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3
It's daylight.
I squint up at the blinding sun, surprised. There's not a cloud in the sky and the sun overhead beats down on me, hot and relentless and bright. How did it get to be daylight? Midday?
I wait for my eyes to adjust, wiping streaming tears from them as the too bright light makes my head pound. Slowly, I become aware of the world around me.
“Out of the way!” A man shoves past me, glaring.
“Sorry,” I say automatically, moving aside…to where? I stare around me as the bright glare adjusts and now I can see.
I can see everything and…holy shit.
Toto, we are not in Kansas.
It's a marketplace of some kind. I think. Or a city? It's hard to tell. I see tall stone walls, at least fifteen feet high, and they cage me in on both sides. I must be standing in some sort of road, then, because underneath my slippers, it's dusty and dirty and there's not a patch of grass to be found. Nearby, an animal brays and I turn to see something in a harness that looks like a land-hippo, with a man leading its bridle. As I watch, he pulls a buff colored scarf over his bright red hair like a hood and glares at me.
Am I…on a movie set? But even as the idea crosses my mind, I know that can't be true. This is something bigger. Something vastly more different. I cross my arms over my chest, exceedingly aware that I'm in pink pajamas. I'm not wearing a bra and I feel a little conspicuous as I look at everyone around me, trying to absorb the picture.
Where the hell am I?
Why am I here?
I frown at my surroundings. The stone walls stretch out as far as the eye can see, and so do the dusty streets. I walk forward, dodging piles of animal poop in the middle of the streets, and people pass by, dressed in the same loose, flowing clothing that the man with the land-hippo was wearing. They all look at me as if I'm crazy, but no one stops to talk to me. A few women whisper as they see me.
Well that doesn't make me feel uncomfortable at all.
I pause, trying to figure out where I am and where I need to go. Can I turn around? I look behind me, but there's no hint of the room I was just in. There's no door, no nothing, just stone walls, people leading around land-hippos and the occasional shabby-looking booth propped up against the walls.
There’s no obvious route home.
I pinch myself. Hard. Twice, just in case the first one didn’t count. Nope, I’m awake. Awake and hating this. I look around one more time for a door or a portal of some kind that would have dumped me here, but there’s nothing. It’s entirely possible I’m having a stroke or I’m in a coma or something and my brain is firing up fantasy scenarios, because this definitely looks more like Game of Thrones than Chicago. I gaze at the land-hippos and try to match them up with known animals on Earth, but I come up with a blank. I don’t think these are Earth creatures. And if that’s the case, where am I and how did I end up on another planet? I hesitate, and when a woman with a large basket on her hip pauses to adjust her load, I approach her.
“Excuse me,” I say brightly. “I seem to be lost.”
She frowns at my mouth, as if my words sound weird. Her gaze slides down to my clothing. “What’re you looking for? An i
“An i
Her uneasy look grows. “The slums?”
“No, I mean here.” I gesture at the ground with both hands. “This city. Where is this?”
The woman’s brows go up. “Aventine?”
Aventine. Okay, that’s a start. I beam at her, trying not to panic. I’ve never heard of Aventine, but I’m admittedly not the best with geography. “And are we still on Earth?”
“Earth?” she echoes.
“The planet?” How has she not heard of Earth?
She makes a gesture over her chest—probably to ward off my crazy—and shakes her head, walking away. “Leave me alone.”
Right. Just makin’ friends wherever I go. I bite back a sigh of frustration. It’s obvious I don’t fit in here, which means that not only is this not Chicago, this is definitely not Earth. It’s also hot as blazes, the air dry. Considering it was sweater weather back home, I’ve definitely changed locations. I glance back at the woman with the basket, but she’s disappeared into the maze of crowded alleys.
All right then, I’m alone. Hot panic simmers in my chest. I can’t be stranded here. I don’t have my purse, or money, or even a fucking bra. I don’t have shoes. I don’t have the faintest idea of where the hell I am or how I got here. I want to press my hands to my forehead and cry. I want to collapse, but I know all of that won’t do any good. So I take a deep, shuddering breath, straighten my shoulders, and try to figure out where I am. If I got dumped here, it stands to reason someone will know how to put me back. I just have to find that person.
Somewhat calmer, I put my hands on my hips and gaze around me, trying to figure out my next move. The music continues somewhere nearby, low and urgent, and I decide I might as well follow it. Seems about as good an idea as any other idea.
I head forward through the dusty streets of…wherever I am. One thing I've learned about people thanks to five years in a corporate environment is that if you look confident, people will assume you know what you're doing and where you're going. So I put confidence in my step and stroll forward like this is all part of my master plan.
Fake it until you make it and all that.
The stone walls snake around, and I follow them until they fork, splitting in opposite directions. One way seems more crowded than the other, so I pick the less crowded path.
Almost immediately, I regret it. It opens up into what looks like a big open area in the city, and here there are rows and rows of tents like something out of an old war movie. There are more land-hippos and more men. Armored men. To a one, they're all dressed in an overcoat of a dark red over armor. It makes them look alarmingly badass.
And they’re all looking at me.
I get that uncomfortable prickle along my spine. Clearly, I'm not supposed to be here…wherever here is.
Clearly, this is very, very bad. I’ve stumbled out of a marketplace in the slums and into a war encampment. I turn on my heel, moving back toward the walls I've just—stupidly—wandered out of.
A hand grabs my shoulder. “What have we got here?”
A man in armor gazes down at me. His face is craggy and rough, unshaven, and he stinks of sweat. He eyes me like I would a new flavor of cheesecake.
I try to feign a smile.
“You look like you’re lost.”
Boy he has no idea just how lost I am. I gesture back where I came. “Sorry. I didn’t see the sign that said ‘no girls allowed.’ I’ll be heading out now.”
His hand just tightens on my shoulder and his eyes narrow at me. “Who’s your overlord?”
“Pardon?” I try to slide out from under the grip of his gloved hand, but he yanks on my arm instead.
“Your overlord,” he says, leering at the front of my pajamas. “If you’re from Aventine, you’ll have an overlord and a house symbol showing your allegiance. Wa
“Oooh, they’re in my other pants,” I say brightly. “But if you’ll just let me go—”
He clamps down tighter on my shoulder. “We’ve got ourselves a runaway slave,” he bellows. “Rodrick!”
A man starts ru
“I’m not a slave,” I protest, jerking at the man’s grip. “Let me go!”
The commander backhands me and I go flying to the ground. “Rodrick” hauls me to my feet as I stare at the men in shock.
Someone just hit me. I touch my face in stu
The commander just gives me an icy look, then focuses on Rodrick. “You know what we do to those who have no allegiance, don’t you?”
“The slave pens, Commander?”
The man nods. “Make sure she brings a fair coin. She’s got all her teeth.”
I’m the unluckiest woman ever.
I push my face between the metal bars of the slave cage that’s been my home for two days, trying to see the man that’s just walked up. He gives me a look, and I try to smile prettily at the man in front of me, since I’ve learned that no one listens to a pissy slave. “Hi there. Are you from around here? Because I’m not and I really, really need to get out of here.”
“Shut up, tart,” the man says, barely glancing over at me.
Rude, I think, but I’m not surprised. No one in this place has even heard of the word “ma
If that means being nicey-nice to this guy, I’ll do it. So I flutter my lashes, give him a chirpy smile, and try again. “I’m from Earth. Chicago, actually. I know everyone thinks it’s all crime ridden and cold, but it’s actually pretty awesome. Great nightlife. Fantastic museums. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of it?”
And I beam like I’m not in a slave pen on some Conan-esque planet, wearing manacles and what can only be described as a half of a skirt.
I’m going to get my way out of this place with the power of positive thinking, damn it.
The man just narrows his eyes at me. He glances over at the man in front of the slave pen and gestures at me. “This one’s got a mouth on her.”
“That can be fixed,” the man says, counting coins in his hand and not looking up.
I swallow hard, thinking of the guy I saw have his tongue pulled out yesterday. Okay. New plan. “Did I say Earth? I meant…east. Totally meant east. Absolutely, one hundred percent from this land.” I try to slide back behind the other slaves shackled in the pen. I only moved to the front because this guy looked clean and wealthy and maybe would be reasonably nice to a poor, down-on-her-luck woman that isn’t supposed to be in a slave pen.
Or isn’t supposed to be in this world at all.
No such luck, though. The man points a finger at me and looks over at the guy counting coins. “I’ll take that one anyhow. Best looking of the lot.”
The slave-master finishes counting his coins and grunts. “You’ll want to collar her. She doesn’t think she should be a slave.”
They both share a chuckle at that, and someone puts a hand to my back and shoves me forward. With a yelp, I stagger to the front of the pen, and then I’m hauled out. I would say it’s an improvement from the cramped, filthy pen I’ve been stuck in for the last two days, but given that I’ve just been sold as a slave?
“Improvement” is debatable.