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Meanwhile, winding through the busy streets of the slave market in Algiers, Caspian cracked his neck to the side. The slave collar was getting heavy now. He was, however, rather pleased that he had managed to retain his expensive and incredibly fashionable English frock coat. As they trudged in a dusty line to the central square, he remarked to the large statuesque man in front, “well this is rather irksome, isn’t it?” The man turned his head to him with disgust, “Why did they have to put you with us, white fool?” He spat on the ground. He was about to retort when the large slave drivers controlling the line stepped forwards with their canes and swords. One of them slapped Caspian hard on the back to push him forwards. “Don’t damage the goods,” Caspian cursed before winking at him mock flirtatiously. “I hope whomever buys you castrates you,” the man made a cutting motion with his hands grinning evilly. An ashen cloud passed over his face (do they still do that?) before his usual