Ayabel ◌ "Aya" (
namesthesky) wrote2014-01-14 01:14 pm
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an estate sale
Damn the old lady. Damn her into whatever creative torments have ever been invented for priests to wish on their theological opponents, all simultaneously, for ever and always, let it be done.
Aya is quite aware that she'd revise this opinion if her opinions had any power over the fate of the old lady. Since they do not, she will stand here and silently call down curses.
She was supposed to be willed to herself. She had plans. She was going to sleep in the temple attic and work for the post office and save up enough to go to Carthapane. She was pretty sure she could be enrolled in a college by twenty-five, doing something useful by thirty - she was undecided pending her more formal education between illegal human export and working within the system for debt relief or purchase-to-manumit programs -
And now she'll just count herself lucky if she gets bought by someone with loose enough security that she can flee over the border without falling into a magic, attempt to teach herself Tsopixi, and do - she doesn't have a plan after that, now. Her plan went up in smoke when the old lady's will was read and she was left to the idiot grandson and the idiot grandson traded her to a reseller for enough to cover his bad investments. She can't go work for the post office with marked heel and no papers.
And she is keenly aware that she is sixteen going on seventeen, which is a much different situation than she faced when she was on the block a decade ago being advertised for her literacy, assessed for her ability to take dictation.
She shifts position. The chain between her collar and the wall jangles. She watches people going by, browsing, reading the sign posted in front of her.
"Ayabel" - 125 seo
16 yrs, healthy
Reads & writes (Esevi, some Ancient Sudre)
10 yrs housegirl experience, previously farming
No history of rebelliousness
Yeah. No history of rebelliousness, because the old lady was old and coming up on the end of her life, the old lady let her read books and left her enough free time to think and draw, the old lady was going to will her to herself and then she could get started on her life.
This history won't last long, Aya doesn't think.
Most especially if anyone looks at the second line and brings her home for the obvious thing.
Aya is quite aware that she'd revise this opinion if her opinions had any power over the fate of the old lady. Since they do not, she will stand here and silently call down curses.
She was supposed to be willed to herself. She had plans. She was going to sleep in the temple attic and work for the post office and save up enough to go to Carthapane. She was pretty sure she could be enrolled in a college by twenty-five, doing something useful by thirty - she was undecided pending her more formal education between illegal human export and working within the system for debt relief or purchase-to-manumit programs -
And now she'll just count herself lucky if she gets bought by someone with loose enough security that she can flee over the border without falling into a magic, attempt to teach herself Tsopixi, and do - she doesn't have a plan after that, now. Her plan went up in smoke when the old lady's will was read and she was left to the idiot grandson and the idiot grandson traded her to a reseller for enough to cover his bad investments. She can't go work for the post office with marked heel and no papers.
And she is keenly aware that she is sixteen going on seventeen, which is a much different situation than she faced when she was on the block a decade ago being advertised for her literacy, assessed for her ability to take dictation.
She shifts position. The chain between her collar and the wall jangles. She watches people going by, browsing, reading the sign posted in front of her.
"Ayabel" - 125 seo
16 yrs, healthy
Reads & writes (Esevi, some Ancient Sudre)
10 yrs housegirl experience, previously farming
No history of rebelliousness
Yeah. No history of rebelliousness, because the old lady was old and coming up on the end of her life, the old lady let her read books and left her enough free time to think and draw, the old lady was going to will her to herself and then she could get started on her life.
This history won't last long, Aya doesn't think.
Most especially if anyone looks at the second line and brings her home for the obvious thing.
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"The selection is execrable," the duke is telling his servant. "For all the good the border markets are doing us, we could have stayed home."
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The stole means "duke", which means - decent household security, probably, but also luxury, and also probably a relatively limited set of people with access to her. She could wind up sold to some kind of labor rental outfit, or to somebody who doesn't have the scratch to make keeping slaves practical but does it anyway to look richer than they are. The color means Viore, which is a step closer to the border than she is right now.
She ducks her head and approximates a polite curtsey, like the old lady's niece made her learn once.
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"Hello," she says. "My name's Berete. Housekeeper for his grace the Duke of Viore. Have you served in a large household before?" (Comparatively unlikely that she's served in a duke's house, there being only one of those per province, but plenty of rich folk have estates of comparable size.)
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Maybe not. Maybe this was a miscalculation, insofar as she has any leeway to calculate.
She holds quite still and waits.
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"Come along," Berete says to Ayabel as the duke starts walking back the way they came. "It's not that far to Chiyavio by carriage; we should be home not long past sundown."
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It's also fast.
No one seems inclined to talk on the way.
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They arrive in Chiyavio after a few hours, but it's a little longer before they stop at the duke's house.
The duke has a stupidly huge house.
He leaves the carriage with a dismissive, "Put her somewhere," over his shoulder.
"Yes, your grace," says Berete, although he is gone before she finishes saying it. "Hungry, Ayabel? I believe the kitchen counts as 'somewhere'."
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They're in front of the main gate; Berete leads her around to a smaller and less impressive door in the wall that surrounds the house, then along a succession of paths through at least three different gardens, the last of which is clearly growing herbs and vegetables. From there, they enter the kitchen directly. A woman, younger than Berete but older than Ayabel, greets them with obvious relief.
"Oh good, you're back. I hope I got everything right."
"We'll see," Berete says cheerfully. She points Ayabel to a stool in an out-of-the-way corner, then sets about inspecting the culinary efforts in progress. Ayabel gets samples of everything.
The assistant does not have cause to worry about the quality of her cooking.
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She's not sure what her permanent assignment will be, but it probably won't be this nice. Reason to enjoy it for the time being.
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After a little while, Berete comes back.
"And now," she says, "I have to figure out what to do with you until tomorrow morning."
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"Tomorrow morning, ma'am?" hazards Aya.
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"His grace decided, what with his son turning seventeen, that he should get a suitable present. Maybe if he'd ever talked to the boy for more than five minutes at a stretch, he would have known better. Anyway, here you are. And you're to be a surprise, so I have to keep you out of Hal's way until his grace sends for you tomorrow."
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