The Boy Ninja

Part Four: Troy and Travis

The next morning, Porter's stomach was growling like an angry bear after a long winter, but he received no food. While the rest of the slaves slurped loudly from their water tins and crunched noisily on hard biscuits, Porter, Pedro, Matt, and Marco were all quietly suffering with drooling mouths. It didn't help that that day was exceptionally hot with no winds and plenty of dust. With their wagon at the very back of the caravan, Porter and his friends got the worst of the churned up dust and dirt.

Nobody suggested another escape plan.

When the morning dawned bright the early the next day, Porter's eye was twitching with hunger. Fortunately he and his friends got to eat that day (they searched the entire wagon for any fallen crumb) though, which made them feel more encouraged. Unfortunately, this was also the day that they entered the forest—the home of their soon-to-be-owner, who was supposed to be cruel and mean to slaves. Strangely enough, this did not encourage them.

As they entered the shady woods, Porter felt a shiver of fear crawl down his spine, though he angrily pushed it away. Heros, especially ninjas, don't feel fear, Porter thought disdainfully, but that didn't stop the feeling of nervous apprehension burrow through his body.

Maybe the cruel slave-buyer doesn't need anymore slaves, Porter thought hopefully as midday passed and they didn't stop. But around mid afternoon, sure enough, the lead slaver called the slave caravan to a stop as he urged his horse to the front of the line to talk with somebody.

Porter had a sinking feeling that it was his soon-to-be master, Lord Cartwell. Sadly, he was right. For after about ten minutes had passed in tense stillness, Porter heard heavy footsteps coming towards the end of the wagon line toward his wagon. His heart seemed to be beating very hard and fast, and Porter dared not look.

He heard the footsteps stop, then silence. But the kind of silence when you know somebody's staring at you. When you feel the hair of the back of your neck start to prickle uncomfortably. When you feel as if you need to turn and look . . . but Porter resisted.

If you can't see him, he can't see you, a strange, nervously-giddy part in Porter's mind suggested, while the sensible part of him rolled his eyes and shoved it away. Still, however, Porter did not look.

"Is this them?" the low growl obviously came from Lord Cartwell. Porter sneaked a glance at Matt, whose eyes were closed tight and his lips were moving soundlessly.

Porter recognized the slaver's voice. "Yes, they're the troublemakers. I thought you might want to teach them a lesson of humility while earning yourself two hardy, young slaves that will serve you for many years."

There was a pause of stiff silence, then, "Turn around, slave." There was no request hidden in the order. Porter, though his mind screamed against it, slowly rotated to face the unseen buyer, but he kept his eyes to the wagon floor.

He could feel the man's eyes sweeping over him, taking in the tan and callouses on his hands that Porter had developed over the past years training to become a Hero Ninja. Porter still didn't dare look up.

"And you, other troublemaker, turn so I can see you." Though Porter didn't raise his eyes, he knew that Matt was shifting around. The next break of all sound made Porter wiggle uncomfortably; he didn't like the unnatural quietness.

"Both of you, look at me." Once again an order, Porter felt his eyes slowly raise themselves against his will, and he saw for the first time his soon-to-be master.

The noble had iron-gray eyes that pierced everything they saw, black hair combed neatly, broad shoulders that knew years of work, and a hard face that was edged with lines from sun and wind. Mouth pressed into a thin line, he had no evidence of ever smiling a day in his life, and his bushy eyebrows bunched together as he studied both Matt and Porter at once.