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To Market to Market_by_Onyx Tao

[© 2007 by Onyx Tao](%5C)

[Some rights are available to this story. This story is licensed with the Creative Commons](%5C)

[Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.5 License](%5C)

_ Author's Note: This is the first of two versions of these events. Whereas this story has the point of view of dog-Colonel Erik,the other one_is described from the viewpoint of Bosc. The events described are identical.

"Dog-sir! Please Dog-sir! I know you're looking for something, Dog-sir!" The voice that caught Dog-colonel Erik's attention was high-pitched, and surprisingly calm for such a plaint. "You must be, Dog-sir, to go up and down the stalls. Please, Dog-sir, please look here! That's all I ask! Just ... consider me, Dog-sir, maybe I'm wrong, Dog-sir, but please, just look!"

The dog-market in Greenthorpe was, at least today, pretty sparse, Erik had to admit to himself. He was trying to buy servants for his master's estate - his master being the Governor of South Carolina, Lion Jolnir, and the estate being a residence for his Consort-fifth, the Lioness Beatrice. Unfortunately for dog-Colonel Erik, setting up a house was not even remotely like organizing a militia battalion. The Residence itself had to be ready for the social requirements of a lion - and not just any lion, but the Governor. The Lioness's quarters, thankfully, would be furnished by her servants, and Jolnir had assured dog-Colonel Erik that Beatrice's staff would assist with setting up the house itself. At present, however, due to what might charitably be called poor planning, the estate contained him, a twenty-dog brigade (all cachalox dogs, rather than torkower, thank goodness) and the Dog-colonel himself. Erik called it a disaster, but, then, that disaster was_also_ responsible for his current rank and position.

The speaker was a male fox, in a fairly large cage, with a matted coat and tail. His eyes looked bright, though. Cages like that usually held five or six foxes, or maybe one or two larger dogs. There weren't many foxes on sale here today, nor even anything other than torkower dogs - Erik had hoped for some abbinate or dulax, but South Carolina was particularly proud of the long-haired torkower breed. Since they had to be clipped very short to endure the heat and humidity, it seemed a poor choice when compared to a short-haired breed such as Erik (who was cachalox), but, there it was, and there wasn't anything he could do about short of scheduling a trip up to Raleigh for the huge dog market there to get what he wanted. Raleigh, though, would be a three-day trip and the Lioness was due to arrive - soon, and the last thing Dog-colonel Erik wanted was for his mistress to be greeted by a dog-sergeant.

On the other hand, having the Lioness arrive at an residence with no kitchen staff, or gardening staff, or anything other than a few dog-soldiers - however well trained those dog-soldiers might be - was close second on his list of last things he wanted. The fox had gotten one thing right: Eric wasn't finding what he wanted. Foxes were attractive, and eager to please, and very often hard workers. On the other hand, foxes were notoriously distractable, and it had happened - Erik could think of a couple of situations in the Florida militia - where a sergeant overseeing foxes had seen them working hard on getting the mess hall ready for a hundred dog-soldiers on a training hike. The sergeant hadn't realized they were_supposed_ to be cooking. A hundred perfectly set up place settings with intricately folded napkins and water, wine, and sherry glasses (although dog-soldiers got water, never liquor) just hadn't been what Erik wanted to see after a thirty-mile hike when there was no stew or bread to go_on_ the hand-painted porcelain dishes. Erik really didn't want to deal with foxes until he had overseers to keep the foxes on task.

He looked over the unimpressive, poorly groomed fox (although, Eric admitted to himself, if he'd been in that cage for any time, it would be hard to keep a coat like that clean. He'd skipped over it at first, because it wasn't immaculate, but it was exactly that long, silky kind of pelt that either was immaculate, or in total disarray. Carrythane, and to a lesser extent, torkower, dogs had similar problems. Added to the sags here and there in his pelt, he didn't look very foxy at all.

"I don't think an old fox is what I'm looking for," Erik said, amused briefly by the fox's determination to sell himself.

"No, dog-sir, I know, dog-sir," the fox said quickly, "everyone wants young foxes, ready to train, dog-sir, but, I see you're an officer, dog-sir, and, do you really have time to train a fox-slave? When you could have one who's already trained, dog-sir? And I know I look awful, not presentable, no, dog-sir, but ten minutes, dog-sir, just ten minutes with a brush and comb, dog-sir, and I'd look so much better!" The fox closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them. "Please dog-sir, wouldn't you rather have a fox who's ready for you, rather than one you have open up? Part of my duties for my last mistress, dog-sir, were keeping her two torkower satisfied. Oh please, surely even a big cachalox like yourself, dog-sir, can't be_too_ much bigger than a torkower!"

"I suppose not," Eric said, trying to keep a straight face. "I'm not shopping for a personal slave, though."

"Do you have one?" the fox asked, sadly, and then, with a look of determination, "are you satisfied with him? With her? Dog-sir? Are your appointments kept? Your laundry cleaned? When you come from your headquarters late to your quarters late, Dog-sir, because you've been working, is there a hot meal for you? Breakfast when you wake? Eggs? Omelets? Well, I actually make pretty lousy omelettes, Dog-sir, but ... I can make any other kinds of eggs! Pancakes? Waffles? Home-made preserves with your waffles, Dog-sir, or freshly whipped cream?"

"No," admitted Erik, "but ..."

"Dog-sir, I know, your fox is just too busy for that, Dog-sir, I don't mean to suggest otherwise, Dog-sir, but maybe ... maybe your fox is overworked? Maybe she needs to be up cooking, and in bed at the same time? He needs to be with you, and still cleaning your quarters? He needs to run errands, but have your sheets and linens ironed?"

"I don't have a fox," said Erik.

"Oh," said the fox. "Dog-sir, maybe ... maybe you need one?" He paused, as he watched Erik considering. "I know I'm just an old crippled fox, Dog-sir, but ... if you spend any time, any time at all, on those chores, time that you'd rather have to attend to your duties Dog-sir, or maybe just grab a few hours of swordwork or sleep, then, maybe you need a fox who can do all those things for you quietly and calmly and bring more order to your life."

Erik was silent, and the almost frantic excitement in the fox drained away. "Well, thank you, Dog-sir, for listening to me. Please, Dog-sir, if you come across anyone who might need a house-slave, please let them know I'm here, Dog-sir. I can do anything in a house, Dog-sir, from scrubbing floors to planning banquets." The fox sat back down on it haunches.

"Planning banquets?"

The fox shrugged. "My mistress gave house-parties for eleven guests. Formal dinners for twelve, Dog-sir. I hired a chef and a couple of kitchen-assistants, and the torkower and I served." He cocked his head. "It was fun, actually. Took us days to clean up, though." He looked up at the dog-Colonel. "Is that of interest, Dog-sir? I wouldn't think an officer would need a butler ..."

"If you were such a success as a butler, why did she sell you?"

The fox sighed. "She died, dog-sir, very young, not fifty, and her children are all in South America. Moved there. I was remanded to the county for sale. But, Dog-sir, I'm not a young fox, I'm not_old_ Dog-sir, no, I'm just fifteen, but ... but I'm not a fresh fox of seven right of the pens. There isn't much market for old foxes, and ... I've already been here for five market days, and I only get seven, Dog-sir."

After that, of course, he'd be put down.

"So, Dog-sir. I can see I've made a mistake," the fox said softly. "What are you looking for, Dog-sir? What do you need?"

Which was an excellent question, Erik reflected. "You're determined, aren't you, fox?"

"Yes, Dog-sir, I am. Are you looking for that, Dog-sir?"

"Actually - yes," admitted Erik. "I am. And I could use someone who knows about tablecloths, and laundry, and home-made preserves, and everything else about running a house."

The fox just looked stunned for a moment. "Oh Dog-sir, I do, I do. I can do that in my sleep. Oh, please, Dog-sir, please let me do that for you, please, Dog-sir, oh, please! I can garden, Dog-sir, if you have a little land, kitchen herbs, roses, oh Dog-sir, I can run a house with my eyes closed, with one paw tied behind my back, ..." the little fox paused suddenly.

"Well, Dog-sir, I mentioned I was a cripple, didn't I?"

Erik nodded.

"I'm lame in my left leg, Dog-sir, hamstrung."

Hamstringing was a penalty for runaways, although it was more common for them just to be put down.

"Not a punishment, Dog-sir," sighed the fox. "An accident, a jaguar kit, learning to stalk and who didn't keep his claws sheathed, all excited about hunting, Dog-sir. But ... everyone thinks it's because I was a runaway. I'm not, Dog-sir, I know there's nowhere to go, Dog-sir, not for a fox."

Not for a dog either, reflected Erik.

"The scar is ragged, Dog-sir, you can see it was done with a claw, and not a sharp knife," the fox continued, "not the way a runaway would be cut, and I'm not gelded, Dog-sir, like a runaway fox would be, either, Dog-sir. It was just an accident. But ... it does mean I'm not very fast, Dog-sir."

"Right," said Erik. "Well ... I'm not really worried about a lame fox running away on me, so ... accident or not, it doesn't matter."

"Thank you, Dog-sir. Are ... are you going to buy me, Dog-sir? I'd be ever so grateful, Dog-sir, really I would." the fox asked, hesitantly. "I'm not very expensive, just ... just the price of the pelt, really, Dog-sir. And maybe ... maybe something to eat, Dog-sir? I ... I haven't eaten today."

"What," said Erik humorously. "Yesterday is too far away for you?"

The fox smiled nervously. "No, Dog-sir, but ... I didn't eat yesterday."

"You've gone two days without food?"

"Three, Dog-sir," the fox said, very quietly. "Tomorrow will be four."

Erik found the cage-slip; the cage itself was 114, and the occupant was listed as 'Bosc, M Fox 16(?) possible discipline problems, $350 (State of S. Ca. benef.) as is' with a veterinary stamp attesting to his general health.

"Discipline problems?" asked Erik.

"The scar, Dog-sir," said Bosc, perking up a bit. "I can show you, Dog-sir, see ..." he turned around, reached to his leg, and parted the fur to show a fairly clean - but slanted - scar. That also showed off the fox's very attractive little rump, Erik noticed The scar might be an accident, but the rump, now,that was purposeful. Still, he couldn't really blame the little fox for doing everything he could to be sold. "It's not what a knife would do, Dog-sir, it isn't," came the slightly muffled voice.

"I see the scar," said Erik, obliquely declining to say whether or not it looked like a claw-wound rather than a knife-wound. "You can turn around now."

"Thank you Dog-sir," Bosc said. "Are ..." he stopped. "I'm sorry, Dog-sir. I already asked." He paused.

"Is there anything else I should know?"

The fox shook his head. "No Dog-sir, I can't think of anything."

Cage 114, along with all the other State remand sales, was handled by Zachariah Lebb, according to a nameplate. A native panther stretched out in a chair, reading a book,Introduction to Basic Complex Analysis. "Panther Lebb?" "Juz Zack'll do fer me," said the cat, without looking up from the book. "Whut cahn Ah .." he looked up, and looked mildly surprised for a moment. "Huh. Well. Gold leaves, colonel? Acanthys leaves, thaht rahght? Don' think Ah've ever seen a dog-Colonel. Hello, Sir."

"Hello, Zack. I'm dog-colonel Erik, South Carolina Militia, and please don't call me 'Sir,' " Erik said. "Dog-colonel or Erik is right. I'm interested in the fox in cage 114."

"Fox. Bosc. Yup," said the panther. "Three-fifty, Dog-colonel. Lessee ..." the panther reached out, snagged a file with a claw, and pulled it over. "Mmmm. Hamstrung. Runaway, although Bosc denies it. Maght be tellin' truth, though, don' know. Says he's fifteen, put down sixteen t'be on t'safe side. Pushy little fella, for certz. Delivered is another five dollars, ya take 'em now, has to be leashed and muzzled 'til he's in your home."

Erik handed over three hundred dollar bills, and a fifty, and another ten. "Nah, thanks," said the panther. "Ah won' take that," leaving the ten on the table. "'Snot raght. Glad someone's buyin him, truth."

"Why?"

"Well, if he didn't sell by tamorrah, Ah'd have to skin him. Ya maght want to get 'im somethang ta eat, Dog-colonel, 'cause when we goin' ta skin 'em, 'e don't get fehd. Pelt comes raght off then, but ..." Zach shrugged. "Seems cruel, but if the pelt's ruined, then that's mah fault, and ... this is a good job, Dog-colonel, 'fer a student. Sit back, study, an' take t'cash when it walks up." Zach handed over a key marked '114' and a leash and muzzle. "Comes with, no extra for't," he said. "Sign here, here, here, and," he flipped a page, "here. Saz you're aware of the problems, you're a free dog or ya got papers - ya got papers?"

"Yes."

"Nah, I don' need t'see em. Ya paid cash. Good 'nuff. State don' care, I don' care. Key. Ya go get the fox, bring t'key back, and I'll have t'papers all made out by then," the panther said, picking the papers back up. "Won' take me more'n five minutes, it won'."

"Thank you," said Erik.

"Ya' welcome," the panther said, setting down the book, and starting to fill out his side of the paperwork. "Be done, soon best t'go get t'fox."

Erik took the key, and walked back to Bosc's cage, curious to see what the fox was doing. He wasn't surprised to see him watching the path in front of his cage carefully, and trying - and failing - to engage an elderly cheetah in conversation. He walked back up to the cage, where Bosc seemed a little surprised to see him.

"Dog-sir! Did you have more questions, Dog-sir?" the fox asked hopefully.

"No," said Erik. "I didn't." He unlocked the cage, handed the muzzle and leash to a stunned and silent Bosc, and waited. "Put them on," he said, after a moment. "It's a requirement of the market that ..."

"You bought me," whispered Bosc, almost prayerfully. "Thank you, Master, thank you" and nimble fox-fingers were already at work untangling the muzzle - it took him barely five seconds before he had the hardware ready, and it was on him and fastened in under a minute. He snapped the leash onto the muzzle's collar, and then almost shyly offered it up to the cachalox.

Dog-colonel Erik walked back through the market, traded the key for the exit paperwork, and headed on out of the market. He stopped for a bowl of soup, and handed it Bosc. The fox looked at it longingly, but simply held it.

"That's for you," Erik said. "I'm not hungry."

"Oh," said Bosc, and then, "You've never had a fox before, have you, Master?"

"No," said Erik. "Why?"

"Because ..." Bosc started, and the fox paused, thinking. Eric was impressed that the fox could sit there with the soup and yet wait. "Master, there are strict rules in the militia, aren't there? About how beds are made, how you address superior officers, how things are supposed to happen, all very formal, yes?"

"There are," Erik said. "Very strict."

"And you'd feel ... just wrong, about doing them some other way, wouldn't you, Master?" Bosc looked up at the cachalox, a bit worried. "It might not be bad to do them differently, but ... it just isn't the way it's done. Wouldn't you?"

"Probably," admitted Erik.

"There are similar rules for house-slaves, and personal slaves, Master," said Bosc quietly. "Am I to be a house-slave, or personal slave?"

"I'm not sure I even know the difference," admitted Eric. "I've never really thought about it before."

"As a personal slave, Master, I am responsible to and for you. I eat off your plate when you're done, I sleep in your rooms, and my highest priority is you. I might have other duties, Master, but ... my Master is my first concern, always." Bosc looked down at the soup. "A house-slave is responsible for the house, and assigned duties by whoever is running the house - a butler, like I was, or a steward, or maybe even a feline. A house-slave might be_assigned_to look after someone, but they might be reassigned to some other duty, as well.

"Master, I would like to be yours, your personal slave," Bosc said, softly. "I don't wish to be forward, or ungrateful - I'm not, Master, I can't tell you how grateful I am, and ... and the easiest way to be grateful would be to be your personal slave. I've never been a personal slave, just a house-slave, Master, but ... but I would like to be yours.

"But that means, Master, it would be wrong, very wrong, for me to eat before you." He offered the soup back to Erik.

"Even if you're hungry, and I'm not?"

"Yes, Master." said Bosc. "Very wrong."

"But it wouldn't be wrong for a house-slave?"

Bosc shook his head. "No, Master, it wouldn't. But ... Master, you've never had a personal slave."

"No," said Erik.

The little fox smiled, hopefully? Shyly? Erik was no longer certain he was reading the fox's expression properly. "Try me," Bosc said. "Please Master, just ... for a week. Give me a week, Master, to earn a place with you, Master, just seven days, that's all. You won't regret it, Master, you won't."

Erik sighed, took a sip of the hot soup, and then set it down. "There. Now, can you eat?"

"Yes, Master, thank you, Master," said Bosc, and took the soup. He drank it - not too quickly, but without any hesitation, either.

Erik just watched, and the little fox yawned. "Where are we going, Master?"

"Zergu House."

"But ... isn't that Great Lion Mazka's estate?" said Bosc, a sudden tremor of concern in his voice. "My Mistress, that is, my_old_Mistress, begging my Master's pardon, didn't approve of him."

"Lion Mazka has moved elsewhere," said Erik, "and his household no longer resides at Zergu. Governor Jolnir has plans for it."

"Great Lion Jolnir ..." said Bosc, his eyes growing large. "You ... you belong to Great Lion Jolnir?"

"Yes," started Erik.

"So I ... I now belong to Great Lion Jolnir," whispered Bosc, clearly stunned. "He's not .. not there, is he?" Bosc asked in a terrified voice. "I ... I don't know if I could face a Great Lion, not ... not today, Master, ... but, if he's there, I ... I'll do it, Master." Bosc swallowed. "I'm sorry Master. I can do whatever you require, of course. I just ... it's just that I was a little surprised. Master."

"Governor Jolnir isn't there right now," Erik said, "although I expect he'll visit. One of my tasks is to put the house in order so it can receive him. Lion Mazka did not ... leave much." Erik smiled at the little fox. "And honestly, I don't know much about housekeeping."

"I do," said Bosc, quietly, "although, for a Great Lion ... I don't ..." and then he looked up at Erik. "I will, Master. Please you, Master, the house will be perfect. Great Lion Jolnir will find nothing to complain of, Master,nothing. I won't let you down, Master," Bosc finished with determination. "I won't."

"His consort-fifth will be arriving in the next few days, the Lioness Beatrice."

"No wonder you were looking for house-slaves," said Bosc, after a moment. "But ... really, Master, you won't find much until ... next Thursday, that's the third Thursday of the month, Master, when the traders come. Well. They get here Wednesday, of course, and set up, so everyone can see the stock, but ... they don't trade until Thursday, and they leave Friday afternoon, but ... that's next week."

"I didn't know that," said Erik.

Bosc smiled shyly. "You're not a local, Master. Zergu House!" The fox considered for a moment. "This could be a lot of fun, Master. Did Great Lion Mazka take the herds?"

"No," said Erik. "They're still there, and the poultry, but ... not well looked after. I need farmworkers for that, and what I have are soldiers. Soldiers don't really know much about milking cows."

"No," said Bosc. "But you do have money?"

Erik nodded.

"Well, let's go, Master, and see what needs to be seen!" Bosc laughed. "There are other places to get dogs, Master, much better places than the slave market, especially if they are going to Zergu House to serve Great Lion the Governor Jolnir!"

"How so," asked Erik.

"Well, Master," said Bosc, "the social position of_any_ Lion is tremendous, and there are any number of local felines who would do_anything_ to be invited to Zergu House, Great Lion the Governor Jolnir's house! Selling you farmworkers, or trained domestic staff will allow them to introduce themselves to you - and thus, to His Excellence the Governor. And I know_everyone_ to ask, Master, just see if I don't!"

That night, while Erik dealt with the inevitable paperwork any military edifice generates, Bosc brought him dinner and took the remains away, and the little fox had even turned the bed down for him after laying out his uniform for tomorrow. The fox looked up at him, hopefully. "Master, Sir?"

"Yes, Bosc?"

"Master Sir, where ... where will I be sleeping?"

The cachalox stared down at the little fox. "I didn't get you a room, did I?"

"Well, Master Sir, I was hoping ... Please, Master, Sir, may I ... may I sleep with you, Sir?"

"You don't have to," said Erik. "Really, Bosc, I'm delighted with everything you've done so far. You're going to be very helpful in getting Zergu back up as a going concern, I won't look clueless in front of Lioness Beatrice when she arrives, you've more than earned your place as my personal slave. Is that what you were trying to do?"

"Partly, Sir," admitted Bosc. "But, Master Sir ... please, I know I'm pushy, my last Mistress beat me from time to time because I was too pushy, Master Sir, and ... I'm sorry, Master Sir, I just want to do my best for you, and Master Sir ... I want to be your personal slave, Master Sir, because I think I can help. I'm sorry, Master. I'll shut up."

"When I want you to shut up, Bosc, I'll let you know," said Erik. "Trust me."

"Yes Sir Master Sir, thank you Master Sir," said Bosc, biting his lip. "But ... unless you don't want me, Master Sir, I'd like to be with you, Master Sir. Please. You rescued me, Master, and ... and you_trusted_ me, Master. I would like to be yours, Sir. And ... Master Sir, I think you'd like me." Bosc smiled up at Erik, confidently. "It will help you sleep, Master Sir."

Bosc was right, Erik decided tiredly, as the sleeping fox cuddled up to him. It_would_ help him sleep.