out on an errand.”
“I’m sorry I brought this up,”
Irene said.
“No. It’s good. I like to remember
that I did something good before I was sold. My children are good, you know.
I’m certain of that. They’re going to grow up to be fine people. They won’t
make the kind of mistake that I did, getting involved with a gambler.”
“I’m sure they won’t.”
“Anyway, I better go clean up. You
never know when the owner is going to decide that he wants service.” She left
in the direction of the bathroom.
Irene stayed and listened to the
muffled sounds of Apple and Cherry’s exuberant romp with Lord Snow in the
pleasure room.
Their joy made her want to weep in
despair. But she didn’t. Slaves learned to be tough.
* * *
On Wednesday morning, the kennelman brought Nickel to the table to eat with the other slaves.
She was naked – her corset
and strap were nowhere to be seen – and her hair was wet.
The kennelman had made her shower and wash her hair before coming to the kitchen. He didn’t
want her rank smell to ruin the other slaves’ appetites. She hadn’t been able
to wash for three days but that was not the worst of it. The kennelman’s instructions had been to provide a bucket for
her to relieve herself but made no mention of toilet paper.
Using the bucket in total darkness
had been a messy business.
Lord Snow told the kennelman not to clean Nickel’s cell. He was to leave a
brush and soap for her to clean up her own mess. She already had a bucket. Her
first task would be to clean that out.
Lord Snow was considerate of his kennelmen .
Nickel’s eyes were red with hate
when she glared at Irene but she dared not speak her mind for fear that the kennelman would snatch her precious bowl of porridge out of
her grasp.
A kennelman had the duty and the authority to keep the slaves in order when he was tending
to them and he had discretion about how to do it.
Nickel never took her eyes from
Irene, never once looked down at her bowl, as she shoveled spoonful after
spoonful of oatmeal into her maw.
Only when the bowl was completely
empty, did she look down to make certain that she cleaned up even the tiniest
smidges of food.
The kennelman did not offer her a second bowl. The slaves never got seconds and they would
never dream
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