The Triad

Prologue Lightning cracks across the dark sky illuminating the line of people heading into the warehouse just outside the bounds of the city. From his perch atop the stage a man grins as he checks off each new arrival falling into place on the sawdust strewn floor. Tonight, would be a profitable evening, even after he had paid the auctioneer and bribes to court officials there would be more than enough left over. By the time the last of his cargo had filed in the room was packed, most crying quietly into their shackles, others trying to comfort those around them in an attempt to hide their own fear. All except one. One girl sat, perfectly still and perfectly calm in the front row, her chin raised in proud defiance at the thug removing her valuables for resale. She looked like a troublemaker but she was healthy and despite the dark bruise blooming across her cheek, very pretty. With those looks she was probably a w**********l and some rich man would pay a lot for his own private w***e. In an hour she would no longer be his problem. Gathering his ledgers and the bags of valuables he makes his way to the back of the room, settling in at a desk behind a low partition separating the seating area from the merchandise. Crops c***k against skin and cries fall quiet as a nervous tension settles over the crowd cowering on the floor, each one awaiting the arrival of the people that would determine their fate. The wind whistling through the high windows sets the lanterns swinging, sending shadows flitting over the faces of the well-dressed buyers making their way into the room and taking their seats, some eyeing up potential purchases as they pass. Once everyone has taken their seats the auctioneer makes his way to the podium, and guards haul the first lot up onto the stage ready for bidding to begin. From his desk, the ringleader keeps one ear on the rising prices as he empties out the bags to sort through what meagre riches he can find. Coin purses of bronze coins and the occasional silver piece; one or two rings and pendants of middling value. Nothing that will make much at market but nestled in amongst the worthless trinkets sat a bronze medallion that makes his blood run cold. Three interlocking rings in a circle hanging from a braided leather cord. The symbol of the Triad. Those with this bracelet are under their protection or employ. “Who had this?” he holds up the charm, the words catching in his throat. Eyes widen as his guards spot the trinity knot and without a word, they turn slowly to face the defiant girl now climbing to the stage. She must be one of the Triad’s girls. She spots the charm hanging from his hand and flashes a smile, wiggling her fingers in a wave despite the cuffs. Then the room erupted into chaos. Shadows appear in the doorways and move through the room, snuffing out the lanterns. Grunts and screams ring out as the buyers rush for the doors and are greeted with lead batons to the stomach, to the head, to anywhere that will take them down. Guards draw their weapons but, in the semi-darkness, they are disposed of before they can even swing, while rough hands grab the ringleader’s arms. Before a large fist connects with his temple, he sees the girl, flitting from person to person with a set of keys, sending his profits off into the night. By the time he comes round the room is almost empty. Blood stains the straw and a pile of bodies lines the wall. Most sport the unofficial uniform of his organisation though a few are people caught up in the melee. A large man walks the line with today’s ledger, seemingly trying to identify the bodies. Coming round fully he notices the thick leather cords that bind his wrists behind his back and the painful throbbing behind his eyes forces bile to rise in his throat. “He’s awake” a voice calls out and the same rough hands jerk him upright and drag him closer to the front of the room. “Please, I didn’t know she was one of …” his pleas trail off into silence as he takes in the scene before him. Three women, each sitting poised on the edge of the stage, each one beautiful. Only one is looking at him, the red-haired woman sitting on the right whose blue eyes are like ice. The one in the middle is holding his private ledger, flipping idly through the pages as she scans the pages of names and prices. Otherwise the room seemed empty, but he could feel the presence of a large man behind him.  “I don’t understand.” He stutters as they eye him with a cold indifference. “What? Were you expecting someone different?” The girl on the left asks. She seems to be the youngest, or at least the smallest of the three, and her lithe fingers fiddle with clasp on his strongbox. She barely glances up, and the thick halo of black hair hides most of her face. “Shade, don’t tease the man.” The one reading his ledger admonishes her. “Of course, he was expecting someone different. I’m sure we’re the last people the most prominent slave trader in Avalor thought of when he imagined the Triad.” Sarcasm drips from her words as she looks up and fixes him with a firm gaze. “Which is exactly the point” The red head snorts in amusement. She stands up, and begins to stretch. “I apologise. Please I’m sorry, I didn’t know that we had taken one of your girls until it was too late.” The words come streaming out of his mouth in a last-ditch attempt to save himself. The Triad have a reputation for ruthlessness but they are also merciful. Maybe if they believe he didn’t mean to take one of their girls they would be lenient. “Well, how could you have known when your goons grabbed me in the street and bundled me into carriage?” A voice rings out from behind him. He cranes his neck around and spots the girl in question  waiting by the doors.  “Its not exactly like you were picky. I was young, alone and in the Lower City. That was enough” “Indeed. And from reading this ledger, it doesn’t seem like you’re ever picky as long as they’re under fifty” The one with his ledger retorts. She must be the Oracle. “Lena Grace, age twenty two, sold for seventeen silvers. Marcus Abbott, age thirty, sold for sixteen silvers. Hannah and Kadid Dorsey, age twenty five, sold for twenty nine silvers apiece, Alice Lee, age seven, sold for a gold piece prior to auction…” The red head stops stretching and growls under her breath at the last entry. The implications of the sale are clear. “The list goes on. Which is how we knew you wouldn't be able to resist our girl wandering around.” Continues the Oracle. “I have to make a living.” Is his only response, the words catching in his throat. “The law has no problem with my business” “The law of the courts may not. But when you take the people of the Lower City you are bound by OUR laws. And we do not tolerate slavers.” The Oracle remarks. There is ice in her voice. “Harpy. Will you show this gentleman what happens when you break the laws of the Triad?” “My pleasure.” She says. Her voice is surprisingly soft considering the steel in her eyes She hops off the stage, her flame red hair rippling down her back, and a strange expression flitting across her face. She crouches in front of him and smiles. “I’ll give you a choice. Blade or poison? Truthfully neither way will be quick” He eyes her and holds his tongue. “Very well, blade it is then” In a flash, a dagger appears in her hand from somewhere in the folds of her sleeves and darts across his throat, leaving a deep gash that quickly begins to bleed. He drops to the ground, convulsing before going still.                                                             ----------------- Annabelle wipes the dagger clean on a cloth, and turns to Vanessa and Corinne. Vanessa is still fiddling with the lockbox on her lap which pops open under her careful touch, while Corinne is making notes in the margin of the ledger.  Both look up as she sighs. “Let’s go home girls”