Journey of a Girl

The Auction: Chapter Three

Screams of joy rang from outside.

Miss Scrubbs looked at the room with wicked satisfaction.

"Hear that? The Auction's ready for you."

No one argued as they were lined up and shackled. Credence knew well what came next, though she hadn't been on this side of the Auction before.

She was not prepared for the crowd on the other side of the door, that jeered and laughed as the line was marched to the stage. She was not prepared for the hands that pinched and grabbed at the prisoners, or the vulgar comments made as they passed. Some managed to tear away pieces of clothing, and laughed in victory when they did.

When the red stripes were walked through the crowd, Miss Scrubbs and her women had kept the more brazen hands back, but those in line now were afforded no such courtesy.

They were criminals, little better than black stripes.

Not quite people in the eyes of the towns.

Unlike the last Auction, the Chopper had not roused the crowd with a show of blood, but as the line drew close to the stage Credence saw the giant man standing silently.

A large, curved blade hung like a threat at his waist.

He was waiting for his turn, and from the sounds of the mob, he would surely get it.

Credence feared that once the Auction began, no one would bid on any of them, simply to add more victims to the violence promised at the end.

Many of them, she knew, would die tonight.

The masked man who led the revels was dancing a giddy jig across the stage, building the excitement of the audience.

When the line of prisoners was stopped at the foot of the stage, the masked man held his hands up to command silence.

"Dark times, indeed," he said in mocking sadness. "What a terrible shame, what a horrible waste, when children do not mind their betters!"

The crowd jeered in response and their hateful eyes fell to the line. The prisoners under their scorn shrunk down, embarrassed and frightened.

"Some among them were to be our newest angels," the masked man continued. "And some may yet be spared to grace us with their beauty—but! Who would wish to dally with such traitors, such beasts? It'll be a hard time, I fear, for any keeper who buys this stock, to find a patron daring enough to pay for their attention!" The masked man winked. "I suppose, perhaps, there might be some here who like a bit of danger in their comfort!"

The crowd laughed and the masked man nodded.

"And what danger they do cause! Only last night we were made aware of the cruelty they were capable of! How fitting then, how...necessary...to remind them of their place. To remind us all what happens to those who disrupt the peace of our glorious towns!"

He ran to the edge of the stage, choosing a domestic at random, and pointed a judging finger at the old woman.

"And what of the domestics who stood by while their poor headmaster suffered? Perhaps a black stripe for them all!"

The crowd cheered in agreement.

To punctuate his threat, the masked man was handed a small bucket, which he held high in the air. Black paint spilled over the edge of the bucket, splashing onto the stage at his feet. The crowd urged him on when the masked man was given a brush to dip into the paint.

The prisoners at his feet trembled and held their breath, and the poor domestic who had been the focus of his attention began to sway as if she might faint at any second.