“Heh heh, no, not at all. Just talking.”

“My brother Hari got arrested and taken away for ‘just talking.’ ”

“Sorry to speak of it. My apologies, Master Mei, for reminding you of your family’s ill fortune. Any news of your daughter, eh? I hear talk from my wife that maybe now the girl is old enough, a marriage may be arranged. We have a good, strong son, sure to inherit the business. If you are interested, come talk.”

The master grunted irritably. “I do not speak of my daughters out on the street.”

“My apologies. My apologies.”

They walked on.

The sandaled companion said, “Brother, Firah has much coin and a good vineyard.”

“Not for my orchid.”

“True. True. We can do better for her.”

“She is too young for marriage!”

“Heh, Brother! She is old enough, fifteen now. Plenty old. And maybe we can offer that teakettle as part of the bargain.”

The master’s voice was his whip. “Enough!”

“Pardon, Brother. Pardon. I mean no disrespect. So, eh, ah. Is the slave a pretty one?”

“It is a slave.”

“I hope it was cheap. He’ll damage it soon enough.”

“Maybe not this one.”

After more turns, they walked under a gate into a dusty courtyard that smelled of dusty water and dusty leaves.

“Take it into the storehouse,” the master said.

He went away. The barefoot one led her into a building. As soon as they walked into the dim confines she began to shake, for here exactly were cribs like the cells of the brothel. She was afraid to cry, because crying got her whipped. They walked to the end of the corridor and into a room with a window onto another courtyard shining so brightly green that the colors made her eyes hurt. A fountain splashed, moisture tickled her nose. She clutched the cloth tightly around her head, but kept a slit open toward the window so she could see the beautiful green foliage and the flowers, orange and white and pink, nestled along the branches. Four young children played beside the fountain; a woman seated on a stool nearby mended clothing.

The door opened.

“Look it over,” said the master. “You’ll see why I bought it.”

A hand tugged on the cloth, and she released it and cringed as she saw five people staring at her: the master and another man who looked enough like him to be his brother, two women, and a huge barefoot man. All but the master made warding signs.

The two women were likely cousins or sisters. They stared at her for a long time, then looked at each other, as sisters and cousins will, sharing stories in the tilt of a head and the shift of a mouth and the way an eyebrow lifts. Then they looked at the master and his brother, at the stiff way the men were standing.

The older of the women said, “Mountain, take its clothing off. I don’t want to touch it.”

Reluctantly, the big man minced forward and began the difficult task of removing her clothing without actually touching her.