“I know you’re up there, Scarecrow,” said a parched voice from down below, not loudly, but loud enough. “Probably with a rendering you swiped from the Raiders. You’re in trouble, kid. The life of a slave ain’t no picnic, but the life of a runaway is much worse. At least be man enough to face me. What am I gonna do? Fly?”
Cole hesitated. Ansel had just confirmed that he specifically recognized him. Could anything be gained by talking with the slaver, now that escape was in reach? Ansel thought Cole was a runaway. If Cole explained himself, was there a chance the slaver would leave him alone?
Jenna came to mind. So did Dalton. Ansel might have information about where they had been sent. Was there any way he would cough up some details? Cole doubted he would get many opportunities to speak to somebody with direct knowledge of what had happened to his friends.
Cole peered down to find Ansel looking up. He had a satchel over one shoulder, but his hands were empty. The slaver gave a nod. “That’s right. Nothing to prevent us from having some words. How’d you end up here, Scarecrow?”
“Adam Jones let me go,” Cole said. “I’m free.”
“You have your papers?”
Cole had no such papers and didn’t want to show Ansel that his slavemark had been shaped into a freemark. That would only make the slaver more curious. “No papers. But you’re welcome to check with Mr. Jones. I didn’t run away.”
“Hasn’t been many weeks since I sold you to the Raiders, Scarecrow. They free their own from time to time, but that takes years, not weeks. And they would give you proof of your freedom.”
Adam Jones had helped Cole, Jace, Twitch, and Mira escape Skyport when the legion came looking for Mira. By issuing a command in code, he had his men slow down the legionnaires while Cole and his friends got away. But if pressed, Cole figured Adam would call him a runaway in order to keep up appearances. “Why do you care?”
Ansel turned his head and spat. “Have we been introduced? Slaves are my trade, Scarecrow. I’d turn in a runaway on principle, especially one I sold, and that’s ignoring the reward.”
Cole knew he could end this conversation. He just needed to take off across the rooftops. But he didn’t relish the idea of Ansel scouring the town for him. If his fellow slavers were also in town, it could end up causing serious trouble. And what about Dalton and Jenna?
Should he show Ansel the freemark? Would that evidence satisfy him? At this distance, Ansel might assume it was a trick. Even if the slaver could examine the legitimacy of the mark, the impossible change might only heighten his interest.
Cole bit his lip. No matter what else he tried, he needed to fish for information about the other slaves. This man might have all the answers he needed!
“What about my friends?” Cole asked. “Do you know where they ended up?”
“We sold the lot of them,” Ansel said. “Are you still trying to rescue them? I can sometimes admire stubbornness. But not stupidity.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“All the deals go through me,” he said.
“One of my friends is named Dalton. You remember him?”
“You showed special interest in Dalton and another called Jenna,” Ansel said. “They both went to Junction. That was temporary. They’re long gone. They’ve been sent out across the five kingdoms by now.”
Cole heard a creak behind him. Whirling, he saw a balding, beefy slaver coming up to the roof through a hatch. It was Ham, who had greeted him in the basement spook alley back in Arizona.
For a moment, Cole stood frozen with surprise. If not for the faint sound of the hatch opening, he would have been blindsided and captured. Glowering, Ham rushed toward Cole. Pointing his sword to the roof across the alley, Cole gave the command and leaped across. The slaver dashed to the edge of the building, then eyed the gap, as if considering a jump.
“Send him away or I’m gone!” Cole called, ready to make a longer leap.
“Come back down, Ham,” Ansel growled.
Ham retreated and disappeared down the hatch.
“Now I see why you were so talkative,” Cole said.
“I do what I can,” Ansel said. “Might as well come down too, Scarecrow. That sword may let you fly, but once I’m on your trail, it’s only a matter of time.”
“Don’t bother,” Cole said. “I’m free.” He showed Ansel the back of his hand.
Ansel frowned up at him for a long moment. Reaching into his satchel, he withdrew a spyglass. He held it up to an eye, focused briefly, then lowered it. “That looks pretty good from here. How’d you manage it?”
“I told you, Adam Jones freed me. He had some guy he knew change the mark. That’s why I don’t have papers.” Though bending the truth, Cole was trying not to stray too far from what actually happened.
“What guy?” Ansel challenged. “I’ve heard of some needle masters adjusting bondmarks after slaves are set free. But nobody can erase one and replace it with a freemark.”
“This guy could,” Cole said.
“Why would Adam Jones do a thing like that for a new slave?”
“I saved some lives, including his.” This wasn’t exactly true either, but Cole was trying to stay in the same neighborhood as the truth. After all, he had saved Mira.
“You’re a liar,” Ansel said. “There’s a lot more to this story.”
“I’m free,” Cole said. “Leave me alone, or I’ll tell the authorities.”
Now Ansel grinned. Even from five stories away, the expression made Cole want to run and hide. Ansel removed his sickle from his satchel. “The authorities? Tell you what, Scarecrow. I’m a man of my word. You come down here, let me have a look at that freemark, and I promise not to harm you. We’ll straighten things out between you, Adam Jones, and the authorities. If they agree that you’re free, I’ll pay you handsomely for the trouble. Run, and I’ll find you, hack off that hand with the phony mark, burn it, and drag you back to the Sky Raiders in chains. Choice is yours.”
“How about option three?” Cole asked. “You already wrecked my life and the lives of my friends. How about you find some new slaves to pick on?”
“Not gonna happen, Scarecrow.”
“You might end up chasing me for years,” Cole said.
“Not likely,” Ansel replied. “If so, I can afford it. The trick is living within your means. You stash away a little here, a little there. Go ahead, run off, and I’ll accept it as your admission of guilt.”