“Slave!” Volker shouted, slamming his hands on the table. The cup of that foul tasting tea toppled over, splashing it on the floor. Mr. Second—no, Vin—wrinkled his nose and muttered something about good-for-nothings. Volker rubbed his index finger back and forth on the table-top. There was no possible way he had heard Emerald right. Whatever was translating for him right now was mistaken. “W-what do you mean slave?”

“When I saw you in the line for the prison island, I just couldn’t leave things like that.” Emerald rubbed his necklace, thumb completely covering the blue stone. His shoulders were slumped and Volker didn’t like the pitying look in his eyes. He’d seen that same face on his mother and grandfather when they picked Volker up from the police station time and time again. Emerald gripped the necklace in his palm. “I figured being a slave was better than a prisoner—”

“So he went and spent his savings on buying you,” Vin said, finishing for his captain. He flicked Volker in the side of the head with a smug smirk Volker wanted to punch off his face. Vin shoved his hand in Volker’s blond hair and shoved his head down in a bow. “So be grateful.”

“Stop that.” Emerald leaned over and pushed Vin away from Volker. “Why don’t you go outside and help Dio and Jen with the sorting?”

“Sir,” Vin said. Emerald narrowed his eyes and the jerk huffed. Volker crossed his arms on the tabletop and tried to match the older man’s glare. Vin gave up, and headed for the door. “Call if you need anything.”

Emerald dropped his pendant and moved on to rub the piercing above his eyebrow. “As I was saying, criminals who have a life sentence are eligible for purchase as slaves. It’s part of some second chance benefit that started thousands of cycles ago.”

Volker shook his head. That was impossible. Slavery wasn’t something that open! It was all black market stuff and the dark alleys he stayed the hell away from. He rubbed the scar across his stomach under his shirt. Had he really escaped being thrown into the darkest parts of the gang life by a thread just to end up there in an odd world were the bad stuff out in the open was worse? Volker’s breath picked up as he felt the smooth skin across his gut.

Emerald put a hand on Volker’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. His green eyes were warm and soothing; his hand a warm and welcome weight. “It was either I buy you, or let you go to that island to work until you died. I couldn’t have let that happen, not when it was so obvious that you were marked in error.”

“Marked?” Volker touched the ring around his neck. The raw skin under his fingers burned. “That’s what this is?”

“Yes. A black ring is the mark of someone who is serving time. For first offenses the mark is thread thin, and once your time in the holding facility has been served, a second matching ring is placed underneath to prove you’ve finished your time. For the second offense, they fill the space in between solid and repeat the process.” Emerald squeezed Volker’s shoulder one last time before letting go. He picked up his own cup and took a deep swallow. Volker winced remembering the taste and waited for him to finish his explanation. “After five major offenses, and the mark reaches the full width it is on your neck now, it means a life sentence was granted.”

Volker lifted his fingers up an inch to the curling script above the solid band. “So the ring and funny markings above the thick band are?” 

“My name and a slave mark.” 

Volker dropped his elbows on the table and grabbed his hair. He shook his head, biting his lip. The worst thing on his record was a misdemeanor! And he already served his juvie time! Volker buried his head in his arms. “This can’t be happening.”

“I am sorry, Saph—” Emerald stopped. He put his arm on Volker’s elbow and shook it once, forcing him to look up. Emerald played with his necklace again. “Volker, it’ll be okay.”

“I’m a slave. How is that okay?” Volker pushed away from the table and Emerald’s hand. He crossed his arms and glared at the wall. “This shit is illegal where I’m from.”

“I know you’re upset, but you just brought up a very good point,” Emerald said. He tugged the braid out of his hair and let his hair down. The black strands fell around his shoulder. “Where are you from, and how did you get out in the middle of the ocean?”

“Well,” Volker said. He sniffed, rubbing under his nose. “I don’t know about that last part, but I’m from the United States. I live up in Washington, near the Idaho and Oregon borders.”

Emerald glanced at the map hanging on the back wall. “The…United States? Is that a smaller province somewhere?”

“It’s one of the world’s major powers,” Volker said. He studied the map on the back wall again and sucked in a breath. At first he thought it was just a local map since nothing looked familiar, but as the letters on the map turned into words he could understand, Volker realized he was looking at a world map. “But it doesn’t exist here, does it?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t heard of such a place.” Emerald covered his mouth, leaning back in his chair. His body was still searching the map for a trace of Volker’s supposed world power. “I suppose the main question then is still how you got here.”

“I don’t know. I was cleaning some stuff up from my uncle’s wood shop, and all of the sudden the ground fell out from under me. It crumbled away like cigarette ash.” Volker rubbed his pants leg as his foot twitched up and down. Emerald watched him steadily, listening to every word like what he said mattered. Volker couldn’t remember the last time an adult as done that. He forced his foot to stop moving. “The next thing I know, there’s water everywhere and I’m clinging to a piece of wood. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you guys hadn’t shown up.”

“Odd,” Emerald said. He crossed his arms, holding up the pendant to his lip. He pressed it there for a moment, a quick kiss, before dropping it. He straightened his hair. “I know what that sounds like, but transportation spells require a great deal of intent. It’s almost impossible to activate one on accident.”

Volker sat up in his seat. He leaned forward over the table top, crawling up so that he sat on his knees in the chair. “There are spells? Like magic and stuff?”

“Yes,” Emerald said, his voice hesitant. He lifted an eyebrow at Volker and looked confused. That wasn’t good. Emerald asked hesitantly, “You don’t have magic where you’re from?”

“No, it’s all smoke and mirrors,” Volker said. “Tricks. You’re telling me magic is real here? You can transport people and turn rabbits into doves and stuff?”

“I don’t know about the rabbits and doves, but transport spells are very real.” Emerald shifted in his seat. “Would you like me to tell you more?”

Volker grinned wide, leaning up on the table as Emerald settled. Maybe being in this odd world wouldn’t be so bad. “Yeah!”

---

Emerald laid on his bunk, arm across his eyes. The impromptu magic and history lesson had been the perfect distraction from Sapphire’s inquiries about slaves and his status as one. Emerald turned the conversation toward Sapphire more than once for comparisons between their worlds. He had picked up a thing or two from the boy talking about his home country, wherever it was.

The conversation made its way back around to the slave topic during Emerald’s digging, and he figured out the biggest difference between their worlds on the topic: Sapphire’s country had no formal slave systems, and the systems that did exist were looked down upon as heinous crimes and black markets. The slave traders were locked up alongside the criminals alike.

Emerald listened to Sapphire’s breathing in his hammock above and a bitter smile crawled on his face.

That might be fine in his home but…Emerald rubbed his eyes with the base of his palms. The boy would get used to the slave idea in time. Surely after the culture shock wore off he’d be fine.

It wasn’t as if Emerald was going to be a bad master, so he’d have nothing to worry about. The master was everything when it came to the quality of life of a slave, and that was the truly unfair bit.

A mass murderer could end up living better than a kleptomaniac.

Sapphire lucked out, if he actually sat and thought about it. Emerald would treat him the same as any other of his hired deck hands, probably better if he was being honest with himself.

And even if he hadn’t, it was worlds above what the kid would have gone through if he’d served out his time in a prison instead.

Emerald pulled out his earrings and reached over to set them neatly in their case on top of his table. He collapsed back on his bunk and looked at the shape formed in the hammock above him. The fabric moved in and out with the boy’s breath. Emerald frowned at the tiny form.

Sapphire would have to get used to it. The slave transaction, while easy to enact, was near impossible to break. He would be put to death or sold to another party before someone revoked Emerald’s claim of ownership. Worse would happen if Sapphire did something stupid like running away.

Emerald rolled to face the wall, wondering when things got so complicated. When he bought Sapphire, he expected the boy would never really understand what had happened to him. He would just accept Emerald’s responsibility and care as he had no other option. He’d be as dependent and obedient as a child.

But—Emerald could admit—things were better as they were. Being able to talk to each other and have conversations like they did earlier concerning magic was much better.

Sapphire was a good boy, and Emerald was going to make sure he stayed that way.

---

“How old are you, anyway?” Emerald asked around a bite of bread at breakfast. Volker twisted his plate around on the table as Emerald continued. “I don’t think you ever said.”

“Fourteen,” Volker said, blushing slightly. Emerald finished his bread with a thoughtful look, like he was trying to solve an algebra equation in his head. Volker saw that coming. No one ever believed how old he was. It was how he wormed his way into the gang so easy. A look of maturity for his age went a long way despite his height. The last gang he was in had pegged him as sixteen when he first tried to join. “A little younger than you were thinking, right?”

“Yes. No, it’s just—” Emerald cut himself off. He ran his fingers in one of the gold chains hanging alongside the blue pendant he wore everyday despite changing out the rest of his jewelry constantly. Volker had asked if it was special, but Emerald never did answer. Emerald tugged on the pendant, pulling it back and forth on the chain. “How can you be fifteen cycles? You’d still be a toddler.”

“Which I’m obviously not.” Volker pulled the bread dish closer and huffed as he grabbed another roll. He split the second roll down the middle, and spread a glob of dark purple jam on the bread. It smelled like honey, but tasted tart like a blueberry. “How old are you, then?”

“One hundred and fourteen cycles,” Emerald said. He slid the gold chain down his index finger until it came to rest on the back of his knuckles. The captain licked his lips, and leaned on his elbow. “How long is a cycle?”

Volker didn’t like the tone in that question. Emerald had asked in the same way someone says ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’ after getting your head knocked into the ground. Volker shrugged. “I have no clue. When I said I was fourteen, I meant years. I’m fourteen years old.”

“Year?” Emerald asked, dropping the necklace chain. The pendant thumped against his chest, the blue stone reflecting the light. 

“Yeah, uh, three-hundred and sixty-five days?” Volker bit a piece off his roll, savoring every bite of the doughy bread. He hated it was all he got for the rest of the day until dinner. Volker eyed the the empty basket. Boat rations sucked. “Thirty days, give or take, to a month, and twelve months makes a year.”

Emerald picked up the basket from the table and put the lid on the jam jar. He put the items away in their case and slid it under the table next to his jewelry box and clothing trunk. “I don’t know about these ‘months’ you speak of, but a cycle is ninety days, give or take. So your ‘year’ is made up of about four cycles, correct?”

“Yeah, so in your cycles I’d be…” Volker’s eyes scrunched together as he crunched the numbers in his head, “about fifty-six cycles old, right?”

Which makes Emerald like thirty-eight, Volker thought to himself. He glanced at the captain and took in the youthful skin, jewelry, and dark head of hair.

Where Volker looked older than he was, Emerald looked far younger.

“Yes, that sounds closer.” Emerald finished off his water and placed the glass in the center of the table. He looked thoughtful, as though he was considering something important. “You’re really not from my world, are you?”

“Looks that way,” Volker said. He rubbed a few bread crumbs between his finger and thumb. “At first, I just figured I was on the other side of the planet or something, but this isn’t Earth at all, is it?”

“No,” Emerald said. He pushed his chair under the table in the tiny bedroom. “No, it’s not.”

“What’s this planet, called, anyway?” Volker looked out the window up at the blue sky, thankful he couldn’t see the water out of the tiny round window.

“Duat,” Emerald answered.

---

Oils could feel the residual magic lining the case.

He held the box in his lap, sitting outside his master’s sleeping chamber in the hallway. Had Oils one of the items in the set or something more substantially linked, such as the statue itself, a regular tracking spell would do him fine. He’d locate the wayward items where they slept, and strike down anyone who tried to interfere. It’d be as easy as when he’d killed Nile’s parents in their beds without a trace of evidence.

But Oils didn’t have a substantially linked item, nor did they have the time to go all the way back to Anubis. He had residual magic lining a case.

With such meager offerings, Oils would need a better bloodhound on the scent. Oils rubbed at the crease between his eyes. He knew about three or four good tracking spells from his practices, but there was only one such spell that came to mind that could pull its own weight with so little to work with. He wasn’t looking forward to it, either.

Oils needed a bloodstone.

The tracking spell required a very specific centerpiece to function. Such were the downfalls of high level magics. Only a bloodstone would satisfy its lust for barter. Anything less and he’d be searching in the wrong direction; the magic turning him away out of spite. The Chosen should never disrespect such power.

The Children of Horus and Anubis both had it drilled into their skulls from the moment they found to be blessed such access to the beyond. Unintentional slips were often forgiven, but there’s nothing unintentional about a substitution.

A fickle thing, magic.

Oils turned the empty box in his hands. Time was short and the residual energy wouldn’t last forever. It would fade with time and they’d be starting over again from scratch. Nile would never have the patience for that journey again. Oils gripped the empty box. Or worse, he would have the patience and he’d kill himself starting over again. Oils couldn’t allow such things.

Bloodstones had to be made as needed. Due to their core and nature, Oils would be lucky if a bloodstone would last ten days before use. And even then, they were good for a single application, and that was it. Magic was greedy when it came to them. A single taste and it would be devoured by the spell. Owned and utilized.

However, they were still a remarkable pain to create. It wasn’t that Oils minded getting his hands dirty to build such a thing, in his bitterness he was far from it, but Nile was more…squeamish.

He wouldn’t approve of it at all, even if it mean reaching his goal.

It took four human sacrifices to create a bloodstone, and their deaths were not painless things.

Nile would search for the Anubis artifacts by hand before he did that willingly. Oils’ master was kind that way, despite his dearest wish and desire by collecting the rest of the statue.

However, if the stone was, say, already created and just unused—it’d be a pity to let all that sacrifice and spilt blood go to waste. Nile would be hesitant, but it would be far easier into talking him into allowing the spell. Oils knew how to keep secrets, the Horus Witch aside. Nile would never have to know his faithful slave had done such a heinous thing in his name.

The key then, was to find time to himself.

Oils set the case on the counter and tapped the edges. Four victims took time, and he’d have to find ones of the right age. They were also in another country’s territory. Children of Anubis would stand out too much in another country. Hiding his presence would take extra effort he wouldn’t need at in their homeland, which meant he would need more time. Time that meant Nile was left by himself. Oils hummed, leaving the hall of the ship for his own quarters.

He’d think of something.