“Well . . . I’ll get better at it. And it’s more fun than begging. You ought to see how Ziggie goes about it.”
“I’ve seen Ziggie work. He’s skillful.”
“He’s the best!”
“Still, I suppose he could do better with two hands.”
“Well, maybe, though you only use one hand. But he’s teaching me to use either hand.”
“That’s good. You might need to know — some day you might find yourself short one, the way Ziggie is. You know how Ziggie lost his hand?”
“Huh?”
“You know the penalty? If they catch you?”
Thorby did not answer. Baslim went on, “One hand for the first offense — that’s what it cost Ziggie to learn his trade. Oh, he’s good, for he’s still around and plying his trade. You know what the second offense carries? Not just the other hand. You know?”
Thorby gulped. “I’m not sure.”
“I think you must have heard; you don’t want to remember.” Baslim drew his thumb across his throat. “That’s what Ziggie gets next time — they shorten him. His Serenity’s justices figure that a boy who can’t learn once won’t learn twice, so they shorten him.”
“But, Pop, I won’t be caught! I’ll be awful careful . . . just like today. I promise!”
Baslim sighed. The kid still believed that it couldn’t happen to him. “Thorby, get your bill of sale.”
“What for, Pop?”
“Get it.”
The boy fetched it; Baslim examined it — “one male child, registered number (left thigh) 8XK40367” — nine minims and get out of here, you! He looked at Thorby and noted with surprise that he was a head taller than he had been that day. “Get my stylus. I’m going to free you. I’ve always meant to, but there didn’t seem to be any hurry. But we’ll do it now and tomorrow you go to the Royal Archives and register it.”
Thorby’s jaw dropped. “What for, Pop?”
“Don’t you want to be free?”
“Uh . . . well . . . Pop, I like belonging to you.”
“Thanks, lad. But I’ve got to do it.”
“You mean you’re kicking me out?”
“No. You can stay. But only as a freedman. You see, son, a master is responsible for his bondservant. If I were a noble and you did something, I’d be fined. But since I’m not . . . well, if I were shy a hand, as well as a leg and an eye, I don’t think I could manage. So if you’re going to learn Ziggie’s trade, I had better free you; I can’t afford the risk. You’ll have to take your own chances; I’ve lost too much already. Any more and I’d be better off shortened.”
He put it brutally, never mentioning that the law in application was rarely so severe — in practice, the slave was confiscated, sold, and his price used in restitution, if the master had no assets. If the master were a commoner, he might also get a flogging if the judge believed him to be actually as well as legally responsible for the slave’s misdeed. Nevertheless Baslim had stated the law: since a master exercised high and low justice over a slave, he was therefore liable in his own person for his slave’s acts, even to capital punishment.
Thorby started to sob, for the first time since the beginning of their relationship. “Don’t turn me loose. Pop — please don’t! I’ve got to belong to you”
“I’m sorry, son. I told you you don’t have to go away.”
“Please, Pop. I won’t ever swipe another thing!”
Baslim took his shoulder. “Look at me, Thorby. I’ll make you a bargain.”
“Huh? Anything you say. Pop. As long as — ”
“Wait till you hear it. I won’t sign your papers now. But I want you to promise two things.”
“Huh? Sure! What?”
“Don’t rush. The first is that you promise never again to steal anything, from anybody. Neither from fine ladies in sedan chairs, nor from poor people like ourselves — one is too dangerous and the other . . . well, it’s disgraceful, though I don’t expect you know what that means. The second is to promise that you will never lie to me about anything . . . not anything.”