“I know what it’s like to be a slave, and I don’t want you to be slaves. But I’ve run the numbers; I can’t afford to free all of you at once...”

For himself, he didn’t mind losing a huge sum; but he knew that if he looked like he was running the organization into the ground, his lieutenants would challenge him, and sooner or later he’d lose a challenge.

---

The Manumission Game

Part 3 of 6

by Trismegistus Shandy

---

It soon became general knowledge that Tyngsen had bought a girl out of slavery and made her his mistress. The rumors were contradictory about her name, the pimp or madam she had been purchased from, her ethnicity, and several other points; that suited Tyngsen perfectly. Tyngsen had already been remarked on as eccentric for treating the slave-prostitutes just the same as the free girls; when rumors of his manumission of Suryndra got around, the slave girls in the bordellos he was in charge of protecting became even more solicitous for his comfort and were baffled by his polite rejection of their advances. They clearly hoped he would buy them out of slavery, perhaps after he tired of his current mistress. He wished he could free more of them, but his current earnings wouldn’t let him free more than one a year, and then only if he focused on the ones who were almost too old for that kind of work, whose price would be low. He made long-term plans, and kept them to himself.

Within a few more months, not only Suryndra’s existence but her name and face became generally known to those who paid to have Tyngsen watched; and from them, rumors trickled back to Tyngsen’s associates. At that point, he could no longer protect her by keeping his visits to her discreet; so they began to be seen in public together, and he assigned one of his men to guard her apartment when he was not with her.

Once each year, Tyngsen went to Gurefkam to have the illusions spell renewed and adjusted. This cost much less than the original spell had cost his uncle. Gurefkam added faint lines around the mouth and eyes of his illusory face, and gradually thinned and greyed the illusory hair over his still-lush natural hair. Tyngsen cut his own hair in private; since he could not see it, but had to manage by feel, he did it with his eyes closed. How it was shaped or cut scarcely mattered, as long as it did not grow so long as to show itself beyond the edges of the illusion.

Over the next eleven years his uncle entrusted him with more and more responsibility, and his men’s respect for him gradually increased. None of the men or women under his command ever spent more than one night in jail, and rarely that much. His relations with the aldermen and the police were cordial; he and his uncle didn’t step beyond the unofficial bounds of custom, and they didn’t enforce the law with all its rigor in his territory, when they had more disruptive bosses and bosses' lieutenants to worry about.

When his uncle died of a stroke, he took command swiftly and decisively; only one of his uncle’s other lieutenants challenged him for the succession, and that challenge lasted only a couple of hours before a man loyal to Tyngsen shot him in the back.

The day after his uncle’s funeral, Boss Tyngsen called his lieutenants together at his office.

“You all know how my uncle ran this organization,” he told them. “I intend, in most respects, to continue running things the same way. But I intend to make one change in policy. Come, follow me and I’ll show you what I mean.”

Tyngsen and three of his lieutenants got into one car, and the others into another; the latter followed Tyngsen’s car to the bordello nearest to Tyngsen’s office. They parked on the street and went inside. It was an hour before noon, still early in the day for the girls and their madam. One of Tyngsen’s enforcers was on duty in the front room; he stood up alertly as the men entered, then saluted the Boss and asked, “What can I do for you?”

“Wake Madam Nangyna up,” Tyngsen said, “and have her wake the girls and gather them in the parlor. We’ll wait and make ourselves comfortable.” He sat in one of the easy chairs, and invited his lieutenants to avail themselves of the sofas, divans and love seats.

It took some time, but within half an hour Madam Nangyna had gathered all her girls, slave and free, in the parlor. They stood ranged along the wall, some blinking sleepily, others striking provocative poses, trying to catch the eye of one or another lieutenant, or of the Boss himself.

“Is this everybody?” Tyngsen asked Madam Nangyna.

“This is all of them,” she said. Tyngsen stood up and said:

“This mainly concerns the slaves, though I want Madam and the free girls to hear it too. Some of you know I used to be a slave; I was born free, but Boss Sgadrim, an enemy of my father and uncle, kidnapped me and my sister and enslaved us. My sister died in slavery, but I escaped, and came back and worked for my uncle, and now I’m boss of this organization.

“I know what it’s like to be a slave, and I don’t want you to be slaves. But I’ve run the numbers; I can’t afford to free all of you at once. The loss for the year on the bordellos would offset all the profits from the joydust, smuggling and gaming operations. So I’m giving you all two days a week off, just as the free girls have; if you want to work on those days, you’ll earn money toward your freedom, and if you choose to work every other off day, I estimate you’ll buy yourselves out in four or five years. You slaves won’t be charged for room and board out of your off-day earnings, until and unless you’ve bought yourselves out — and then you’ll be earning money every day, so it shouldn’t be hard to pay for it.

“And if you want to get into some other trade after you’re freed, I’ll help with that too. A friend of mine will come in and teach you to read and figure, if you want to learn; and I’ll have others in to teach you other skills, if you want to give up prostitution. That goes for the free girls, too, though you’ll have to pay a few pence a week for the lessons.

“Any questions?”

There was a stunned silence for several seconds. Then one of the slave girls said, “How much money are we going to get when we work extra? And how much do we need to save to buy ourselves out?”

“That depends,” Tyngsen said. “I’ll work with your madam on setting prices for each of you — generally higher for the younger and prettier girls, and lower for the older ones. I’ll set them as low as I can and still have the bordellos turn a profit over the next few years, though. The madams will set aside for you fifty per cent of what the customers pay them for your services on the days you would normally have off, if you want to work some on those days. The same rate as the free girls.”

The next question came from Tesro. “Boss, I’d like to see your numbers. I don’t see how we can not lose money doing this. I know you don’t like slavery, but we’ve got to earn a living here.”

“I’ll show you the figures when we get back to the office,” Tyngsen said. “We won’t make as much money on the bordellos as usual, but they won’t lose money either, unless all the slaves buy themselves out in the same year, and they all quit work as soon as they buy themselves out. I figure some will buy themselves out faster and some slower than others, and at least half of them will keep working here as free girls, at least for a while, and that will give us time to gradually replace the ones who quit, same as we’re doing now when they get too old for this kind of work.”

“And what are you going to do about the ensorcelled girls, Boss?” asked Prydasam, his lieutenant in charge of gaming houses. Prydasam had worked with Tyngsen on bordello security when they were young men in Ftero’s employ.

“That might be tricky,” Tyngsen admitted. “I’m going to meet with a couple of sorcerers later this week and start figuring out what will be necessary to break those spells. I think there are several different spells that were used on different girls, and some of them will be easier to break than others. Whatever it costs to break the spells, we’ll add that on to what the girl’s market price would otherwise be when she starts earning her way free.”

“That makes sense,” Prydasam said, nodding.

---

Over the next four days, Tyngsen made the same announcement to the girls and boys in each bordello. He met privately with each of the madams and went over the roster of prostitutes, setting prices for each of them, as low as he thought he could afford and still not lose money on the bordellos. For himself, he didn’t mind losing a huge sum; but he knew that if he looked like he was running the organization into the ground, his lieutenants would challenge him, and sooner or later he’d lose a challenge.

Then he scheduled a meeting with Ftymsar, the best sorcerer on his staff, at Madam Srulendra’s bordello. No fewer than eight of the girls and boys there were ensorcelled to enforce obedience; some had been purchased in that state from their former masters, others had been ensorcelled by Ftymsar or one of his colleagues after trying to escape. He had Madam Srulendra bring the ensorcelled ones in to the back parlor where he and Ftymsar were talking.

“So what will be involved in freeing them?” Tyngsen asked him.

“The ones I ensorcelled will be pretty easy,” Ftymsar said. “A pinch of mandrake root, the pelt of a white rabbit, three hairs from a wild horse’s tail... it doesn’t need anything very rare or expensive, and the ritual’s only about two hours. We can free a couple of them tonight, and the others tomorrow. And there are two others that Sdireng ensorcelled, using the same spell. But then there are these three others — Madam Srulendra bought them already ensorcelled, and I don’t know what spell was used on them. I’ll have to do some research and figure out what it is and how to break it.”

“You do that,” Tyngsen said, “and go ahead and break the spell on the ones you know how.”

“Are you sure you want to do that now?” Ftymsar said. “I thought you were going to let them earn money and buy themselves out before you freed them.”

“They’ll still legally be slaves,” Tyngsen said, “but I think I want to break those spells as soon as possible. It depends, though. I’ve known a couple of slaves under obedience spells, but I didn’t realize there were different kinds... what about the spell you used, does it leave the subject with enough free will to understand the speech I gave them a couple of days ago, and decide for themselves whether they want to rest on their days off or work extra and earn freedom?”

“The one we used is pretty clean,” Ftymsar said; “it stops them from leaving the bordello, except under direct orders from their master or master’s representative — that would be you or Madam Srulendra — and it compels them to obey general and specific orders they’re given. They’re free to do as they please when they aren’t under orders. But as for the spell or spells used on the others — I don’t know.”

“Hmm. Maybe... No, let’s go ahead and break the spells as soon as we can.”

“I’ll need you there,” Ftymsar said. “They’re owned by the organization, but you’re the head of it, so you’re their owner by the terms of the spell, and you’ll need to act a small part in the ritual.”

“All right, coach me on what I’m to do...”

---

Three nights later, Tyngsen went to Suryndra’s apartment after he got done with business for the day. She smiled when she saw him, and said, “Come in, I’ve got supper ready.”

“How have you been?” he asked, giving her a hug. “I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you much — things have been busy since Uncle died, I’ve had a lot of work to do to consolidate my hold over the organization and put the new policy in place without provoking a rebellion.”

“I’ve been fine,” she said. “I enjoy seeing you, but I don’t languish from boredom when you’re not here, you know. Not like when you first bought me out and I didn’t know anybody but you... Tell me about work. You said you’ve put the new policy in place — you mean you’ve started freeing the slaves?” They moved into the kitchen and he sat down at the table while she served supper.

He told her about giving the speech to the girls and boys in each bordello on successive mornings. “And the last few days I’ve been working with Ftymsar on breaking the obedience spells on some of the slaves. You remember when I said I could probably come over a few nights ago, and then I called and said I had to cancel? Ftymsar said the ritual had to be done at night, and because I was their owner, I’d have to be there and take part in it.”

“Was it hard?”

“Not too bad,” he said. “Not as bad as the illusion spell Gurefkam put on me. I had to stand in one spell circle, while Ftymsar stood in another with his brazier and spell materials and the slave we were working on stood in another, none of us wearing anything. I was a little worried that the spell might interfere with the illusion, and I called Gurefkam on a secure line to check. But it held up fine. I spoke the parts of the spell Ftymsar coached me on, and stood there listening to him and watching him work for a while, and then it was over and we rested for half an hour before we worked on the next slave. And then we did two more slaves the next night, and I told him I wanted to take a night off before doing any more.”

“That’s good,” she said, “you need your rest. How many more are there?”

“One more under the same spell in that bordello, and nine more in a couple of others. And then there are sixteen others under different obedience spells — at least three that Ftymsar has identified, and some he’s not sure about yet. He warned me that freeing them would be more difficult and complicated, but I don’t know the details yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll work it out,” she said.

“So, how have you been, really?”

She told him about what she’d done in the last few days, the opera she’d seen at Ftipa Hall and the work she’d been doing at the runaway shelter. They sat on the sofa after supper, leaning against one another, listening to the radio and occasionally talking a little, or singing along with Trosundra of Dynusem, whose concert was being broadcast live. He fell asleep, and woke the next morning to find she had taken his shoes off and spread a blanket over him.

---

A couple of days later, Ftymsar came to see him again. “What have you found out?” Tyngsen asked.

“I’ve identified the spells used on all but five of the slaves in all your bordellos,” he said. “There are four spells, plus at least one unknown spell used on those five others. Three of them I can break with materials I have on hand, or can get within a day or two; but the other will require hippogriff milk. Not hippogriff cheese, but fresh hippogriff milk, and there aren’t any hippogriffs on this continent. It’ll cost two or three thousand marks to have it sent express from Khareush by airship courier under a refrigeration spell, and we’ll have to drop whatever else we’re doing and start the ritual as soon as the courier arrives at the aerodrome — or at dawn the next morning if he arrives at night. Or we could take a trip, you and me and the slave under that spell, to Khareush and cast the spell there.”

“I figure my time’s worth a thousand marks a day or more, and yours is at least half that; let’s send for the milk — unless you think there’s a chance it might not be fresh enough? Good. All right, I’m authorizing that expense. What about the rituals? Don’t waste my time with the technical details, just tell me how my part of them differs from the spell you used before.”

“Most of them are more time-consuming than that one,” Ftymsar said; “five to seven hours. Some can only be cast by daylight, some at night, and one can only be worked on the night of the full moon — there are two slaves under that spell, and I don’t think we can free both of them the same night. And one of these counterspells is... risky.”

“Risky how?”

“There’s a slight chance — if something goes wrong, if the materials are impure or we make a mistake with the ritual — that the spell could infect you or me or both, instead of breaking. We might end up slaves as well, compelled to obey the next free person we see after the spell is completed. Obviously I don’t think the danger’s too great, or I wouldn’t be willing to try it, but I want five thousand marks as a danger bonus on that one.”

“All right. I’m still going to do it, but let’s save it for last; I want to be sure all the others are freed in case something goes wrong and we can’t do any more after that one. And let’s take another precaution; I’ll ask someone I trust to be on hand, just outside the room where we’re casting the spell, so we won’t be enslaved to some random person if the worst happens.

“Now, what about those other five you mentioned?”

“Those are the five women in the attic at Madam Fparadra’s house.”

“...Oh.”

At one time or another in the years he worked protection for one or more of the bordellos, Tyngsen had met or at least seen nearly all the prostitutes working there, slave or free, ensorcelled or not. There were many he didn’t know well; some didn’t speak Kosyan well, or at all, and some were quiet and uncommunicative, but most mixed with the men assigned to protect them from rambunctious customers and were friendly with them, sometimes extremely so. More than a few had married one or another of Tyngsen’s colleagues to get out of the business.

But there were five women, so people said, in the attic at Madam Fparadra’s house who never left their attic; and whom men, even the enforcers or the Boss, never visited just to chat. They were said to be under a powerful spell that made them insatiably obsessed with sex; if a customer or enforcer entered their domain, after Madam Fparadra locked him into the vestibule, he emerged only after the women had gotten all the use they could out of him, blissfully exhausted and with his clothes in tatters if he had not had the presence of mind to remove them before unlocking the inner door. Tyngsen, hearing about this, never ventured to visit them; he wasn’t sure if they would be fooled by his illusion at first glance, but certainly they would be disappointed once they got their hands on him. And there was a chance that their disappointment might blow his cover.

“So,” he said after a moment’s thought, “you’re still not sure what spell they’re under?”

“It’s... a bit hard to research, Boss.” Ftymsar looked embarrassed. “I went there a couple of days ago and had Madam Fparadra let me into the vestibule, and I tried to work a sleep spell on them through the inner door. It felt like it hit the targets, and I gave it several minutes to take effect, and I opened the inner door... well, the sleep spell had no effect on them. Within a few moments I was too distracted to study the spell, and later I was too tired.

“Then yesterday I tried something else — I put a curse on myself, to make me, ah... unable to satisfy women. You owe me for this, boss — it won’t wear off for several more days. This time they figured out I wasn’t any use to them after a quarter of an hour or so, and I still had enough energy left to study the spell. But I couldn’t get any of them to sit still in a spell circle while I worked; whatever that spell they’re under is, it’s not exactly an obedience spell, or maybe it’s only their master they’re compelled to obey, not his representatives. I learned a little of what it’s not, but I still don’t know what it is.”

“Did you ask Madam Fparadra who she bought them from? Maybe we need some old-fashioned detective work, not just a diagnostic spell. Find out who ensorcelled them and ask him, or his apprentices if he’s dead.”

“I checked that. Madam Fparadra says they were already in the house when she started working there under Madam Sgamendra, forty-five years ago — and they don’t look any older than they did then. And we looked through the records in her office, and couldn’t find any receipt for their purchase. We have no idea how old they are or when the spell was cast. I don’t know why someone would waste an immortality spell on slaves, or how somebody rich and powerful enough to buy an immortality spell could get enslaved... and the women don’t seem to remember their past, or at least I couldn’t get them to talk about it.

“But if they’re compelled to obey only their master, then if I go back with you, while I’m still under this impotence curse — I’d need to put the same curse on you, I’m afraid — maybe you can order them to stand still in the circles and I can figure something more out.”

“Let’s schedule a time for that. How much longer will the curse last?”

“At least three more days.”

Tyngsen studied his appointment book. “Let’s do it tonight.” He’d have to call Suryndra and cancel their dinner date, but it couldn’t be helped; he didn’t want to ask Ftymsar to cast that impotence curse on himself again. And he hoped Ftymsar wouldn’t notice anything untoward when he cast that wholly unnecessary curse on Tyngsen himself.

---

---

Apologies for the delay on this one, which were prolonged by my staying at a place where the firewall blocks BC as well as by BC's own downtime. I'll probably post part four in about a week.

A Notional Treason, a transgender fantasy of manners in the same setting as Wine Can't be Pressed into Grapes and When Wasps Make Honey, is now available from Smashwords in EPUB format and from Amazon in Kindle format.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

"The Manumission Game" is inspired by (though not exactly a sequel to) an old story from the Transformation Stories Archive. I'll identify that story and its author in an afterword after part six is posted, but you're welcome to speculate about it in the comments. Probably it will be obvious to people who remember the story in question by the end of part four, if not part three.