Slaver's POV — Maurice
Slave House, Maurice's Office
I sat hunched over my desk, one hand pressed to my temple, the other tapping an uneven rhythm against the worn wood while I waited for the updated report on the girl. Each tap echoed my irritation. Too slow. Everything was taking too long.
Two weeks.
Two weeks since I had purchased the girl from Quellan. Two weeks of investigation. In that time I spared no expense, I met with every contact I had. Numerous favors called in and debts nudged awake, of letters sent and contacts squeezed. Two weeks of careful, deliberate effort that had yielded absolutely nothing.
I had done everything properly. Thoroughly. I had met with my associates within the city and beyond it, spoken to guildmasters and harbor clerks, bribed scribes, leaned on smugglers, and even called in a few old obligations best left dormant. I'd hired a local artist— expensive, but talented— to sketch the girl's likeness from memory. Copies of the drawing had been sent to every guild branch on the continent. Every trade road, every port city, every nameless village with a mayor and a message board had been checked.
No records.
No rumors.
No recognition.
It was as if the girl had simply… appeared.
At first, I'd been confident, hopeful even. A lost noble girl was a gift — a chance to play the benevolent intermediary, the selfless man who chose to reunite her with her family rather than sell her. Gratitude, turned into gold very easily when guilt was involved.
I'd hoped— no, I'd expected— that such an exhaustive search would lead me to her family quickly. And when it did, I imagined the scene clearly: a tearful reunion, gratitude overflowing, a noble household moved by my selfless restraint in not selling her immediately. A reward well beyond what Quellan had received. Perhaps even future favor.
But as the days passed and the silence deepened, that hope began to sour. Eventually two weeks had passed, and I had nothing to show for it.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling as my thoughts churned, my fingers drummed harder.
If she had a family, they weren't on this continent.
The thought curdled in my gut.
Did she come from across the sea? I wondered.
Quellan had claimed he found her in a forest. There were coastal forests near the sea routes. Smugglers passed through them all the time. If she'd come from across the ocean— illegally, perhaps— then there was a chance she wasn't fully human. . . .
Mixed blood.
Mixed bloods were . . . complicated. Ever since the slave trade had been legalized, tensions between humans and the three great nations had only worsened. Mixed bloods were rare and faced heavy prejudice, but were still extremely valuable.
Dwarfs made strong crafters. Elves ensured beauty and longevity. Shifters— leaving aside their racial traits, they were stronger, faster and had accelerated healing capabilities. There was always a market for traits like that, even if society liked to sneer while buying.
If that were the case, then this entire search had been pointless. But if she were mixed, I could still profit. Possibly even more than I would with a common noble.
But this silence around her bothered me. It gave me a bad feeling, leaving me unsettled.
I glanced out the window, irritation peeking, as I realized how late it had gotten. My fingers tapped faster.
He's late.
Where in the hell is that boy?
I rose from my chair and strode to the door, swinging it open with more force than necessary. I scanned the lobby, already prepared to vent my frustration on the first poor soul I found.
"WHERE IS CARL?" I barked at the nearest staff member. "WHY ISN'T HE HERE YET?"
My voice echoed across the lobby. The thin man with more nerves than sense— froze mid step, eyes wide, hands shaking. Visibly panicking, he opened his mouth. Closed it again.
Before my frustration could escalate, the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from outside — fast and clumsy, reached my ears.
When the runner was practically at our doorstep, their running suddenly halted, interrupted by a loud crash. Followed by shouting.
"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING! ARE YOU BLIND?" Said a loud, indignant voice.
"Oh no—I—I'm so sorry, sir!"
My eye twitched, I pinched the bridge of my nose. Of course.
The worker in front of me sagged with relief, but my glare snapped him back to attention. He hurriedly muttered something about fixing it and fled outside the main entrance, escaping my wrath by a hair.
"Useless fools," I muttered. "Every last one."
Moments later, Carl poked his head through the doorway clinging to the frame like it might shield him. "I-I'm back, sir," he panted. "I've brought… the report."
He was red-faced, drenched in sweat, and still trying to catch his breath. He extended the parchment toward me like an offering.
I didn't take it.
"Inside," I said flatly. "My office."
Carl swallowed and obeyed.
Once seated again, I skimmed the report quickly.
Nothing. Exactly as I'd expected. No noble lineage. No records. No whispers.
I exhaled sharply through my nose and set the paper aside. "Carl," I said, fixing him with a stare, "go to the Merchants' Guild. Bring me an appraiser. I need some merchandise examined, and it needs to be done tonight."
Carl blinked. "T-tonight, sir? The sun's nearly down—" My fist struck the desk. The sound cracked through the room like thunder.
"I do not care," I snapped, rising and leaning across the desk. "I want that appraiser here within the hour. Now Go."
Carl didn't argue. He ran.
*************************************************
Two hours later,
I was seriously reconsidering whether keeping him employed was worth the trouble.
I'd just left my office to investigate when Carl barreled through the entrance, collapsing to his knees. "I'm back— sir," he gasped, his exhaustion evident.
I stared down at him. "I said one hour." My voice cold and peremptory.
"I . . . I'm sorry sir. . . I tried but —."
"Where is he?" I cut him off, not caring for his excuses.
Carl pointed weakly toward the door. "Waiting outside."
I stepped past him, then paused. "And Carl," I said without turning, "get out of my sight before I decide you're not worth keeping."
My words hit like lightning. Carl hung his head low. The light in his eyes vanishing along with the last of his hope. While his eyes grew wet with unshed tears he quickly fled into one of the back rooms.
Outside, I was greeted by a familiar face.
"Gaston, my old friend" I said, breaking out a rare friendly smile, while extending out my hand. "Thank you for coming."
"Maurice," he replied snarkly, returning my handshake "People like you don't have friends." A sly smile crossed his face.
Your words wound me." I responded with an exaggerated fake hurt expression, then we both simultaneously broke into a hearty laugh.
"So Maurice, what could you possibly need me to appraise this late at night, guild hours are closed you know?"
"yes, I know it's late but I've got a special slave that I've been holding onto, but unfortunately I've waited too long before deciding to sell her and if I wait any longer she could get sick, if that happens nobody would want her and I'd be stuck with a big loss"
A special slave you say?" A curious look flashed across his face before going back to normal. "What makes her special?"
I gestured towards the door, "I tell you inside." As we made our way to the back of the shop where her cage was, I told him everything I knew about her. How she came to me, my search for her missing family and finally my suspicions about her being mixed.
When we came to her cage, we found her collapsed inside, limbs folded awkwardly beneath her like a discarded doll. I opened the door for Gaston so he could start his appraisal and solve her mysteries for me.
"I thought you were exaggerating about her condition." Gaston knelt down and took her face in his hand tilting it back and fort, his eyes started to glow as he began his appraisal.
Gaston examined her quickly and professionally. Before moving on to his next task, he took out a small vail and a knife.
He moved quickly with careful practiced movements, she didn't react to him cutting her hand, nor did she make a sound when he twisted and squeezed her hand making the blood flow and drop down into the waiting vial.
After collect enough blood Gaston wrapped up her hand to stop the bleeding. He then took the vial and swished the blood around slowly looking at it very carefully.
When he finished, his eyes dimmed back to normal, his expression was troubled, like he trying to figure out an unsolved puzzle.
"Well, how did it go what did you find?" My question broke him out what ever thoughts he had, my voice couldn't help but be hopeful.
Gaston turned back to me, his composure back to normal. "The girl does have mana, however her mana pool lays dormant so how much she has I can't say. So her being a noble isn't likely."
I nodded understandably, Ok that's not a big deal I already suspected as much. "And her blood?"
Gaston paused before answering trying to figure out how to say it, the silence was starting to make me nervous.
"Human," he said. "Entirely."
The words hit like a hammer. Any hope of profit just flew out the window, hell it would be a miracle to just break even.
"I'm sorry, Maurice." Gaston said quietly. "You've been tricked."
I protested. " But her skin is clean, free of any blemishes, no signs of work. The absence of records. How can this be?" Panic quickly took over me as I desperately tried to find something, anything about her that made any sense at all.
Gaston listened, then spoke carefully.
"She may have been kept isolated, perhaps raised as a pet" he said. "Or…" He paused.
"Or what?" My panic quickly switching to anger. But before it could escalate further, Gaston continued.
"Or — an experiment."
My blood ran cold.
"Why?" I demanded.
He met my eyes.
"There's something in her blood," he said. "Something I can't identify."
The words settled heavily between us.
And for the second time since purchasing the girl, I felt something crawl beneath my skin.
Then it hit me, the realization that I was holding onto something far more dangerous than I bargained for.