“You don’t want to go there,” Murad said.
But Alex did not move. She recalled, as clear as day, ten months ago when she had first seen Blackwell in thebedestanwhen he had been a captive on parade. Alex swallowed, very disturbed—very intent.
“Alex? What is wrong?”
“I want to go to thebedestan.”She began hurrying down the street.
Murad rushed after her. “You are not making any sense. Do you wish to purchase a slave?” His tone was slightly injured.
“No.” Alex’s voice was unnatural, both high and hard. Her strides lengthened. Her pulse seemed to ring in her ears. He was there. She was certain, she could feel it.
Murad was silent now, shooting glances at her set face.
Thebedestanwas hardly full. Several slave dealers marched a few groups of slaves back and forth across the open market, but the passersby were mostly disinterested pedestrians, the women with children carrying baskets of wares and fruits. Alex halted abruptly, her gaze scanning the slaves and their owners. Disappointment swept her with stunning force. Blackwell was not present.
Yet she had been so certain that she would find him there.
“Let’s go, Alex,” Murad said quietly.
Alex was about to agree, but instead she blurted, “Are these all of the slaves? Or are there more?”
“You really want to buy a slave?” Murad was incredulous.
But one of the dealers had heard her. A small Sicilian, he came up to Alex, his dark eyes gleaming. “I have five more slaves with me, out back. They come cheap. You want to look?”
Alex ignored Murad, who was about to protest. She nodded, praying desperately.
The Italian strode behind the platform where the auctions were held, Alex on his heels. He pointed ahead. Alex felt disappointment washing over her again as she viewed the five black men who sat sleeping in the shade of a lone date tree, chained to one another. They were all skin and bones, clad in tatters and rags, and more dead than alive. “I don’t think so,” Alex said forlornly.
She had to look away. It hurt her to look at them.
“Let’s get out of here, Alex,” Murad said tersely.
One of the slaves moaned.
Alex jerked. She turned to stare at the group of abused men again. One of the slaves sagged against the back of another. His body was folded up, his knees beneath him, his arms bent in funny angles, but she could see that he was a tall, broad-shouldered man. His hair was dark, streaked liberally with gray, flowing to the middle of his back. His beard covered the lower half of his face. He was not Negro, merely blackened by the sun and dirt.
“Alex,” Murad said sharply.
The tall slave moaned.
Alex’s heart lurched. Staring, she shook off Murad, the sounds and sight of the slave market fading until nothing existed except herself and the gaunt slave in chains.Oh God.Disbelieving, horrified, she began to run.
“Xavier,” she wept. Alex knelt beside the slave, gripping his face in both her hands.
His eyes fluttered open—their gazes met.
Hers tear-filled, his soulless.
“Oh my God!” Alex cried.
Xavier stared vacantly at her for one long moment, and then his head lolled and he slumped forward into her arms.
Murad knelt beside her. Alex looked up at him, tears streaking her face. Horror and outrage coursed through her body. “Pay the dealer whatever he asks,” she said. “Pay him now!”
29
MURAD SLEPT INa Small antechamber outside of Alex’s room. That was where they brought Blackwell. Murad and another man whom they had hired in thebedestanlaid him carefully down upon the mattress, which was on the floor.
