Thomas stepped back before either of them noticed him, his curiosity now awake and pacing.
At one o’clock, the crowd was thinner. Several of the morning bidders hadn’t returned. The first three afternoon lots sold quickly anyway, as if the auctioneer wanted to get the day over with before the building itself decided to speak.
Then he called out, “Lot forty-three.”
And the room changed.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. It was subtler than that. Like a string pulled tight across the inside of every man’s throat.
A woman stepped onto the platform in chains.
She didn’t stumble. She didn’t plead. She moved with a dignity so steady it looked like refusal. She appeared early thirties, skin the color of polished walnut, cheekbones sharp enough to cut paper, hair braided back in a way that suggested someone had once had time to care.
But it was her eyes that struck Thomas. Dark, almost black, and still. Not empty. Not defeated. Just… finished with hoping.
The auctioneer cleared his throat without enthusiasm. “Female. Approximately thirty-two. Name of Celia. Experienced in household duties, cooking, and medical assistance. Has served as midwife and herb doctor. Literate in English. No known defects. Starting bid, ten dollars.”
Ten dollars.
