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The realization that the system of slavery does not work surprised me. Slaves in Abaddon, especially those at the bottom tier, are without hope. Eventually despair seizes them. In black despair the lash, imprisonment, and even the threat of death no longer has any effect. They want to die. The Grishfang leadership, called the Cloaks, can issue all the orders they want, but if the slaves are so listless and despairing that the work doesn’t get done, then the wrath falls on the soldiers, stewards, and merchants who are supposed to be carrying out the Cloak’s orders.
That’s where the Guild comes in. They pretend to be slaves, and for a price, make up the shortfall. The Guild lives on a knife edge—supported by the middle class but hated by the Cloaks. Every once in a while, a purge is ordered and then the Guild resorts to thievery and retaliation. Still, it looks to me as if the Guild is the only thing that keeps the Grishfang society from total collapse.
Abaddon Journey by Jandor Longwalker
Dave heard Tandor calling them together. He sighed and released Arlana after a second, long kiss and picked up his sword.
When Dave reached the main chamber, Tandor was passing around a vellum sheet. “Learn these passwords. When we leave here, we’ll be dressed as house slaves and have slaves’ headbands. We get those from the Disguiser.”
Tandor passed out the bronze disks, each with a small apple crudely engraved on it. “Attach these to your wooden pendant.”
When everyone had done as he instructed, Tandor squatted down. “This whole country of Grishfang is run by a ruling class called Cloaks. Most Cloaks are different from us—they are Bent Ones. They live much longer than we do and they have power to compel men and command beasts.” Here he looked searchingly at Dave and Arlana.
“But many are also humans who have been so long in the arts of the Bent Ones that they have made themselves exceedingly evil. The highest rank of the Cloaks are the Redcloaks. Meglir, members of the Council of Thirteen, and particularly high officials and beings of power will all have red cloaks as a signature of office.
“Blackcloaks are just below them and are perhaps even more dangerous. They want to prove themselves. Bigelow is a Blackcloak. If he were Bent, he would be a Redcloak, and that must torment and anger him. There are many Blackcloaks and Greycloaks of much less exalted position. I’m telling you this because all Cloaks are dangerous. They can kill a soldier, a merchant, and certainly any slave with no questions asked. Avoid them at all costs. They are deadly.
“I’ve just learned that, luckily for us, Bigelow has few Blackcloaks and Greycloaks in his service, because he is not a Bent One. But he does have many soldiers, merchants, and stewards. Everyone else is supposed to be slaves, and slaves are expected to do all of the work. Except, the system of slavery fails. There are shortages everywhere.
“However, failure to complete the tasks assigned by the Cloaks means slavery or death to the underlings. That gives the soldiers, stewards, and merchants a very strong motivation to work with us on the sly—as long as they don’t get caught by the higher-ups.
“So, I will get us slaves’ headbands and get you some work. When you earn some silver, keep half and give the rest to our general fund to pay the Guild for food, for these holes in the Warren, and for protection. Do you understand?”
“I have a question,” said Dave. “What keeps the soldiers and stewards from just chaining us up when we’ve completed our work, and keeping the money?”
“Dave, that’s always a risk, especially if the steward is in trouble or about to be enslaved himself. The Guild looks after its own. That steward would never get any help from us again. He might even find that his slaves were running away a lot. It may turn out his collaboration with the Guild might become known to the higher-ups. In extreme cases, the steward might even be killed during a robbery.
“Still, we’re in a dangerous business. Eventually we go to the mines. It works because we need coin and food. The stewards and soldiers need our help to meet quota.”
“So how do I find Pam and Little Thomas?” asked Al.
Dave felt a pang of regret. How quickly I think of myself and forget the real reason we’re here.
“I haven’t forgotten our purpose, Al,” he said. “We need to find where they are and how to get them out. I’ll look at every job we can get at the fortress. I know the grounds’ steward, Blackthorn. Once we’re working there, we’ll find out where they are, and when we can get them out. I promise you.”
There was a knock at the door. Everyone went silent. Dave made sure his sword, Gram, was well wrapped. Tandor walked to the entrance, gave everyone a final look, and opened a small shutter at the top of the door to look out. He opened the door.
A slender, dark haired young man with a goatee and an insolent smirk leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed.
“Ah,” he said, “the rumors are true that this ... ahem ... apartment is occupied once again. We are your neighbors and wanted to pay our respects.”
“We?” asked Tandor.
Straightening up, the man uncrossed his arms and bowed. “Let me introduce ourselves. I am Alandro, a fifth level servant of the Guild, and this is my sister Vixa.”
Alandro pointed around the corner. A young woman with long black hair and a dress that accentuated her exquisite figure sauntered into the room.
Dave was drawn to look at her. He didn’t. But the effort to not look made him aware of her every movement.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” said Vixa. She drew out the word “pleased” as if it were a caress. She looked everyone in the eye in turn.
This is a really dangerous woman, thought Dave.
He glanced over at Arlana. She still had her boyish clothes on and had not cleaned the dirt off her face. Her short hair still made her look like a young boy. Dave could tell by the set of her mouth and her rigid posture that Arlana was bristling.
Vixa’s eyes swept the room again as she made a small circle in the center of the company. When she came to Dave, she put her hand on his arm. “Are you in charge?”
Dave could feel himself blushing. He wanted to darken his skin to cover his blush but remembered, just in time, that he mustn’t give himself away. Instead, he stammered awkwardly, “Nooo, I’m ... I’m not in charge.”
“I think you should be,” Vixa said.
Tandor interrupted. “Alandro and Vixa, it was kind of you to grace us with your visit.”
Alandro looked sharply at Tandor as if offended at the interruption, but Tandor continued to speak with a tone of such courtesy that Alandro relaxed.
“But,” continued Tandor, “we have only just arrived and we are embarrassed to meet a fifth level servant neighbor when we have not had time to freshen up nor buy supplies for a proper welcome cup. Could we send you an invitation when we are more able to receive you?”
“Of course; come Vixa.”
Vixa flashed Dave a big smile and, giving his arm a squeeze, she turned and walked out the door.