Venom's Taste - Lisa Smedman [67]
Nicco shook his head, causing the lightning bolts in his earring to tinkle. “I was unfairly treated, he corrected. “I worked hard and well at the glass-blowing factory, and yet the overseer, instead of breaking my thread, falsely accused me of vandalism. Every time a piece of glassware broke due to some flaw-and there were plenty, since the iron, tin, and cobalt powders he purchased to color the glass were cheap and filled with impurities-I was punished. When I dared challenge him, he further insulted me by chaining me to my furnace, as if I were not a man of my word. So short was my chain that he shaved my head, to prevent my hair from being singed.”
Nicco paused to toss his head angrily, setting his long braid to dancing against his back. Arvin, meanwhile, stared at the cleric’s arms, understanding now where the patchwork of scars had come from. They were old and faded. This had happened long ago.
“I, too, was a slave… of a sort,” Arvin said. “When I was a boy, I wound up in what was supposedly an orphanage, but was in reality a workhouse. They worked us from dawn until dusk, weaving nets and braiding ropes. Every night when I went to sleep, my hands ached. It felt as though each of my knuckles were a knot, yanked too tight.” He paused and rubbed his joints, remembering. He’d never discussed his years at the orphanage before, but telling Nicco was proving surprisingly easy.
“My term of servitude was supposed to end when I reached ‘manhood,’ ” Arvin continued. “But no age was ever specified. My voice broke and began to deepen, and still I wasn’t a man. My chest broadened and hair grew at my groin, but I was still a ‘child.’ ” He held up his fingers, flexing them. “They weren’t going to let me go. I was too good at what I did. I knew I had to escape, instead.”
Nicco’s eyes, which had dulled to a smolder, were blazing again. “I, too, was eventually forced to take that road,” he said. “When it was clear that my overseer would never treat me fairly, I began to pray to Assuran-to Hoar. I prayed for justice, for divine retribution. And one day, my prayers were answered.”
“What happened?” Arvin asked, curious.
“The overseer tripped. At least, that’s what the other slaves saw. I was the only one to see Hoar’s hand in it. Or rather, to hear it-to realize what it meant. The overseer fell headfirst into the furnace next to mine-just as thunder rumbled above. Varga, the slave working at that furnace, pulled the overseer out, but by the time he did the man’s face was burned away. Despite the intervention of a cleric, he died later that day.”
Nicco bowed his head. “It was Hoar’s will.”
“Did things get better after the overseer’s death?” Arvin asked.
The scowl returned. “They became worse. Varga was accused of having pushed the overseer into the furnace. The evidence given was that Varga did not immediately help the man-that he waited until the overseer was burned beyond help. In fact, it was surprise and shock that caused Varga to stand gaping, not malice. I testified to this at his trial. And I told them the truth-that it was I who had killed the overseer.”
“What happened then?”
Nicco sighed. “The judge didn’t believe me. He misunderstood. He thought I meant that I had pushed the overseer-and noted that my chain was too short for me to have reached the man, even using my glass-blowing pipe. I tried to explain that I had killed him with prayer, but the judge wouldn’t listen. I had taken no clerical vows-I had never once set foot in the temple. The judge decided that I was lying to spare the life of the accused.
“When I saw that the judge remained unconvinced, I tried to explain to my master what had happened. He believed me-but he said I was too valuable a worker, whereas Varga was ‘dispensable.’ And someone had to be punished for the crime.”
Arvin shifted uncomfortably, guessing what was coming next. “The other slave was found guilty?”
“He was-and of the murder of an overseer, a capital offense. Varga was put to death the next day. According to law, our master chose the form of execution. He chose drowning.