Virginia Pear lost track of time. It seemed like weeks since she had been snatched from the village with all of its people, bound in rope, and forced to endure a long journey by boat from the top deck, though she felt even worse for the Africans being kept below deck, knowing that they would almost certainly face a life of utter servitude in the ownership of the highest bidder. Frustrated by her own inabilities, both to help the people she had sworn to protect and discern which day of the week it now was, Virginia sulked in the room she had been given. It was a fine place, with plush furniture, intricately shaped pottery, and silk draperies that adorned the bed and windows, outside of which lay a bustling, busy town with the strong odor of mingled perfumes and spices. This, all along, had been Whelp's ultimate destination, a port called Zanzibar.
"The west is becoming an increasingly unwelcome place for men in my particular vocation," he had explained, "but the east--ah, the east!--is the gateway to the Arab world. Among the great Turks and in more distant reaches of the Orient, slaves are still fine commodities and worth their weight in barter."
Not long after arriving and procuring this particular room, which was under scrutinous guard at all times by no fewer than two of his men, Whelp made a point of venturing to the market, the heart of Zanzibar, and returning with several fineries for her presumed pleasure, but Virginia found no happiness in the soft, welcoming dresses. In their fabrics, she saw only the colors of blood and gold, yet she was forced to wear them, as if Whelp could force her to enjoy such a moment. Even as she sulked, she wore one, unwilling to take what comfort it afforded. She saw it all as an effort to buy her soul, a simple trade of the pious life to which she was once so devoted for a life of luxury, and that was all that it was. In Whelp she saw no romantic intention, no true evidence that he wanted her in any shape or form. He wanted only to see the gleeful smile on her face as she finally gave into the greed that lies in wait in the heart of every man and woman, a force that sometimes must be cajoled, if only to illuminate her own hypocrisy, but Virginia Pear was a strong woman, both in faith and mind, and was not so easily swayed.
Thus came the day that Whelp had been anxiously awaiting: the day that his newly acquired slaves were to be marketed, and as he milled through the busy streets, his body practically vibrated with excitement, imagining the amount he would make on the giant alone. Already, he'd had several whispered offers, all of which he immediately rejected with demeaning laughter, though he had heard rumors of others with interest and far greater things to offer than silk and spice. First, however, he meant to collect Virginia, so that she could be there to see all her hard work sold off for mere coin. It wasn't exactly that Edward Whelp was a cruel man--he was, honestly, nothing more than a spiteful man who abhorred the notion that he was inherently evil. When he finally reached her room, retrieving her with a wide grin on his face, she went solemnly with him, her mouth firmly shut and tongue stilled.
It was then, as they made their way back toward the market, that Whelp was approached by one of his own men, a tall brute he knew only as Higgins, who bent low, cupping his hand to Whelp's ear and whispering in confidence.
"There's a man who'd like to make you an offer," he said.
"Is that so? I imagine there are many men in his position. Tell him he can make a public offer like the rest of them."
"He said you might say that. He also said that he can offer you something far greater than the rest of them."
"Did he? Well, now I'm intrigued. Did he happen to mention exactly what this offer is?"
"No."
"Well, do you have a name? A description? Anything?"
"Well, that's the thing. See, he's an Englishman."
"An Englishman? Here?" Whelp's eyes went wide, and his lower lip began to quiver ever so slightly. Virginia, listening in on the otherwise private conversation, smiled smugly.
"No," said Whelp. "It can't be. Tell me it wasn't Huxley."
"I can't say for sure, sir. Never saw him rightly back in the jungle. He did, though, say to give you this."
Higgins opened a meaty paw, and tucked in the crevices of his palm was a small, dark jewel. Whelp swiped it quickly and held it up to the light, admiring the black clouds frozen beneath the hard surface of the gem.
"My God, what is this? It looks like a black diamond," Whelp remarked. "Is there such a thing? There must be. After all, here it is."
"He said this one's for you no matter what, and that there's a whole lot more where it came from."
"Well, then, Mr. Higgins, why don't you go find our new friend? I believe we have some business to discuss."
"The west is becoming an increasingly unwelcome place for men in my particular vocation," he had explained, "but the east--ah, the east!--is the gateway to the Arab world. Among the great Turks and in more distant reaches of the Orient, slaves are still fine commodities and worth their weight in barter."
Not long after arriving and procuring this particular room, which was under scrutinous guard at all times by no fewer than two of his men, Whelp made a point of venturing to the market, the heart of Zanzibar, and returning with several fineries for her presumed pleasure, but Virginia found no happiness in the soft, welcoming dresses. In their fabrics, she saw only the colors of blood and gold, yet she was forced to wear them, as if Whelp could force her to enjoy such a moment. Even as she sulked, she wore one, unwilling to take what comfort it afforded. She saw it all as an effort to buy her soul, a simple trade of the pious life to which she was once so devoted for a life of luxury, and that was all that it was. In Whelp she saw no romantic intention, no true evidence that he wanted her in any shape or form. He wanted only to see the gleeful smile on her face as she finally gave into the greed that lies in wait in the heart of every man and woman, a force that sometimes must be cajoled, if only to illuminate her own hypocrisy, but Virginia Pear was a strong woman, both in faith and mind, and was not so easily swayed.
Thus came the day that Whelp had been anxiously awaiting: the day that his newly acquired slaves were to be marketed, and as he milled through the busy streets, his body practically vibrated with excitement, imagining the amount he would make on the giant alone. Already, he'd had several whispered offers, all of which he immediately rejected with demeaning laughter, though he had heard rumors of others with interest and far greater things to offer than silk and spice. First, however, he meant to collect Virginia, so that she could be there to see all her hard work sold off for mere coin. It wasn't exactly that Edward Whelp was a cruel man--he was, honestly, nothing more than a spiteful man who abhorred the notion that he was inherently evil. When he finally reached her room, retrieving her with a wide grin on his face, she went solemnly with him, her mouth firmly shut and tongue stilled.
It was then, as they made their way back toward the market, that Whelp was approached by one of his own men, a tall brute he knew only as Higgins, who bent low, cupping his hand to Whelp's ear and whispering in confidence.
"There's a man who'd like to make you an offer," he said.
"Is that so? I imagine there are many men in his position. Tell him he can make a public offer like the rest of them."
"He said you might say that. He also said that he can offer you something far greater than the rest of them."
"Did he? Well, now I'm intrigued. Did he happen to mention exactly what this offer is?"
"No."
"Well, do you have a name? A description? Anything?"
"Well, that's the thing. See, he's an Englishman."
"An Englishman? Here?" Whelp's eyes went wide, and his lower lip began to quiver ever so slightly. Virginia, listening in on the otherwise private conversation, smiled smugly.
"No," said Whelp. "It can't be. Tell me it wasn't Huxley."
"I can't say for sure, sir. Never saw him rightly back in the jungle. He did, though, say to give you this."
Higgins opened a meaty paw, and tucked in the crevices of his palm was a small, dark jewel. Whelp swiped it quickly and held it up to the light, admiring the black clouds frozen beneath the hard surface of the gem.
"My God, what is this? It looks like a black diamond," Whelp remarked. "Is there such a thing? There must be. After all, here it is."
"He said this one's for you no matter what, and that there's a whole lot more where it came from."
"Well, then, Mr. Higgins, why don't you go find our new friend? I believe we have some business to discuss."
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