The mercenary ship docked just after dawn in the bustling seaport of Bandar. Though the city itself was just waking and opening another business day, activity on the dock went on at all hours. The vessel docked across from two heavily laden cargo ships hauling textiles from the far east. Long trains of dock workers grunted under the heavy bundles as foremen cursed about schedules and lost wages. The two warriors were barely visible in the crush of humans and demi-humans that were scrambling frantically between the docked vessels and the rows of warehouses that separated the shore from the market area.
"By the gods, I've never been in a place so confusing! And the smell!" Milan urged Xena to get them far away from a fishmonger's cart that had collided with one carrying pickled animal parts. The shouts were coming loud and furious in two different languages.
Xena ignored Milan's queasy voice as she scanned the piers. She found the yellow sails that marked the slave ships, which were docked at the southernmost pier. As they neared the end of the pier, the crown thinned out. Xena dragged Milan into a side alley that doubled as an open sewer.
"The ones in the red turbans and black pants are the harbor patrol. Avoid them at all costs. Most of them are drawing pay from the Assassin's Guild. Also stay clear of the ones wearing bright yellow, those are the slavers."
They picked their way to the adjacent street, which was crowded with spice vendors. The curving route led them to the market yard. It was several acres wide and jammed with stalls and carts bearing goods from all corners of the world. The air was thick with smoke from cooking fires and smoking dens as well as flies attracted by food and animal droppings.
"There," Xena nodded to a row of long buildings with high windows. "Those are the slave pens. We have to enter near the far side to be close to the slave girls' market."
The auction yard was a covered area several hundred feet wide. The area in front of the pen for women awaiting auction was crowded with shouting and whistling men. Xena abandoned any thought of getting close right now. They could wait until the first round of bidding ended. By then the first wave of girls bound for the brothels would be leaving, with a surge of eager customers behind it.
Xena did stroll past the opposite end of the auction stand, where last-minute inspections and subsequent haggling was taking place. New owners were vigorously wiping off makeup used to conceal scars and blemishes or probing and sniffing genitals for disease, while the wholesalers dutifully feigned surprise.
Milan gaped as he stared at a roped off area where a masked stud was systematically deflowering a line of women, since, by law, virgins could not be sold for prostitution. Here and there, a bidder whispered to a guard and passed a handful of coins while a cohort discretely escorted a girl out of line.
"Why buy when you can just borrow, sweetmeat?" Milan turned to his side to see a woman in dark robes. She pulled aside the hem to reveal one of her long legs and her dusky bush. She opened her robe farther and revealed bare breasts the size of melons. "Only a day's wage, and you don't have to take care of me afterwards."
She pressed her case by running her hands up his legs as she grinned lasciviously. She gave him a playful squeeze and whispered an offer in his ear. Xena's hand shot between them and drew the working prostitute into a swift backhand slap. The harlot fell heavily on her ass, dropping Milan's coin pouch on impact. She glared at Xena, then bolted off.
"If I remember correctly, you told me the princess was a blonde."
"Just admiring the scenery, mistress." Milan protested.
"Give me a break, ranger. She had a harelip."
Xena's lying, Milan thought. Even she wasn't looking at her face.
"The princess and her handmaidens are nowhere around here. Small wonder. What do we do next?" Milan asked.
"It looks like I get to visit some old acquaintances," she said. The expression on her face told that the experience would be less than pleasant.
"Welcome back, Warrior Princess," greeted the man in rich, midnight blue robes. He wore his dark hair long and had a short goatee. A ring of gold adorned his nose and an elaborate pendant fastened his cloak. "How long has it been, one month, two...?"
"Four years, Senguro," Xena scowled at two bodyguards that towered over her. They smiled warmly and fingered the hilts of their scimitars.
"That long, eh? Where does the time go? I hope you've come back to take me up on my dinner invitation."
"Not this time, Soft-Hand," Xena softened her face and smiled, but her hand was casually resting on her hip now, near the stiletto. "I came to ask about the slavers who are selling western women."
"Such information is hard to come by, mistress," Senguro was loosing interest already. "What makes you think I know anything about it?"
"A gold ring with an bloodstone lozenge set in it. The mark of a prime charter master for the Assassin's Guild."
Senguro dropped all cordiality and his thugs promptly gripped the hilts of their weapons. "Who do not brook invasions of their affairs! I could kill you now, Xena, and no one would say a word about it!"
"No, you couldn't, Senguro, because you're the last person who can afford to call the attention of the Guild Master upon himself. How much have you been holding back this year, Soft-Hand? Three percent? Ten percent?"
"I would never cross the Guild! No one who's smart ever does!"
"And I'm the padishah's daughter!" Xena grinned mockingly.
Senguro waved his guards to stand easy. "You're going to be the end of me, Xena. All this, for a few lousy moments in North Haven."
"Most men would kill for that chance, Soft-Hand. Some have," Xena huffed, but they both knew it wasn't an idle boast.
"I know," Senguro said pleasantly. "So what is it you require? The name attached to a poisoned blade? A head to ease a grieving widow's heart?"
