Jace first caught sight of the slave whose mere existence would bring about his first awareness of his own state of bondage when he set down the hill towards town late in the morning. All he really saw at the time was a flash of gold, the high sun glinting off something down in the center of town.
This was unusual, as there weren’t a lot of things that glinted or glimmered like gold in Keeper’s Cove. There was gold, of course, which at least passed through the town in something like a steady stream, but it was mostly kept out of sight as it did so.
The flash was interesting, and even more so in that it drew his attention to what appeared to be a rather large crowd gathering in the square. He picked up his pace. A flash like gold was at the very least a curiosity, but if it was attracting a crowd, it couldn’t help being something of interest.
Jace could have picked his way down the familiar path blindfolded without much difficulty. Now, excited by the promise of a spectacle, he fairly flew down it, not running so much as artfully stumbling. He arrived at the edge of Keeper’s Cove at a dead run, sailing right past a fat old drunk who yelled, “Where’s the fire?” and proceeded to laugh himself into a coughing fit, as if pleased at having given the world some fine new piece of wit.
Jace barely registered the old fool. Too, he barely registered the sudden, surprisingly wall-like crowd of people’s backs in front of him. As motley as the town’s buildings were in their construction, the appearance of its inhabitants and frequent visitors was a close match. Garments that had once been fine and probably well-cared for by their original owners hung ostentatiously alongside shirts made from sailcloth and vests made from old leather on bodies of every shape and size… furry, feathered, smooth, and scaled.
Unfortunately for Jace, enough of those bodies were of a size considerably taller than himself that he couldn’t see over the crowd, and they extended far enough back from the center of attention–which he could now tell was the auction stage–that he couldn’t see anything of what they were staring at except for a few brief glimpses of what might have been the top of a gold-white head.
He cast about for a better vantage point. The buildings around the square were older, taller, and somewhat less hastily constructed than those on the outskirts of town. The nearest one, a two story boarding house, actually had a brick chimney. The bricks were somewhat rough, as well as old and worn, but that was all to his advantage in finding finger and toeholds as he shimmied up to the roof. Reaching the peak, he sat down and let himself slide down the sloping surface, bracing his feet against a small lip just before the gutter to keep from going over the edge. A small avalanche of pebble-like flakes from the aging clay shingles and other debris clattered against the rusty drain pipe, some going over the edge.
“What the deuce?” an affronted tone said from a balcony below. The voice sounded pompous and blustery, but that might just have been because its owner had just been showered with dust.
Jace held his breath, considering his options. If he tried to skirt back up the roof, he’d certainly bring more dust down upon the man’s head… and considerable trouble down on his own.
“Sea birds,” another voice said. It was a cultured voice, but it struck the rather uncultured Jace as oily, almost venomous. “You can’t keep them off of anything here.”
To Jace’s relief, the first man seemd to accept the explanation, and he relaxed. He remembered his purpose in making the reckless climb, and focused his attention on the stage. At the same time as he took in the sight of the tall, willowy figure who’d been put on display, he heard the first man say, “She isn’t really a princess, then, is she?”
Somehow, the words helped put what Jace was seeing into context: she was a princess, or at least, she should have been. She was just that beautiful… tall, with large, sad eyes and covered in brilliant alabaster feathers with golden yellow highlights. There was no mistaking the feathers. Her face and most of her body looked downy, smooth, but the ruffles on her arms were obvious even at a distance. She turned her head to the side, and Jace saw that she had a crest of larger feathers sweeping backwards from the back of her head, where some of the smooth-skinned folks had longer hair. This crown-like plumage was fairly streaked with gold, and that had been responsible for producing a flash visible all the way up the hill.
Of course she was a princess, and that was why the whole town had turned out to see her.
“Well, of course she bally well isn’t,” the smooth voice said in response to the first. “Do you think they would have just let her fall like that, if she had been? Do you think nobody would have come looking for her?”
“No… no, I suppose you’re right,” the first man said. He chuckled. “I don’t think a bit of exaggeration will hurt the price, though.”
Once again, the words gave new context to the scene, and Jace noticed for the first time the heavy collar, the ankle irons, and the chains that joined them. How had he missed them? She was up on the auction stage. Of course, she didn’t look like any slave Jace had ever seen. She didn’t look like any person he’d ever seen, either, but she didn’t look like a slave.
Most of the slaves Jace had seen looked miserable. She simply looked sad, and somehow that seemed worse to Jace. Misery was a slave’s life. Sadness was something that happened. A slave’s slavery simply was. This young woman, this feathered princess, was a tragedy.
Slaves had their lot in life, Jace knew, but their lot wasn’t hers. She’d fallen, the man had said. She didn’t belong on the auction stage, bound in irons. It was intolerable to see her treated thusly, and in the simple act of realizing this, Jace made the decision to do something about it.
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