Page 157 of Crocodile Tears

The next two weeks passed in slow monotony as he waited to hear his fate. The auction took the form of sealed bids, and all the bidders were required to be registrants with the Indentured Servant Agency with fully paid-up licences.

Alex fretted constantly, torn between wanting to fetch a high sum to save Lytton AV from its debtors and worry about what kind of service he’d be required to provide if someone had to fork out that much money for him. He feared he’d be a disappointment to whoever it was; he’d hardly made a stellar success of anything in his life so far.

Finally, the day of reckoning drew near. He barely slept the night before, his stomach churning in anticipation of what this day would bring. He lay in his blue prison overalls, staring at the ceiling, but no matter how hard he tried, his mind wouldn’t be still.

He retraced every single step that had brought him to this place and imagined every terrible fate that might await him. He was almost relieved when a prison guard opened his cell door with a loud clatter.

“Rise and shine!” The man grinned at him. He was one of the kinder guards. “It’s your big day, lad. Do you have any idea who’s bought ya?”

Alex shook his head. “Whoever it is, it can’t be as terrible as what I’ve been imagining all night.”

“Yeah, you do look like shit.” The guard patted him on the arm. “Never mind. The wait will soon be over, and I’m sure it won’t be as bad as ya think.”

He escorted Alex to the judge’s chambers. She peered at him disapprovingly over her glasses.

“You have fared better than I anticipated – and than you deserve,” she told him sternly. “We’ve had many interested parties, and a sale has been agreed.”

“Am I allowed to know how much my contract has been sold for?” Alex asked.

“Yes – in fact, you are required to know, as the sale of your property and possessions, including your own person, is to be used to help discharge the debt caused by your theft and the costs incurred in your legal case.”

Alex crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping it would be enough to save Lytton AV.

“I must say, I’ve never presided over such an extraordinary auction,” she continued, prolonging the agony. “The bidding was the highest we’ve ever experienced. You are officially the most expensive indentured servant in the land – by quite some margin.”

Alex smiled in relief – which she misconstrued as vanity.

“You shouldn’t give yourself any credit,” she snapped. “Simple notoriety was the reason. Your misdeeds are well known, Mr Lytton.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He lowered his head, still smiling – his high price was good news for his father’s company, if nothing else.

“You fetched the sum of one hundred and sixty million pounds, which discharges your debt to Lytton AV, your legal costs, and the state’s costs as well.” She pushed her glasses up her thin nose, her nostrils flaring.

His head jerked up in surprise. “A hundred and sixty million? Who would paythatfor an indentured servant?”

“I am not at liberty to tell you, and the auction papers have been sealed at your new houder’s request. A wise precaution given your notoriety and the current media interest in you. Your houder is entitled to have their privacy respected. The legal paperwork has been completed, the money has been received, and you have been transferred into their custody. All that remains is to register you as their responsibility in the IS Agency database.”

She waved her nanopad over his wrist, and his microchip gave onelong flash before resuming its usual pulsing. “There. You are no longer under this court’s jurisdiction. Your houder will collect you forthwith.”

He was led away, still reeling, but happier than he’d felt in weeks. At least his father’s company and all the indentured servants who worked there were safe, and the great wrong he’d committed had been righted.

He felt almost buoyant as he was taken back to the IS Detention Centre and given a zipped bag containing his new clothes.

He’d expected a standard livery – maybe overalls, or at least something bearing his new houder’s insignia, but instead he pulled out a charcoal grey suit, tailored to his exact measurements.

It was beautifully cut and clearly expensive, but then his new owner must be rich if they could afford to pay so much for him.

The rest of the clothes were equally luxurious: a pair of grey cashmere socks, white silk boxer shorts, a crisp navy cotton shirt that felt cool and soft on his skin, and a royal blue tie. There was an expensive gold watch, and, much to his surprise, a single black obsidian earring, very shiny and perfectly round. That he’d been provided with just the one earring for his one pierced ear showed an attention to detail that was impressive.

His shoes were brand new, highly polished, and made of fine black leather. There was one final item – a plain gold necklace, as elegant and expensive as all the other items he’d been given, with his IS number etched upon the tag attached to it.

He took it gingerly and fastened it around his neck. It felt no different to wearing any other kind of necklace, except this one told the world that he wasn’t free. Despite its elegance, he found it even harder to bear than the chip implanted under his skin.

By law, all ID numbers had to be on display, whether on a bracelet, necklace, or pin – and this was designed to fit snugly, more like a choker, just above the collar of his shirt. It was another reminder of his loss of freedom. He had to clench his fists to keep himself from removing it.

“Don’t worry, son – everyone feels like this at first,” the kind prison guard said gently. “You’ll soon get used to it and forget it’s there.”

Was that even possible? Would the day ever come when the sensationof wearing this necklace around his neck, light and beautiful though it was, did not weigh him down? He didn’t think so.

---