Chapter 1
The shackles jangled when Micah was shoved forward rather roughly by the slave trader.
The dark haired boy stumbled and fell to his knees on the muddy street. Sweat ran in rivulets down his back and soaked his rain dampened shirt further.
'Get up, boy!' the slave trader growled, yanking Micah to his feet when he didn't move. The boy lowered his eyes and mumbled an apology before continuing on his path to the Yard.
The Yard was a section of the markets, where Slaves were sold. And, thanks to a new law, the Yard was busier than ever.
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Poorer families were forced to give up their oldest child, or the healthiest child. The families then received any pay the child managed to get in their toiling, whilst the child got nothing. This went on, til the child turned eighteen and even then, chances were that they were stuck with being a slave forever.
Micah had been on a farm, mucking out stables and whatnot for an old farmer. Recently, the old man had died and no one in the man's family wanted Micah, so he was to be 're-sold'.
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The street was filled with people yelling their wares or buying things, jostling each other occasionally. Peace-Keepers stood against certain parts of the wall that surrounded the market, with their muskets resting against their shoulders. The line of slaves were herded into a stock yard and the gate was closed, while the five Traders moved to a stage that was set up in front of the pen.
A man resplendent in his formal, gold lined attire, with frills at the cuffs and a pair of well shined boots on his feet, stepped up onto the stage and cleared his throat, motioning for a young girl to get the crowd's attention with her small, silvery trumpet. The people fell silent, and those who wished to buy a slave shuffled closer.
'Good evening, my fair ladies and gentlemen! It is the pleasure of both myself, George Benneson, and the Association of Slave Traders to bring forth our bimonthly ((A/N: in this context, every two months)) market!' he said, bowing with a flourish of the short cloak that hung off his shoulders. When he straightened, he had a gleeful glint in his black eyes. The crowd cheered and hollered.
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Micah swallowed, and ignored the jabbering of the nervous woman beside him, who suddenly grabbed him and pulled him down so she could whisper to him.
'They killed me son!' she said.
He frowned and patted the woman on the shoulder.
'It'll be okay-'
'No, it ain't ever gonna be 'okay'!' she shreeked, pushing away from the young man. Two Peace-Keepers jumped over the fence and took the screaming woman away, either to be executed or put in prison.
A collective gasp went through the crowd, but it wasn't because of the lady. They all gave a rather rich looking ensemble a wide berth, stepping out of their way.
A whisper went through the people, the Lómesque household were here. It had been years since anyone had seen around the markets and they never ever came to the Yard sales.
George coughed softly and waved one of the slave traders forward. Micah swore under his breath, just his luck; it was Jeremey, his slave trader.
Jeremy was a harsh middle aged man, who almost never smiled and the only times he did smile was when he had money in his hand. Install mods for cold watera on mac.
His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back into a low pony tail and he had a slight paunch. He limped up onto the stage, and pulled out his list.
'My first offer for you today; Lerium. He is ten years of age, not too weak, pretty smart. I am asking for thirty gold for him' he said, as a young boy was led out of the stock yard, chains nearly tripping him over when he walked.
'Thirty-five, no less or more!' a man cried from the back.
'Fourty!'
'Fifty-seven'
The crowd went quiet so Jeremy spoke up.
'Anythin' better than fifty-seven gold?' he asked.
'Fifty-nine'
'Sixty'
'You 'ave him!' the woman who'd said fifty-nine yelled to the man who had said sixty.
The man nodded.
'Thank ye, m'lady!'
Jeremy grinned to himself and his gray eyes swept the crowd as he asked for another offer. Nothing else came, so Lerium went to the man, shaking as he stumbled down the stairs.
The smirking slave trader read the list again and gave a quick hand gesture to the men who stood at the gate, who stepped in and got Micah out, dragging him out while he just went quietly. He was dumped on the stage, face down, so he struggled to his feet, brushing his dark fringe out of his storm gray eyes.
'This is Micah.. He is sixteen, has six years experience on a farm. He is, as you can see, built well for strong-man work!' Jeremy introduced, 'I'm thinkin'.. Seventy'
One of the Lómesque men raised a silk gloved hand and said clearly 'One platinum piece'
Jeremy's jaw dropped.
A platinum piece was worth five hundred gold, or one thousand silver and it was very rare, hence the market value.
No one challenged that, how could they when most of them were at the higher end of the poor scale or were middle class.
After a stunned moment of silence, Jeremy glanced around, then back at the Lómesque man, who was standing with a look of clear patience on his face.
'Any other offers?' Jeremy asked.
Silence, so he nodded to himself.
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'Sold! Next..' Micah didn't pay attention to what was being said as he was hauled off the stage, to his new master. A servant (completely different to slave) hustled past him and went to Jeremy, giving him the coin then returning to the group.
Micah stood with his chin tilted down, eyes fixed on the ground.
'Boy, you will listen to me. Everything I say, you must remember' the obvious leader of the household said.
He nodded, looking up briefly.
'Good. You are going to help fix our gardens and do cleaning.. maybe entertain us, if it is needed'
He nodded again.
'Claus, stop scratching!' a woman who walked next to the man said to a young boy, probably somewhere around Micah's age.
The boy stopped and grinned at the woman, whom Micah presumed was his mother.
'Sorry, mother' he murmured, sea green eyes studying Micah intently then dropping to the buttons on his cuffs, which he was fiddling with.
By then, they had reached the two carriages.
Micah was put into the back of one, hit when he didn't go willingly.
He hoped this family would be as nice as the old man had been, but realised that his dreams were faint and unrealistic.
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Review, please! I'll try to reply to your reviews, if you have questions! If not, I'll answer them in the next chapter.
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