The agent of the Cult of the Deep Dark pulled the dead slave girl’s hand over her face.
The ox cart’s floorboards transmitted the shocks from every rut into her outstretched body. She kept her tongue behind her teeth so she would not bite it by accident.
Lying over her were dead slaves. The cart sank on one side into a puddle. Water splashed, and a dead girl's head flopped to the side - and faced the agent. The corpse had dirty blonde hair. High cheekbones and an oval face marked what had been a striking appearance in life. Brown eyes stared unseeing at the agent. They had crow’s feet wrinkles at the corners; she'd survived to her fortieth year. Black bruises on her throat showed how she had been culled—a quick snap.
The agent had heard several of those snaps that day. After each, another body was tossed into the cart with her.
She peeked through the dead girl’s fingers at the only other warm bodies in the butcher’s cart. They were three men. One was gangly. He held a length of twine with sections marked off along it. He held to a corpse’s leg and measured it.
"Good tendons in this one," he said, then rolling the dead girl against the side of the cart. Two good bowstrings out of those."
Across from him sat a small man. Beside the short man was a small stack of bronze and iron collars. Sparks flew as he hammered an iron pick into a corpse’s collar. He made two more strikes and its lock broke. He tore the collar off the body and added it to his stack.
The last man was a giant. He sat in the front, driving the cart.
"How is our guest?" He asked without looking back.
The small one looked at the agent and saw her peeping at him through the dead girl’s fingers. He smiled at her.
"Well hidden," he replied the giant. "I've not seen her move even once."
The cart rounded a corner and came to a creaking stop.
"Alright," said the giant. "We are here."
There was a thump as the giant climbed from the cart and landed in the street.
"You're not due today," the agent heard a new voice say. "There's no one here to help you!"
"Then you'll have to help me, Friend," said the giant. "I was told to come and pick up a corpse. Late Landing Sickness."
"Well, I wasn't told." Said the other voice.
"You'll have to tell that to the meat, then. I won't take it if it’s spoiled. We will wait here."
"Can't you come again tomorrow?"
There was a pause.
“I won't take it if it’s spoiled. If you waste my time, then you can tell Kuros why Gudea the Butcher won’t come anymore. Or any of the butchers.”
"Alright, alright, Dagon’s dripping dick!"
"Hurry. Please. We have skinning to do."
There was a silence. The agent looked up; both the small and the gangly man was staring in the direction of the conversation.
"Now!" she heard the giant say.
The agent shoved her way out of the dead bodies and jumped out of the cart.
All she wore was a common, iron collar. Dark green and black tattoos praising the fish god Dagon stood out against her pale skin.
The ox cart had stopped inside a large, open yard. A small guard hut stood vacant; a small brazier stood burning beside it. Across the yard was a long, low warehouse built of adobe and stone. A pair of wooden gates opened into it. A man passed through them, disappearing into the building.
"That's the only way in," said the giant.
The agent took off, crossing the yard as fast as a big cat predator. She cleared it and entered the warehouse. It was dimly lit; she crouched and followed after the guard. Her bare feet made no sound against the stone floor.
The sound of men talking came from an open doorway. Empty wine amphorae had been placed outside it. The guard walked past it. As he did, the men inside called out greetings to him. He waved without looking and disappeared down the corridor.
The agent froze: she couldn't cross that open doorway and be seen. She crept up to it, crouched down, and listened.
"I see your Lazeen," said a voice. "and I raise you Astrina."
"Which one is that?" Asked a second voice.
"That girl I put the nipple rings on last week."
"Oh, she's a good one. I'll see your Astrina and raise you that fresh blonde with the red triangle tattoo on her neck.”
"Belled Pet," said a third voice. There were murmurs of assent.
"No," said the second voice. "Gerard has had his eye on her. If we say she is ill, he might come looking. Pick another."
"Fine. There's a tall one in Vault Two. Black hair, grey eyes. Good to chase around the room."
"Good, let's have her then."
There was the sound of rustling as bone tiles were placed and sorted on a table.
"Arad, don't you have work?" Asked the first voice.
"No," answered Arad, the second voice. "We worked through the night and into the morning. Vault Three has been cleared."
Vault Three.
"The new girls won't be coming until the evening," said the first voice. There was more rattling of bone tokens.
The agent regarded the empty wine amphorae outside the room. She picked one up with both hands.
"I've got other things to do today," said Arad. "I need to see the apothecary. Shall we show?"
"Show," said the first voice.
"Show," said the third.
A moment later they groaned while Arad cheered.
"Ha! Three beauties getting marked ‘sick’ today! I look forward to ‘treating’ them!”
The agent held the amphora against her chest, stood, and walked past the open doorway. She looked down, her manner was unhurried.
The men played on, ignoring her.
Flanking the corridor were six large, wooden doors. Heavy beams barred them - from the outside. Runes were painted on the doors. The door marked "Three" was open.
The agent set the amphora down and stepped into the vault.
It was a large, open-plan chamber. Wooden posts had been set into its floor in five, neat rows. Each post had an iron chain attached. The agent entered and crossed the room. She stopped at a wooden post near the center. On one knee, she examined its attached chain. It had been piled by the side in neat loops. At the end of the chain was a simple fastener that could be clipped onto most collars.
She took the fastener with both hands, fitted it into place around her collar, and squeezed it shut.
There was a loud Clack! that echoed. She froze and looked back over her shoulder.
No one came.
She gave the chain a tug - it was secure. Only a key would open it now.
The agent settled down on the hard, stone floor, smiled at her own success, and went to sleep.
***
Six hours later
"Move, sluts!" A whip cracked.
The agent sat back on her heels, thighs apart, hands planted on the floor. This made her lean forward, her back at a 45° angle. She had, in her preparation, noticed men found this pleasing. She had practiced it, taking care to show off her crotch.
A rustling of chains came down the corridor outside. There was another whip crack, louder this time. A girl cried out.
"Vault Three, yes?" She heard a man say.
"No, it was changed. There are too many for Three. These are going downstairs, into to the main vault."
The main vault?
In that moment, she saw the two speakers walk past the entrance. Both had whips drawn. Behind them, in a clinking coffle, came a mix of thirty naked slaves. They were chained from one girl’s collar to the next’s. Each had their wrists cuffed behind their backs and short chains between their ankles. Their irons rattled, the sound echoing in the corridor.
"Masters!" The agent called out.
The sound of the rattling chains filled the corridor, echoing.
"Masters! I have been left behind!" The agent tried to stand. The chain went taut and snapped her back.
She called out a third time.
Nothing. The rattling began to recede.
Her small fingers went to the fastener, and she tried to pry it off. She failed as thirty thousand years of Hyperborean females had, before her.
***
Late that night
"What are you doing here?"
The agent opened her eyes.
Standing over her was a guard, the same one Gudea had tricked to allow her infiltration. His expression seemed one of complete surprise.
The agent remembered where she was. She got to her knees, thighs wide apart, hands planted on the floor.
"Master," she began, speaking through parched lips, "I do not know."
The guard shook his head.
"Typical, whip monkey idiots. They can sort you out in the morning." He turned to leave.
"Arad brought me here. I am supposed to be sick today."
The guard stopped and turned.
"Why didn't you say so?"
"I was told not to tell."
"Idiot girl."
The guard produced a pair of cuffs. He pulled her wrists behind her back and snapped them on. With a key, he unlocked the fastener fitted to her collar. The chain fell to the floor.
"Thank you, Master," said the agent.
His answer was to produce his own chain and leash her with it, instead.
“Come, Meat,” he tugged on the leash and it, yanking the agent's head forward. He left the vault, leading her behind him.
***
Arad’s Chambers
"Oi, you pig! You miss this one!"
It was a small room. Blue-black smoke filled it, dulling the light from the fireplace. There was a strong aroma of charcoal mixed with cinnamon. It was the scent of narcotic, crimson lotus. Sitting on a bed, naked, was a man with dark unibrow. He was inhaling blue-black smoke rising up from an incense burner. The smoke stung at the agent’s eyes.
Kneeling before the bed, their wrists and ankles bound, were three naked girls. Two were blondes, one with a red triangle tattoo on her throat, the other wearing nipple rings. The third girl had dark hair and grey eyes.
The man and the slaves turned to look at the interlopers. Their eyes were glazed.
The agent felt the guard’s hand on her shoulder. He forced her down to her knees, then, with the boot between her shoulder blades, to the floor. Then, he turned and left.
She looked up. The naked man was staring at her.
She began licking his feet.
The man turned back to the incense burner, his eyes miles away.
She was in, thought the agent, smiling to herself. Glory to Azathoth!