If I Pay Thee Not In Gold

• Chapter 7

Hypolyta Dianthre was nothing like the woman Xylina had imagined. She had expected someone like Lycia and most of the other Mazonites of her acquaintance: a tough old warrior, who could still pick up a blade and trounce men (and women too, for that matter) half her age. Such a woman would be broad-shouldered, tall, and muscular, with the physique of any true veteran. Perhaps she would bear the scars of many combats; she might even still wear the leather of a Guard.

Xylina had also expected a house something like Lycia's home, perhaps a little larger. The comfortable but not extravagant dwelling of a Mazonite who had done well in her life, a place with a room or two for guests, and perhaps a half dozen slaves to serve her.

Such a woman, in such a house, would fit the description of the friends of Elibet, Xylina's mother. That would be where Xylina could expect to find her support. And such a woman might well, with care and prudence, have amassed enough wealth to be able to afford to loan it to so odd a debtor as Xylina. Such a woman would not have felt the need to squander her savings on ostentation or luxury, and would feel well able to spare it.

Instead, she was conducted to a part of the city that she had never seen before. She had thought that her region was quiet, but here the walls were so high and the gates so thick that the quarter might have been completely deserted. The distance between gates was somewhat intimidating, too. Were the homes behind them as huge as this implied? Just exactly who and what was Hypolyta, and how had she made the fortune a villa like this must cost?

Several times she was certain that her would-be patroness could not possibly live in this quarter, that the manservant was only taking her through this section on the way to somewhere much more modest. But then he came to a halt before one of those gates, and opened it to display a lovely "wilderness garden" full of birds and the sound of falling water, bisected by a lane that led to an enormous villa. But strangely enough, as she neared it, and could see beyond it, she realized that it was positioned right against the wall around the Freedmen’s Quarter. That seemed very odd, as normally only the poorest Mazonites lived anywhere near the Freedmen's Quarter.

There must be prosperous freedmen, men with villas and servants of their own. Perhaps the section of wall this villa abutted was backed by those islands of prosperity. In such a place, the danger of robbery from renegade men would be nonexistent, as would noise from over the wall. Most of the Freedmen's Quarter was poor, but Xylina had heard of men who had acquired wealth and position and even traded outside Mazonia. Such men were tolerated, provided they kept to their place, because the enormous taxes they paid to the Queen made toleration worthwhile.

The manservant was the only slave she saw as they walked up the heavily tree-shaded lane to the door. There was not even a gardener in sight, although the grounds were wondrously beautiful and it must have taken a small army of slaves to cultivate the impression of controlled wildness.

They entered the front door, which was standing open to let in a gentle breeze, and as Xylina stepped onto the polished marble floor it seemed to her that the villa was echoingly silent. Although it must have taken another small army of slaves to tend this dwelling, there was not a single sight nor sound of them. Either they had been trained to work without a noise, and without being seen, or the place was tended by magic!

Still, it was hardly empty. As she followed her guide past the antechamber (a lovely jewel-box of a room, all marble and glass mirrors), past the large reception chamber (marble-floored and paneled in cream silk, full of comfortable chairs and couches upholstered in matching fabric), down a wide marble hall and into a smaller parlor, she could not help but notice the luxurious furnishings and appointments. There were huge ceramic pots containing generous swaths of colorful dried grasses, enormous fans of exotic feathers, or whole living trees. The lamps were all of delicate porcelain, thin enough for light to shine through. Furniture was uniformly made of gracefully carved pale woods, upholstered and padded in creamy leathers and satins. Windows stood open to gentle breezes, revealing yet more gardens outside. There was room enough and more for a huge extended family, with slaves to tend to every need, yet she saw no one.

It was all very strange.

By now, she was anticipating someone like the hostess of that entertainment that she and Faro had graced. Someone very wealthy, very powerful, and very much aware of both those attributes. She could not imagine how such a woman would have heard of her, much less actually seen her at her woman-trial.

Yet the woman she met matched neither of the images she had created in her mind.

The manservant ushered her into a small parlor, paneled in fine, pale-golden wood, and furnished with comfortable, casual couches covered in soft golden leather and beautiful marble-topped tables. Her hostess awaited her, seated on one of those couches, with a table beside her holding wine and two cups.

The woman greeted Xylina in a soft, almost hesitant voice. She looked like a plump and peace-loving grandmother, not like the kind of woman ruthless enough to have accumulated the wealth it would take to pay for a house like this one. Her short silver-gray hair clustered in tight curls about her head; her round face bore a curiously serene expression. She had a wide brow, round, very blue eyes, and a generous mouth that smiled a greeting to her guest.

Hypolyta wore breeches and a gracefully draped tunic of peacock-blue silk so heavy and lustrous that Xylina could not begin to guess how much it cost. Certainly more than the very expensive clothing she had seen at that party. Her round face was kind, with no scars or any other visible signs that she had ever been a warrior, and her voice was so low and so shy that Xylina had to lean forward to hear her properly. She patted the seat of the couch opposite hers, inviting Xylina to take her place there, and immediately poured the girl a cup of wine with her own hand.

"I greatly admired your performance in the arena, child," Hypolyta said, handing her the cool silver goblet. "It reminded me of my own, in a way-both in the fact that you spared your opponent's life, and in that you used cleverness to offset a situation that seemed doomed from the start. The simple-minded brute I picked as my opponent had no more brains than a day-old chick, poor dear. It was ridiculously easy to befuddle him with simple tricks, then run him until he fell down from exhaustion. My woman-trial was far less of an ordeal than yours, and so I admired you that much more for your accomplishment."

She paused to sip her wine and continued. "When I heard from my young cousin in the Guard that you were in dire straits, I thought it would be a great pity if no one rewarded your cleverness and tenacity. And I thought it would be even more of a pity if something as utterly ridiculous as the situation you find yourself in forced you into exile. Our land needs more young women like you, not fewer."

Xylina shook her head, deprecatingly. This woman completely befuddled her. That low, soft voice was very hypnotic; it made everything in her want to respond to anything Hypolyta wanted, and it was difficult to keep her instinct of caution to the fore. "I do not know what to tell you, Lady Hypolyta. There are many in this city who would say that all this misfortune comes about because of the curse on my family-and who would remind you that according to that curse, those who aid me are doomed to face ruin themselves." She shrugged. "Given the ill-luck that has pursued me, I would not blame you in the least if you had second thoughts about aiding me. There are many in the city who would think less of your intelligence for even asking me here and risking the curse."

Hypolyta laughed delicately, and put down her goblet on the table beside her. Water droplets ran down the side. Xylina continued to hold her own goblet, to keep her hands from betraying her nervousness. "Anyone who believes in curses is a fool," Hypolyta replied simply. "No Mazonite with any sense would give credence to such a tale. And I think of my offer more as a good investment than a silly indulgence. It was my good investments that brought me to the position where I am today. I think that you will, in time, repay my loan many times over. You will repay the loan itself, and you will become a good source to invest in, for you are clever, you have good sense, and your ability in magic is quite amazing."

"I have yet to think of a practical use for that ability," Xylina pointed out wryly. "Thus far, the only use has been in fighting off ruffians." She took a sip of her own wine; it was cool and slightly sweet, very light, suitable for the warm weather.

"In time, I think that you will," Hypolyta countered comfortably. "Certainly, when our Queen goes to war again, your magic will be of major importance." She leaned forward a little and her demeanor changed subtly. "Now, about this loan. I understand that your current debt is something on the order of fifty gold coronets?"

The coronet was the largest gold piece in circulation in Mazonia. It was stamped with the image of the ruling Queen; the crown controlled the issuance of money. Xylina had tried not to think of the enormous sum, and now, faced with it, she could only nod. "Part of that is in payment for the house that I bought, and the rest is-"

Hypolyta waved a dismissive hand. "That absurd tax. Indeed. Now, if you had only that, you would really be no better off, you know."

That had not occurred to Xylina-she had not even thought past the huge sum of money she owed. It had stood in her mind like a wall she could not possibly climb or see past.

Hypolyta smiled when Xylina widened her eyes with surprise. "Oh, it is true. I have looked over the situation. You would then own a vacant lot, upon which you would still have to pay property tax-you would have nowhere to live-and the city might still levy yet another fine on you for not clearing the ruins of your house! If you tried to camp upon your own property, the city would fine you for not living in a proper dwelling, and if you managed to clear the property with the help of your slave, you would still have to build a dwelling on it that matched the city standards for that area."

Xylina felt the blood draining from her face, for that had not occurred to her, but Hypolyta was not finished. She truly had investigated Xylina's situation thoroughly!

"In addition, if you could actually sell the place, you would then have to pay another sales tax on it. You would lose money on it, as you could only sell it for the value of the land alone. That would not retire the debt, and in the end you would find yourself back in a two- or three-room hovel much like the one you moved out of." Hypolyta shook her head, and reached out her plump, oddly graceful hand to take up her wine-goblet. She took a sip, and Xylina followed suit, her mouth dry. "You would then be in no position to even begin to repay a loan. That would be a very bad investment on my part."

"But-" Xylina began. She did not know what she was going to say, but she got no chance to interrupt.

For all that her voice was soft and shy, when Hypolyta spoke of business, she was impossible to stop. She waved her hand and Xylina held her peace. Clearly, Hypolyta had some ideas of her own.

"If, however, I were to give you a loan of, say, one hundred coronets, you would be able to discharge your debt, have a new house built, and hire more slaves to protect yourself and to develop a proper estate of your own." Hypolyta smiled, a smile of maternal sweetness and pardonable pride. "I can recommend someone who will do the work cheaply and well. You will have a plain house, but it will be a good one. It will cost you much less to build on your own land than to buy another house, and you will be able to tailor it to the type of business you wish to pursue."

"Business?" Xylina said faintly.

"Oh, yes. You should capitalize on that magnificent slave of yours, but not by such paltry means as entertaining at gatherings!" She smiled, making the mild rebuke even milder. "Surely there are many things that boy could teach others, and you should make use of that while he is still notorious for defeating all those ruffians. And you should have your new home built to take care of that. For instance, if you intended to train fighters for the arena, you could have the back garden cleared and the area prepared instead as a training arena."

At Xylina's wince, which she could not quite conceal, Hypolyta added hastily, "I only offer that as a supposition. You could just as easily train slaves to become needle-workers, bakers, or laundry-handlers. Or-surely that slave could train others to repel attackers; with two attacks upon you in the last several days, many older women, no longer able to defend themselves, are becoming nervous about their security. The trade in trained slaves is a good one, and it is one in which I made my fortune."

Xylina looked askance at her. She could not imagine this gentle woman training gladiators. "What did you train your slaves as?"

"Skilled gardeners," was the surprising reply. Or-in view of the way the grounds looked, perhaps she should have anticipated it. "It is more of an art than most realize- until they turn their expensive pleasure-gardens over to the hands of men who cannot tell a rare seedling from a weed. I supply all of the most highly trained gardeners in the country to the wealthy women of Mazonia. My slaves are experts and artists, and when they leave my hands, there is nothing they do not know about growing things."

Xylina smiled, relieved. She did not think she would have been able to accept a loan from a woman who had made the money supplying trained gladiators to the arena. It would have felt too much as if she were betraying Faro by accepting gold tainted with blood. Nor could she even guess how he would have reacted to the discovery.

The notion of training slaves as unarmed bodyguards was a good one, though, provided Faro could be coaxed to do something that would ultimately protect women he hated.

"What would the conditions of this loan be?" Xylina asked cautiously. "How soon would I be expected to repay it, and what kind of payments would they be? How much would the loan cost me?"

At once, Hypolyta became a cool, calculating businesswoman. The transformation was quite remarkable. She sat a little straighter, and while her voice was no less hypnotic, it was a little less warm. "Payment would be in equal amounts, over a four-year period," she replied. "The first payment would be due one year from now, and it would be in the sum of forty-five crowns."

Xylina sighed. That would mean that she would be paying an extra twenty crowns a year for the privilege of borrowing the money-and yet, what other choice did she have? There was no one else willing to loan it to her-certainly no one willing to give it to her. It was either this, or exile, or so it seemed to her.

On the whole, paying eighty crowns to save herself from exile was not a bad bargain.

Was there any other way she could borrow less and save herself some of that fee?

"That seems honorable and reasonable to me," she responded, after a long moment of weighing her options and coming up with no other plan that was even remotely as good. Hypolyta was right; without more money to help her replace what was gone, she would be no better off. She could not remain Lycia's guest forever.

"Very well," the older woman said, with another sweet and matronly smile. "I will call my manservant, and we will draw up the contract."

Lycia's reaction was elation, when Xylina returned with her gold. It was carried by the slave, armed to the teeth and with a special permit that allowed him to be so. Lycia's rugged face lit up when she saw the gold, and she congratulated Xylina on her good fortune, with no hint of ill-feeling. She had not had any luck at all in finding someone to loan Xylina the needed money to discharge her debt. Those of her friends who were sympathetic did not have nearly that much to simply loan away. Those women she knew who had that kind of capital were no more than acquaintances, and they were not at all inclined to loan gold to a strange child, particularly one who seemed to attract bad fortune. Her generous nature made her happy for her new young friend.

"I've never heard of Hypolyta directly, but I've heard of her slaves," she assured Xylina. "They're quite famous actually; I just never knew where they came from. Many of them are eventually freed, but continue to work for their former mistresses for a wage."

"I'm not certain what to do," Xylina said hesitantly. "Faro is not well enough to guard me if I were to take the money to the tax office-"

"Faro needn't do any such thing."

Lycia called for her own manservant and sent him out immediately to the tax-collector and the former owner of the house, with messages telling them to come collect their debts. "Let them come to you," she told Xylina, with a cynical smile. "Since you are doing them the favor of giving them money. Let them provide the guards for that money. Why should you? Why should you go to them?"

When she put it that way, Xylina realized that Lycia was right. And after all, both the government and the broker could afford guards. She could not.

The tax-collector arrived first, with no slave to guard her, clearly thinking that this was some kind of ruse. She showed up at the door, and was ushered into the reception chamber where Xylina and Lycia waited. "I hope this is not a waste of my time," she began. "My time is the Queen's time, after all-"

"I don't think it will be," Lycia said dryly, and Xylina laid out the coronets all in a row on the table. The other woman stared, her frog-like face a blank. "What?" she stammered.

Xylina said nothing, only gestured. The tax-collector was completely shocked and appalled when she realized that Xylina had delivered up the tax-money, and somewhat hysterically demanded that Xylina prove that it was not conjured coin.

Xylina had had enough of the officious creature, and threw the small sack that had held the coins on the table in front of the woman. "Look for yourself," she said, with barely-concealed fury. "These are minted coins . You know very well that no one can conjure minted coins, only blank disks! And even if I could do so, you have only to look at the coins themselves to see that they were minted in many eras! How would I accomplish that particular miracle?"

Her question was unanswerable, for she was entirely correct. Conjured gold could have been stamped with imprints taken from real coins, but where would Xylina have gotten so many different coins? And if she had them, why would she have needed to conjure coin?

Even so, all the tax-collector had to do was hold the coins overnight, in a special locked box. They could not last for longer than that if they had been conjured. Xylina would have gained nothing.

The tax-collector could only stare at the coins, her face a mask of panic, as Xylina scooped them all back in the sack and thrust it at her. Her hands grasped it nervelessly, then dropped it. The sack fell right between her feet. Xylina did not touch it. "Take it!" she demanded, as the woman continued to stare at the sack at her feet, speechless. "Take it, and begone with you and your foolish rules!"

Lycia took a hand, then, staring coldly at the woman, since she showed no signs of leaving or even picking up the sack. "Indeed," the old warrior said, taking an aggressive stance. "You trespass on my hospitality. You have gotten what you demanded, out of all reason or sense. Now sign this receipt and go! You have no more business here." She drew herself up to her full height, and Xylina saw more than a shadow of the old warrior.

It was the law of the city that a woman reigned supreme in her own house; no one other than the Guard on a mandate from the Queen herself could trespass where she was not wanted. It did not matter that this woman would be going out into the street carrying a small fortune, with nothing but her own skills and her bare hands to protect herself-unless she found a Guard or two on the way. She was not wanted in Lycia's home; her brief welcome was over, now she must leave.

After all, it was her own fault that she had not believed the message, that she had come out with no escort, without even her own sword. If she ran into trouble, it was on her head.

The miserable tax-collector was forced to put her signature to a receipt specifying that she had gotten the stipulated sum from Xylina's hands, gather up the sack and go. She bent down and picked up the little sack with shaking hands. And she was clearly afraid, for she was no ex-warrior like Lycia. It could even be that she had passed her own woman-trial simply because she had been lucky enough to find a particularly vulnerable man. A sum of the size she carried would make her a target for ruffians of all types- and tax-collectors were not popular with anyone. If she ran into trouble, she could not count on help from ordinary citizens.

If she lost the money to robbers, she would be forced to replace it out of her own funds. She might even be forced to pay a fine for being so stupid as to risk collected tax-money by going out after it without a guard. She could only hope that word of Xylina's sudden prosperity had not spread to the underground, and that no one knew, as yet, that she was in a position to pay all her debts.

Xylina did not trouble to hide a smile as the woman left, visibly trembling, with the pouch of gold shoved into the bosom of her tunic. Nor did Lycia; in fact, the older woman practically cackled with glee.

The tax-collector scuttled down the street, everything about her saying that she was grossly unhappy and afraid. Xylina felt a surge of contempt. This toad was a full citizen, with an important job, while she, who had won her woman-trial fair and square against a formidable opponent, was the one who was in trouble!

The other woman, who actually had not yet come forward to demand payment in full though she was entitled to, was far wiser. She arrived with six strapping young armed slaves, and the permit for them to carry swords and daggers. And with her she also brought a bottle of a fine vintage wine.

Lycia warmed to her immediately. They were two of a kind. And Xylina was much happier to see her than she had thought she would be.

"My dear, I cannot tell you how glad I am that you have found a solution to your problem," the woman said warmly. "I had not troubled you in the hopes that if I left you to think, you would find a patroness somewhere. A young woman as resourceful as you are could not help but find a solution if you were simply given a chance. You had such good ideas for the use of your old house-I thought that a moon or two to get your ideas together and get over the shock would be much better than pestering you at a time when you were confused and under stress."

Xylina was touched, both by the words and the feeling that the woman meant them. Lycia seemed to think that the woman meant them, too, for she warmed even further.

"Not that you wouldn't have come calling at the end of a moon or two," Lycia said, her voice heavy with a certain amount of friendly irony.

The woman shrugged. "And would I have had a choice?" she asked, quite reasonably. "The Queen would be demanding her taxes of me, too. I cannot afford to forgive a debt of that size any more than you could afford to take it on, Lycia, and you well know it. But whatever I could do, I intended to do. I was trying to think of some way that Xylina could work off the debt; perhaps she could have leased her slave to me-it wasn't my debt that I worried about, it was the tax. Tax-collectors have no heart."

Lycia shrugged, but she appeared to soften a little more. "The law has less heart than tax-collectors. At least you had the good taste not to come around here like the jackals at the battlefield, looking for bones," she admitted. "So thank you for that."

"Indeed, thank you very much," Xylina said softly, and smiled. "If I am ever in a position to pay that favor back, be sure that I will."

The woman blinked, as if she had not expected that from the girl, and somewhat sheepishly handed Xylina the bottle of wine. "This is by way of congratulations," she said. "I would like to toast your good fortune-if you would permit me."

"I would be honored," Xylina said honestly. She opened the wine and Lycia sent for goblets; it was a good vintage, not a stingy one.

And this time when their second visitor left, the smiles that followed her were cheerful and not full of malice.

Xylina sat on the side of Faro's cot. He looked better now than he had for some time, but there was no doubt that he still needed rest.

He had listened to her with a puzzled frown on his face, and Xylina did not blame him. Told baldly, the entire story sounded like something out of a tale. "I still do not understand this," Faro said, when Xylina finished her story. "This makes very little sense. We do not know this woman, you say that you do not think your mother knew her, and she is no friend of Lycia's who was a friend of your mother's. Why should she help you in this way?"

"I don't know," Xylina admitted. "I agree that it makes no sense at all. I wish that it did, that I could find some kind of explanation. It was not conjured gold, so it can't be a trap of that kind, at least."

Now that the debts had been retired, she had an even larger one-and now that she was away from Hypolyta's rather mesmerizing gentleness, very little about the woman's actions made sense to her. Lycia was inclined to take it all at face value, but the more Xylina thought about it, the more it seemed to be some kind of trap.

Evidently Faro felt the same. "Could this be the work of your enemy?' he asked. "Is this a trap of some kind? Was everything properly witnessed and sealed?"

"So far as I can tell," she said, handing him the contract. "It is all properly notarized, and she called in witnesses from outside as the law requires."

He looked it over carefully, frowning as he forced his watering eyes to focus properly.

"It seems absolutely correct to me," he admitted. "And I have made many such contracts in my time. But Xylina, can we retire such an enormous debt?"

She sighed. "We can only try, Faro." She looked past him, at the blank wall, wishing that the future would reveal itself on that wall. "We can only try."

Six months later, she had a new house and a thriving business.

The house was small; smaller than the original had been. There wasn't a garden any more, and not much of a front area. There was one large room for her hired guards to sleep in, a kitchen, a small reception-area, a bathing room and her own bedroom. Faro still slept in her room, on a pallet across the door.

The rest of the area had been devoted to a training yard. True to his promise to do anything to help retire their debt, Faro had (reluctantly) agreed to train young slaves in unarmed fighting and staff fighting. Not that there weren't other men perfectly capable of giving them the same training-which Xylina was quick to point out- but none of them had Faro's current notoriety for trouncing ambushers.

That notoriety was considerable. As the story spread- slowly, of course, since she was of no real importance, but it did have some amusement value-the total number of ruffians he had killed grew, doubling and even tripling the original number. Soon there were many Mazonites who were interested in having him train their litter-bearers or bodyguards. After all, it was a nuisance to have to get a permit for one's slaves to bear arms within the city; it was much easier to give them staves and special training. Pressure from women worried about the "gangs of runaways" changed the law to permit slaves to bear staffs at any and all times, though not swords.

Any man could learn to handle a staff, and one did not have to worry quite as much about watching one's back as when the slaves were armed with edged weapons. The very idea of men with swords-even for a short period of time and under the proper supervision of a female-made some Mazonites very nervous. That was all to the good so far as Xylina was concerned; it meant that she and Faro had more business.

That was the positive side of their situation. On the negative side, Xylina had been forced to hire six guards to watch over her property. There had already been two more attempts to set her house ablaze; both foiled because she or Faro had caught the fire before it began to spread. Xylina had practiced the conjuration of fire-stifling vapor, learning well from her mistake with water on oil. There had also been a number of attempts at ambushes. It would have been cheaper in the long run if she had been able to buy the slaves outright, but at the moment she could not afford that many trained men.

But she did not have time to think about her finances. There were training-contracts to arrange, a household to run, the training itself to oversee, and a hundred details to take care of. There never seemed to be any end to it. And she never had any time to really look into her financial state. She could only assume that since there was more money going into their account than leaving it, that everything was fine.

There was, however, one matter she realized she had to address. "Faro," she said one evening before sleep.

"Yes, mistress?" He had been about to lie down across her doorway, as usual.

"I think I don't know exactly how to say this," she said, aware of the awkwardness of the situation, but determined to get through it. "I don't want to offend you."

"I think you could not do that if you tried," he said with a low laugh.

"You have been a good slave and a good guard and a good friend. You have served me so much better than I had any right to expect. But I may not have treated you with the same consideration."

"I have no complaints, mistress."

"You are a man. You-surely have male needs. And I -"

"I think this is a dialogue we do not need to finish," he said gruffly.

He was misunderstanding exactly the very way she had feared. "I want you to be-be satisfied-somewhere. As I understand other slaves are. So that your life will have some-some pleasure. But I don't know how it is accomplished."

"Oh. There are pleasure houses run by freedmen. Slaves go there when given leave, or in groups by appointment. Their mistresses give them coins to purchase the service, much in the manner of any other market."

"Take what coins you need," she said. "Go there when- when you need to."

"Mistress, I can't leave you. Someone would see me go, and know that you were not properly guarded."

This was every bit as difficult as she had feared it would be. "I am prepared to risk it. I want you to be-be taken care of, and I just can't-do this particular thing for you myself. Please go, Faro."

He was silent a moment. "Mistress, I thank you sincerely for your offer. But I could not enjoy myself anywhere if I knew you were left vulnerable. I must not leave your side. So I beg you, think no more of this matter."

"I can't put it aside," she said. "You have risked your life to protect mine, and you are making it possible for me to repay my debt of gold. I must give you some-"

"Mistress, I'm sure you don't want to walk with me to such a house," he said, laughing.

"Walk there with you," she said thoughtfully. "Yes, I could do that. Is it safe in their-their antechamber?"

"Certainly. They have women from other cultures, ones without magic, and they guard them well. But-"

"Tomorrow," she said. "Tomorrow we shall go there. There is one close by?"

"Such houses are everywhere. They do not advertise their presence, but all slaves know their location. There is one near."

"Tomorrow we go," she repeated with determination.

And the next day they did. The house turned out to be unpretentious. In fact it seemed to be a knickknack store, with slaves entering and departing fairly constantly. That was its cover. Its real business was in the several chambers in back. Faro showed her to a door that seemed to lead to a store room, but beyond it was a waiting room where several slaves sat. They sprang to attention the moment Xylina entered, looking alarmed. One was armed with a staff.

"Be at ease," Faro said quickly. "My mistress merely wishes to know the nature of the establishment I might visit. She has no concern about you."

A freedman appeared, readily identified by his costume and attitude. "I am Bulmer, the proprietor. Is there a problem?"

"My mistress feared I might be cheated or waylaid," Faro said smoothly. "So she came to see the establishment for herself, as is her right."

"Come into my office," Bulmer said.

They followed him to a small private chamber. The freedman turned to Xylina. "Is this a surprise inspection? I assure you we are in order."

Xylina decided to tell him the truth. "I depend on Faro for protection. There have been incidents. He is concerned that if he leaves the house, I will be vulnerable. So I came here, so that he need not be concerned about his absence. Are your premises safe?"

Recognition came. "You must be the Lady Xylina! And Faro is your trainer. The neighborhood knows of you, and respects you. This is the type of generosity you show."

"Yes. I want him to-to be able to visit here."

"But we can not have a lady such as yourself being seen at a place like this!" Bulmer protested. "Someone might misunderstand."

"Misunderstand?" she asked blankly.

"He means someone might take you for one of their women," Faro said. "He's right; you should not be here, mistress."

"But this problem is readily solved," Bulmer said. "We can send a woman to your estate. The cost would be more, but the convenience-"

Faro shook his head. "Cost is a concern. I do not wish to deplete my mistress's exchequer frivolously."

Bulmer considered. "It occurs to me that my guards could use the kind of training I understand you do. Suppose I send a woman with a guard, and you would train the guard, and the woman would remain until you had time to train her privately? I would consider this a fair exchange on an indefinite basis."

Faro looked at Xylina, surprised. "If my mistress agrees-"

"I agree," Xylina said, relieved. This would handle the matter without costing her precious coins.

"Then we shall give you your choice of women now," Bulmer said. "Sheel is free at the moment, but soon there will be others for your selection. Sheel is typical of my girls. She is from the Stripe culture, some distance from Mazonia, and all of them are known for discretion."

"I'm sure Sheel will do," Faro said.

Bulmer snapped his fingers. In a moment a woman appeared-such as Xylina had never seen before. She was human, and shapely, but her skin was striped black, white, and blue, vertically. The stripes carried from her hair down across her face and on through her neck to her bosom. It looked like paint, but Xylina suspected it wasn't.

"Show yourself, Sheel," Bulmer said.

The woman opened her robe, showing her bare torso beneath. The stripes carried all the way down to her feet.

"She will do," Faro said.

Bulmer snapped his fingers again. The slave with the staff appeared. "Sheel is making a house call," Bulmer told him. "You will guard her there, and bring her back when she is done. You will be trained there by this man." He indicated Faro. "The financial arrangements have been made. You will not speak of this matter elsewhere."

The slave nodded. Sheel closed her robe. Bulmer showed them out by another door. Just like that, they were on their way home.

Thereafter Sheel came regularly to the house, accompanied by one guard or another. Xylina gave word to the hired guards to ignore them. She did not inquire herself into the scheduling of the training sessions or pleasure sessions. She pretended to be unaware, and there was never any awkwardness. In fact she soon was oblivious to the arrival of the striped woman, because she was just one of many who came and went in the course of a typical day. Sheel normally wore man's clothing outside, with a brimmed hat that shaded her face. She looked like a youthful slave, and sometimes she carried a package. Thus it was easy to take her for a delivery boy. There was no embarrassment.

Except for the first night, when Faro laid his bed across Xylina's doorway. "Thank you, mistress," he said. For a reason she chose never to explore, that left her blushing in the darkness. But she knew she had done right.

One year after signing the contract with the Lady Hypolyta, she found out just how mistaken she had been in her optimism. Faro had finally had a chance to do the accounts, and the result was not good.

He brought Xylina the books, and the bad news. She stared at the page with dismay, as it lay on the desk in front of her. "I thought we were doing better than that," she said after a long moment. "We have so many contracts-"

"If we had not been forced to hire those additional guards, we would have had a substantial profit," Faro said wearily. "If the city hadn't found a way to tax everything we do here except eat, sleep, and breathe, we would still be all right. As it is, though, after we paid all the taxes the city found to levy on us and after we paid to hire those guards- this is what is left. You need forty-five coronets for your payment. We have thirty-five."

"If we had forty-four it would still not be enough," Xylina replied gloomily. "It must be the full payment or nothing. That is the stipulation in the contract. A partial payment is the same as a default." Her stomach knotted, and her temples began to throb.

Faro's expression hardened. "Perhaps if we sell something-"

"There is nothing to sell," she pointed out. "We must have the house to continue the training contracts we still have. The furniture is rented. I don't actually own anything except the house and land." She did not mention the fact that she owned Faro; selling him was not an option either. She put her hands over her temples as the pain of a terrible headache overcame her. "I can think of nothing-if only I had time-"

"I should have done the accounts sooner," Faro said, fists clenching. "If we'd known-"

"You did them just last week," she reminded him. "We were fine right up until the tax-collector came with that tax on private schools. We would have it, if it hadn't been for that. If only I had time to think of something!"

But there was no time. One of the hired guards came to the room with word that Hypolyta's manservant was at the gate. There could be doubt of what he wanted.

Xylina's options had abruptly run out.