Gareth snorted, but did what he was told. "Right you are, guv'nor." He fetched a towel from a small set of shelves that were the closest thing he had to a closet, and dropped it in Peter's lap. "When they had me, the slavers were in Stockholm, Sweden. I was a demon when they got me. Wings, black eyes, the whole bit. Cunting ghost left me after we'd been locked up too long. Go figure," he said, looking around the confines of his room. "So. They're not short on firepower. They like drugging our lot, must use fucking elephant tranquilisers or something. Story was always the same. Out like a light, then we wake up in our cages."

"The guys running the show are rich, and their security is practically paramilitary. They can afford shit like that with the prices they charge for slaves. Auctions are invitation only though, pilgrim, and good luck getting ahold of one of those. Still, if you're smart, you'll be able to find them. Angelboy who led the rescue mission said the cocky buggers advertise. You just need to be able to read between the lines."