Foreword: Rachael and the Sultan's Daughters is a sequel to Rachael, Slave of Emarukistan. Knowledge of the first book in the series is helpful but not essential.
Summary of Rachael, Slave of Emarukistan.
Twenty-year-old Rachael has been a slave since birth at her father's caravanserai, Wadi Halaf. Unexpectedly she's granted her freedom, but she lacks the means to support herself. Consequently, she continues to live and work as a slave even after registering her manumission at the local temple. Rachael takes up an offer to work as a porter on a trading caravan, with the promise of enough money at the end of the journey to support herself as a free woman. But things go seriously wrong and Rachael and Lord Mustafa's two daughters, Dania and Phoebe, end up back in the city at a slave trader's house called the Halls of Valhalla. Dania and Phoebe join a group of other newly enslaved young women being trained. Rachael is reunited with her cousin Zoe, and together they work as house slaves for Leif and Sigmund, the owners of the Halls of Valhalla. A blood feud results in Leif and Sigmund being killed. Leif's dying wish is that Rachael become the new owner of the Halls of Valhalla. Her father, now city warlord after the death of Lord Mustafa, grants Leif's dying wish, but takes Dania and Phoebe as his slaves.
Chapter 1
A message from my father to pay a visit to his compound at Wadi Halaf is nothing unusual. Three trading caravans have entered the city over the last week. His request that I bring Zoe, is what makes me think this is more than the usual opportunity to inspect slaves I might be interested in buying. Zoe and I regularly visit the harem at Wadi Halaf to socialise with my mother and half-sisters, so it's unlikely my father's summons is for a social visit.
My father and I have been doing regular business together in the two years since I gained my freedom, and ownership of the Halls of Valhalla. Our city lies on the crossroads of two major trading routes. The many caravans that pass through our city regularly stop at Wadi Halaf for fresh supplies. Usually, the caravan merchants are interested in conducting some local trade. My father alerts me if they are looking to sell slaves so that I can get first look at what is on offer. The Halls of Valhalla specialises in training recently enslaved females from distant lands. It's a specialised niche market that is very profitable. It's also a difficult one for the larger slave trading houses to service. My ability to speak several languages, together with my own experiences as a former slave, give me a unique advantage over the established houses when it comes to preparing young women from distant lands for a life as a slave.
We leave Mahmud and Hanna to watch over the six slaves we currently have undergoing training. The six holding cells at the Halls of Valhalla can each house four slaves, so we have plenty of room for new stock. Mahmud is the only male living with us. He's a former city guard who has worked at the Halls of Valhalla since it first opened. He now lives out his semi-retirement as our night-watchman, and occasionally as a slave overseer. As regards Hanna; she is a pretty twenty-year-old slave with long blond hair who has exceptional cooking skills. I had initially bought her with the intention of training her to be sold as a wealthy man's bed-warmer, but her cooking skills have earned her a place here. She has proved her value many times over.
Zoe and I arrive at Wadi Halaf. The gate guards know us, and they admit us without any fuss. The huge main yard between the gates and house at Wadi Halaf is often crowded with the wagons and pack animals of visiting caravans. But this morning the yard is empty, apart from the slaves busy cleaning up the animal dung and other detritus from the latest caravan.
A servant guides us to where my father is waiting. He's sat alone in one of the large rooms he uses for business negotiations. Something is clearly worrying him. I am offered a seat, which is something he rarely does, and a sure sign that this is something serious. Even though I'm no longer a slave, he still treats me as such when we are alone. A slave is expected to stand or sit on the floor, which is how he normally holds business meetings with me. I may be a free woman these days, but the stigma of my former slavery is still rooted in his mind. He doesn't offer Zoe a seat, so she sits on the floor next to me.
I've offered my cousin Zoe manumission several times over the last two years, but she stubbornly refuses to accept the responsibilities that go with freedom. Zoe was purchased as a house slave for the Halls of Valhalla when it was owned by Leif and Sigmund. Zoe became my slave when my father, in his capacity as city warlord, accepted Leif's dying wish for the Halls of Valhalla to become mine. Although she is my slave, I have given Zoe certain privileges. Unless we are in a formal meeting with a client, I don't expect her to call me Mistress when she speaks to me.
"We have a problem that you are in the best position to solve," begins father.
I know my father well enough to interpret his statement as meaning that he has a problem that he wants to solve by making it my problem.
"The last caravan that stopped here overnight has abandoned some of its cargo in the small yard," continues my father. "Apparently the owners of the cargo could no longer pay their contribution to the caravan."
When my father says 'cargo', I know he means slaves. He wouldn't summon me here if the cargo was anything else. The small yard is often used to hold coffles of slaves overnight when their owners want to avoid the expense of renting space in Wadi Halaf's cells. The small yard is less secure than the cells, but it has been many years since a slave has succeeded in escaping from Wadi Halaf's compound.
It's quite common for caravans to consist of several merchants, each with their own cargo. If one of the merchants fails to pay the agreed daily contribution to the caravan's costs, then Emarukistani law permits the caravan master to recover the cost by seizing some or all of the merchant's cargo. The fact that these slaves haven't been seized in payment is a bad sign, and probably explains my father's worried face.
"Had I better take a look at this cargo?" I ask. "I presume you are wanting me to relieve you of it."
"Hah! You are a true daughter worthy of our family name," says father, visibly relieved at my words. "I can have the slaves delivered to the Halls of Valhalla this afternoon."
"I've only agreed to take a look at them, father. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
The three of us go across to the small yard. In summer the small yard a sun trap, and during the heat of the day it is an unsuitable place to keep slaves. A coffle of four slaves are sat against one wall, taking advantage of the limited shade offered by the wall behind them. Their left ankles are linked with a marching chain, which is connected to a ring on the wall. All are female and quite young for slaves being transported. Normally the high cost of transporting slaves by merchant caravan means the slaves need to be exceptionally valuable to cover the portage. Children and older slaves rarely command a good enough price to justify transporting them long distances. From what my father has told me, these slaves have been on the road for at least eight days. There's no way they could be sold for anything like what their owners must have spent getting them here.
"There are more," says father, when he sees my disappointment at this weary and half-starved group of adolescents.
He takes Zoe and I to the far corner of the yard. I gasp in horror at the sight before me. Under a makeshift awning is a cage sat on the bed of a small wagon. Inside the cage is a group of five children. All girls. None can be older than eight years old, and the youngest probably as little as three. Unsurprisingly, they are all terrified at our approach. At least they look better fed than the four older slaves.
"What insane monster transports young children like this?" I say when I get over my shock.
Chapter 2
In the brutal reality of our world, children younger than eight are worthless as slaves. Unless there's the prospect of ransom, any young children taken captive are usually put to the sword. It's a kinder fate than their captors dragging them to a slave market, where they rarely find a buyer interested in acquiring them. Unwanted slaves invariably meet with a slow and unpleasant end. I wish our world was different, but it isn't. Although, it hasn't always been that way. When Zoe and I were born, there was an extended period of prosperity and peace, and new slaves were scarce and expensive. At that time, slave owners found it worthwhile to breed their own slaves. Over the last decade, a constant succession of wars and economic problems have resulted in a plentiful supply of fresh inexpensive adult slaves. Consequently, very few owners bother with raising slave children these days.
