The owner greeted them already at the entry.

"Lord Wren! Welcome to my humble establishment." The man smiled widely and all but pulled Nickel inside the door in his eagerness. "I hope you'll find our wares to your satisfaction."

They followed the portly man through another door and out into a larger hall.

"You know this guy?" Roth whispered as the trader hurried out onto the floor and they fell behind.

"Never seen the man before," Nickel whispered back, looking amused. "These traders would keep track of the clans, I suppose. It's usually where the wealthiest customers are."

"He's but rolling out the red carpet, isn't he?" Roth mumbled, only a little bit miffed the trader had, so far, completely ignored him. Not that he would ever be a customer.

The slave trader stopped and waited for them to catch up, eagerly motioning them farther inside. "Are you looking for something in particular, Sir, or would you like to browse the hall?" he asked.

"I'll just look about, thank you." Nickel said.

If his boss hoped the trader would leave him to it at this, he was obviously mistaken.

"I'm sure you'll find something you like, Sir. I have something for all tastes and needs," the trader went on, not leaving Nickel's side for a second. "I have a few good ones over here, which I'm sure you'll agree are simply lovely." He took Nickel by the elbow and steered him along while shouting orders at two men at the other side of the hall. The trader's employed armed guards, Roth noticed.

Roth followed a few steps behind, shaking his head. He didn't like places like this. Earlier, If Nickel had specified where they were going, instead of only saying they were 'going downtown'; Roth might have made up an excuse not to come. It wasn't necessary to bring a bodyguard here.

However, working for the young lord the last four years, they had become friends. These days Nickel often asked him to join him, whether he actually needed the protection or not. Roth wasn't always sure anymore what was work, and what was 'hanging out'. He didn't care which, most of the times these days; he didn't have anything more important to do anyway.

He looked about the hall. Roth had passed this building many times but he'd never been inside. At least not as long as it had been a slave market. It used to be a train station, and he remembered taking the train from here a few times as a kid, together with his parents. Years ago the city had rerouted the railway tracks and built new stations, but this one hadn't been demolished as many others. Instead, someone had turned it into... this.

Roth studied the remodeled interiors as they walked across the flagstones of the former waiting hall, their steps echoing under the high domed ceiling. To his left were several large doors with signs, saying, 'Office', 'Baths', 'Examinations' – Roth shuddered – and 'Staff only – Do not enter!'. Rows of barred cell doors lined the other walls, reaching up two stories, metal grate stairs leading to the upper cells.

It seemed during daytime these cells were empty, and the slaves were standing around the large hall in small groups, or sitting on the old wooden benches where travelers used to rest their feet while waiting for their arrivals and departures. They were all dressed in the same gray loose-fitting pants and long sleeved t-shirts, which looked to be one size only. The taller ones had arms and legs sticking out of too short sleeves and pants legs, while a few little runts seemed almost to disappear in their clothes.

Apparently, some slave traders specialized. Roth had noticed soon enough there were only boys in here, and how young they were. He'd be surprised if any of them were over twenty, most were considerably younger. He saw how they warily watched them – it was still early in the morning, Nickel and he were the only customers– and apart from the blabbering slave trader, and the sound of their steps, the hall was eerily quiet.

Roth recalled his own boyhood years and how much noise only a small group of his friends made on the schoolyard and in the streets, but these boys were quiet and still. Properly subdued from birth, he thought.

The two employees had picked out a boy each from the floor, per their boss' instructions, and now brought them up for Nickel to look at. Nickel smiled at the kids and patted their shoulders, but shook his head.

Roth looked on in puzzlement. He didn't know what his boss was looking for. The mansion was already full of slaves and he couldn't see Nickel would ever need another. On the other hand, Nickel often bought things he didn't need. What else would a man that wealthy do when he was bored? Thinking more about it, though, Roth thought he might have an inkling, after all, which might explain why Nickel had turned down the trader's first offer, hardly even sparing them a glance. Those kids had looked about twelve, at the most. Too young.

Yeah, Roth thought, he might know what Nickel was hoping for.

Nickel attempted to get away from the trader once more, veering off in another direction. He peered back over his shoulder at Roth and discreetly rolled his eyes. Roth grinned in reply and followed, with the trader and his men in tow.

His boss halted before a few of the older boys, but didn't give any of them more than a fleeting glance before moving on again. After having passed one of the many barred doors along the wall, though, Nickel stopped dead in his tracks and turned back for a second look, his eyebrows shooting up at whatever he saw in there.

Curious, Roth came up alongside of him and peered through the bars, as well. The lights were out in the cells, but there was someone in there. He could see a small figure huddle in a corner.

The slave trader immediately stepped between them, pushing Roth aside, tugging at Nickel's sleeve, and obviously trying to deflect his attention away from the cell. "I have an older boy over here that I'm positive will be to your liking. If you'd come this way, Sir."

Nickel retrieved his arm with an annoyed jerk. "Is that a girl in there?" he asked. "I thought you traded exclusively in boys."

Roth saw it now, a long braid, hanging over the slave's shoulder, the end disappearing in the shadows.

The trader sighed deeply. "It is a boy, Sir, a longhair exotic that I… acquired not long ago."

"Oh, an exotic? A longhair? I'm intrigued," Nickel said, brightening up. "I'd like to take a closer look."

Now, the trader looked like he wanted to pull Nickel away from the cell with force, and the reaction surprised Roth. Exotics were expensive, weren't they? The trader should be thrilled Nickel showed interest in his more valuable merchandise, shouldn't he?

"He's nice enough to look at, Sir. A genuine redhead and those are not very easy to come by. However, he's not for sale. Uh, not today, so if you would like to…"

"Not for sale?" Nickel interrupted. "Is there something wrong with him? Is he ill? "

The trader looked to be the victim of some inner battle and nervously patted his forehead with a handkerchief he fished out of the breast pocket of his suit. "I might as well be honest with you, Sir," he finally said. "Most things are wrong with this boy, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, but I have a reputation to uphold and I can't in good conscience sell this one to you. A closer look won't be necessary."

Roth grinned to himself. If the trader really didn't want to sell this boy, his tactics weren't working. He was making Nickel more curious by the second.

"Well, I'd like to make up my own mind," Nickel said. "What would be the harm in taking a look only?"

"Sir," the trader tried again. "This boy hasn't been trained properly, and I fear he might not be right in the head. He can be rather aggressive."

Nickel raised an eyebrow. "Aggressive? An exotic?"

Roth had no idea what an exotic was suppose to be like but it was obvious his boss didn't believe the trader. He was inclined to agree with Nickel's suspicions. Roth hadn't seen many slaves up close before he started to work for Nickel, but all the slaves he'd encountered since – and he thought there were close to a hundred at the Wren estate alone – were as far from aggressive as you could get. 'Cowed', was the word he'd use. The ones who weren't had already been 'dealt with', he supposed.

He looked inside the darkish cell again. The boy silently hung his head in the corner, looking subdued enough.

"That's nonsense," Nickel continued. "At least switch on the lights."

The trader sighed, but he gestured to one of his men, who walked to the end of the row of cells and flicked a switch on the wall. The cell was flooded with a bright white light.

The boy tried to look away from the sharp light, and it was immediately obvious to Roth why he didn't shield his eyes with his hands. They had cuffed the boy's wrists behind his back, and he wore ankle cuffs, as well. A short chain connecting his wrists with his ankles showed, with ample clarity, why he'd not moved from his huddled position either. How long had he been sitting there in the dark, forced into such an uncomfortable position?

Roth felt sorry for the boy, and it clearly upset his boss.

Nickel frowned deeply. "Is it necessary to keep him restrained like that?" he said, a sharp edge to his voice.

"Is it necessary?" the trader exclaimed. "Believe me, Sir, it is."

By now, the boy's eyes seemed to have adjusted to the light and he slowly raised his head and looked at them through the bars. Roth heard Nickel gasp at his side. Someone had beaten the slave, or maybe he'd been in a fight with another boy. In either case, there were bruises in his face, and dried up smears of blood all over his chin and under his nose.

Nickel might have been on his way to tell the trader a thing or two about the state the boy was in, but in that case, the boy interrupted him. He looked at them all in turn, and his face contorted in anger. "What the fuck are you staring at?" he yelled.

They both took a step back in sheer surprise. Nickel looked positively shocked.

"Chaining you up isn't enough?" the trader yelled behind them, flustered from anger. "I should have gagged you, too, you little bastard! Insulting my customers… I'll teach you."

The boy gave the trader a sneer. "Oh, give it a fucking rest, fatso," he simply replied, clearly not overly impressed by the threat.

Nickel still looked as shocked, but Roth couldn't help smiling at the boy's remark. The trader wasn't exactly on the lean side.

The trader seemed less amused and looked like he had to control his anger with a few deep breaths before he could even speak again. "Well, as you can see, Sir, he's not sellable. He's badly behaved and has a dirty mouth. Please accept my sincerest apologies, Sir. Rest assured that he will be thoroughly beaten for this."

Nickel peered at the boy inquisitively. "Well, I agree that something is wrong. Haven't you beaten this poor thing enough as it is?"

"We're not normally this hard on the boys, Sir. Usually we don't have to beat them. As I said, there's something wrong with this one's head. We have no other choice than to beat and restrain him. He can't be trusted. I do think he could actually be dangerous."

Roth looked into the cell again and raised an eyebrow. The boy was a twig. He could probably break him in two with one hand. "Dangerous? That? Oh, come on! It's just a scrawny kid."

"Even a child can be dangerous if it has no inhibitions," the trader explained in a condescending tone, turning to Roth.

"Well," Nickel said, determined, it seemed, to get back to the question of the boy's bruises. "Does all this beating help then? Have his manners improved?"

"No," the trader whined. "He's impossible to train I'm afraid, and, so, impossible to sell."

Yeah, Roth thought, he completely missed Nickel's point.

Nickel smiled. "Oh, surely no one is impossible? Besides, it's an exotic. They always choose them carefully. Obviously, there's some kind of problem here, but if we can only sort it out… What do you think, Roth?"

Roth looked into the cell again and saw how the boy glared at them. He still didn't know what an exotic was supposed to be like, but the anger and hate was obvious in this one's eyes, and it wasn't what any slave should be like. Roth agreed that most kids probably wouldn't improve by being beaten, but the trader might still be right about this one. If there was something mentally wrong with the kid, he could do some real damage, small as he was. What if he went nuts in some way and got hold of a knife? No, Roth didn't feel comfortable with Nickel bringing this boy home. "I would look at another slave if I were you, Boss," he said.

Nickel gave him a smile that seemed to say: 'But you're not me, are you?' and turned back to the trader. "Well, I would like to know more about him. What's in his papers?"

The trader looked resigned. "Very well, Sir, if you'd like to come this way."

He led them across the floor to his office, let them in, turned his back on them to look through his archives then turned again to hand Nickel a folder.

Nickel opened it and eyed through the papers. "Hm… He's registered as a long hair exotic, red coloring, but there's no information about the establishment that trained him?"

"Or not trained him, as the case might be." The trader remarked.

His boss ignored the comment. "Seventeen years old… Two previous private owners…" Nickel looked up from the papers. "This doesn't tell me much. How is his current health?"

It didn't escape Roth how awkward the trader looked at this question. Not answering, he unexpectedly turned and yelled. "What are you still doing in here? Didn't I tell you to…? Uh... To- to… Well? Get going! Out, out!"

Roth had noticed the slave when they'd entered the office, a young man in his late teens, or early twenties, with a short and thick mop of tousled blond hair on his head. He was dressed like all the other boys, but a locked leather collar around his neck singled him out. The slave had been dusting the file cabinets when they walked in, but had stepped aside as his master searched for the folder, humbly waiting in a corner with the damp rag in his hands. He looked completely befuddled at his master's angry words now, but quickly gathered and obeyed, leaving the office without a word, closing the door behind him.

He sneered at the trader when he wasn't looking; the man wasn't very good at thinking on his feet, was he? Yelling at that poor slave was obviously only an attempt at avoiding Nickel's question. What was wrong with the redhead's health?

"I have to inform you, Sir." The trader turned to them again. "It seems his first private owner died under mysterious circumstances, and apparently, only the boy was present at the time of his death." He looked knowingly at them both.

If he wanted to divert Nickel's attention, he succeeded.

"Excuse me?" Nickel said. He looked into the papers again. "He would have been thirteen years old. Are you insinuating a slave that young, a mere child, had something to do with his master's death?"

The trader didn't answer, shrugged his shoulders, and gave them another knowing look. Apparently, they were to draw their own conclusions from the information given.

"Oh, that's nonsense," Nickel said.

Roth nodded in agreement. He didn't believe it either.

"Who knows what really happened, Sir?" the trader said. "If I had been that man's widow I wouldn't have taken any risks. I would have reported my suspicions to the authorities and let them deal with it. She voiced no such concern, and simply sold the boy privately, following her husband's death. However, none of it is of any concern here. I can't sell this boy in any case. Sir, believe me, I've tried everything, but I can't sort him out. I'm afraid we'll have to put him down." The man shook his head with a sad expression.

Roth shuddered.

"Put him down? You can't be serious." Nickel protested. "I can't believe he's that bad."

"Believe me, Sir, it's not a decision I'd make lightly but…"

It was clear Nickel wasn't going to listen. He slammed the folder down on the trader's desk and went for the door, pulling Roth with him. "Nonsense," he repeated. "I said I wanted a closer look, and I'm going to have it." He resolutely strode back across the floor toward the cell, completely ignoring the trader's weak protests behind him.

Roth followed in silence. He sure as hell didn't want to see the poor kid killed any more than his boss did, but he still wasn't all right with this. It would be just like Nickel to let compassion get the better of him, and make a rash decision he would later regret. Somehow, Roth got the feeling that was what the slave trader was secretively hoping for, in spite of his protests.

Nickel peered into the cell once again, and his demeanor changed from upset and determined, to kind and caring. "I'm considering buying you, boy," he said, following this information up with a friendly smile, "which means we would have to…"

"Fuck you!" the boy interrupted. "Fuck you! I ain't gonna go with you," he yelled.

Roth winced behind Nickel's back. The kid was nuts. Didn't he realize what a chance he was turning down here? Didn't he understand he'd condemn himself to death with this kind of behavior? This wasn't something Nickel was used to. His boss was a kind person, but he was still a lord, a clan lord. Would he stand for this kind of behavior from a mere slave? Roth doubted it.

Nickel stepped back with a perplexed and worried look, while the slave trader seemed to have had enough of the whole thing the way he exploded behind them.

"Shut up! Shut up!" he roared. "Or I swear you'll not live to see tomorrow." The trader shoved his fist between the bars and shook it at the boy. "I've had enough of you, you hear me? I've fucking had it with you. I'll have them take you out the back tonight, you hear. Tonight. They'll shoot you. Do you understand that? I'll have them put a fucking bullet through the back of your skull for this. Do… you… get that?"

The boy wasn't late in talking back. "Just fucking kill me then," he yelled, tears of anger standing in his eyes, his bruised face flushed. "I ain't scared, you fat bastard. Just fucking do it!"

Roth shook his head. Maybe the kid was miserable enough to want to die, but claiming he wasn't scared was obviously a lie. The boy was shaking all over, and he wasn't alone.

Nickel obviously realized this, too. He took the trader by the arm. "Stop that," he said. "Please, just stop!"

His boss made the trader turn and look behind him, and Roth understood what he was trying to draw the man's attention to. Except for a few of the smaller boys sobbing, the hall was dead silent, every slave in the building staring at them. There was no mistaking the fear on their faces.

The trader patted his forehead with his handkerchief again. "Calm down, boys!" he said loudly. "I was only angry, I didn't really mean it. There's not going to be a… No one's going to di… Uh… You'll all be fine, boys, there's no need for concern." He turned toward the cell again. "See what you've done, you little shit?" he hissed. "You're damn lucky there are no other customers here, or I'd…"

The boy in the cell only glared daggers back at him.

"I guess we'd better leave, Boss," Roth said, thinking they had caused enough distress around here.

"I'm not going anywhere," Nickel answered. "Not until I have had a look at the boy. Would you kindly unlock this cell door?" he asked the trader.

Roth thought the trader looked about as exasperated at Nickel's stubbornness as he, himself, was surprised. Nickel was still interested in the redhead? Maybe his boss wasn't as easily scandalized as he'd thought.

"Sir, you can't be serious," the trader protested. "After all you've seen here, you still want to…? Please, Sir, I ask you to view this from my perspective. I understand you feel sorry for the boy. At some level, I do, too. You might not believe me but having to…" he quickly looked behind him, "resort to such a final solution, isn't something I want to do. I'd much rather sell him, of course I would. However, what would happen to me, and my business, if you buy him and he does something really bad?"

Nickel shook his head, clearly not accepting this argument. "I'm a free citizen, and of age. I can make my own choices, and take responsibility for them. I'm aware of the problems now. If I buy him, I have no reason to blame you for anything."

The trader still looked highly hesitant.

"I only want to take a closer look," Nickel insisted. "What can he do, restrained like that? Besides, my bodyguard is with me."

"All right," the trader finally said. "Do as you please, Sir, but I have to insist I will not be blamed."

"I give you my word as a clan lord," Nickel said, smiling reassuringly.

The trader didn't return the smile, but he nodded and waved to his men who had remained close by during the whole exchange. One of them took out a bunch of keys and locked up the barred cell door.

"Thank you," Nickel said. "Would you also be so kind to arrange for someone to bring me warm water and a towel, or a clean rag?"

The trader wasted no more air on arguments or protests; he turned to one of the closest standing slaves for sale, and sent him away. After a few minutes, the slave returned with the collared blond boy from the office – probably the trader's personal slave, Roth thought – who was carrying a bucket and a few towels. The towheaded boy put down the bucket on the floor in front of Nickel as told, and then he shyly bowed to them both before going to stand silently behind his master's back. The trader turned and absentmindedly patted his bowed head.

At least there was nothing wrong with that slave's training, Roth noted dryly.