Free Stone Spring by Stephen Baxter Page A

Magho’s deadly social rivals.
    ‘I know what will make him cough up the obsidian,’ said Novu, the son, still cradling his head, but speaking slyly. ‘I saw the way he looked at Minda. Give him a bit of time alone with her and—’
    This time the blow he received from his father was to the back of his neck. The boy recoiled, obviously shocked.
    ‘I apologise again for the boy,’ Magho said. ‘But . . . Minda.’ He grinned at Chona. ‘You couldn’t help noticing her, and I couldn’t help noticing you. Fifteen years old and sweet as a peach. Virgin, of course.’
    ‘Your wife’s sister?’
    ‘Niece, actually. Promised to another. I couldn’t help you there, my friend. And besides I already owe my wife’s brother, her father, a favour.’
    Chona shook his head. ‘I have no interest in the girl,’ he lied, but he hoped it didn’t show. ‘We were speaking of trade.’
    ‘Yes, yes.’ Magho eyed him, and Chona realised he was about to come to the nub of his offer. ‘I do have one more item for you to consider. Something unusual - I merely ask you to have an open mind.’
    ‘What item?’
    Magho stood, heavily. And he reached over, grabbed his son by the scruff of the neck, and hauled him to his feet. ‘This!’
    Novu, obviously dizzy from the blows he had taken, whimpered, staggering. ‘Father? What are you doing?’
    ‘He’s no use to me,’ Magho said. ‘Far more trouble than he’s worth. But in the right hands he could be invaluable.’
    ‘I don’t take slaves.’ Chona was confused by the whole situation. ‘Invaluable how?’
    ‘He can make bricks,’ Magho said, almost proudly. ‘You’ve seen them being baked on the hillside yonder. There’s something of an art to it, you know, getting the right proportion of mud and straw and water, mixing them just so, drying them. Get it wrong and they crumble in your hands. Get it right and they last for ever, nearly. This boy has the knack of doing it. Ask anybody, it’s a gift of the gods, it’s nothing to do with me. I mean, he’s useless at everything else.’
    Chona snorted. ‘Bricks might seem valuable to you. But this is an unusual place, where bricks are prized. You know that.’
    ‘But not unique. Come on, man, I’ve heard you talk. There are towns in the north and west—’
    ‘Far from here. Many days’ walk.’
    ‘You’re not going to have to carry him there, are you? You can walk him to wherever you want to sell him. He can even carry your pack for you.’
    ‘Why do you want rid of him, Magho?’
    Magho glared at the boy. ‘Because of an incident that won’t make any difference to you. He’s a thief. He took a jade piece I particularly treasured, and hid it. I won’t have a thief in my house. I can’t afford it. A man in my position in this town—’
    Novu protested, ‘You told mother you forgave me for that!’
    ‘So I lied. You’re no son of mine. You don’t have to sell him for making bricks, of course. He’s not bad looking, and he’s still young.’ He pinched the boy’s biceps and thighs. ‘You can see that. Feel for yourself. His balls have dropped.’ He cupped the boy’s groin; Novu flinched. ‘And he’s a virgin, of course, except for his close relationship with his right hand.’
    ‘I don’t run slaves,’ Chona repeated.
    Magho heaved a sigh. ‘You strike a hard bargain. Suppose I had a word with Gorga. My wife’s brother. If I could persuade him about Minda, you know . . . A night with her?’
    ‘Well . . .
    Magho clapped him on the shoulder again. ‘Just don’t ruin her for her husband, you bull. Look, I’ll leave you with the goods. I’ll come back after I’ve seen Gorga. And you,’ he said, pointing a finger at his son, ‘show some respect or I’ll break every tooth in your head, no matter what it does to your selling price.’
    He stalked out.

    The boy sat again, shivering. But he stared defiantly at Chona. ‘He set it all up, you know. My father.’
    ‘Set what up?’
    ‘Minda.