Market Day

It was market day, so the square was crowded. There were rumours that Old Beachdrift had some new stock. No-one knew where he managed to source new supplies, but every few months or so he managed to bring some new stock to the market. There were rumours that his agents were moving further afield, out beyond the known seas in their search for fresh goods. They made good money and I was wondering if maybe I ought to think about setting myself up as a travelling agent while I was still young enough, at least for a few years or so, get myself a bit more put aside for a comfortable old age, if I lived that long.

Now, though, I was just there at the market to watch, to look, enjoy the spectacle and maybe learn a thing or two. If some chance of enriching myself came along, though, I would probably jump at it, despite the danger. In the busy market day taverns there was often talk of when a young man saw what was on offer at the market place, the sort of thing that only the rich men could afford, then the young man was willing to try anything, do anything, risk anything, to be able to afford something like that for himself.

So, when the first half-dozen chained women were led onto the stage and Old Beachdrift stepped up and asked what he was bid for the first one, while she was led up and down the stage, I was willing to risk it all just for the chance of owning some of that soft flesh myself.