A middle-aged woman appears out of thin air, wearing what looks like some sort of military uniform in the white and blue that are definitely not the colors of the old regime. There's a ceremonial sword on one hip and a belt of spell components on the other.

"Are you 'Three'," She grimaces slightly, "born 12 Abadius 4695, or thereabouts?"

"--Yes, mistress."

"My name is Marianne. Congratulations, you are now no longer a slave. You have been selected to represent the people of Cheliax in the upcoming constitutional convention. By order of Her Majesty, you are to attend the convention in Westcrown. I am to deliver you there. You have one hour with which to set any affairs in order here."

She can teleport. That means she's fifth circle at least. 

"What is a constitutional convention," if he's not supposed to be a slave anymore he probably shouldn't say mistress, "ma'am?"

"It is an assembly of the nobility, clergy of Good faiths, representatives selected by the people, and individuals chosen by lot. You were chosen by lot. They - you - will determine how the new government is to be structured and how it is to create new laws."

That...doesn't sound like a thing that exists. 

On the other hand he's probably going to get teleported somewhere that isn't here, and what's he going to do, defy a fifth-circle wizard?

The question is how many clarifying questions he dares ask...

"What does attending the convention consist of?" 

(There's still a submissiveness to his tone and posture, but his eyes are glittering with calculation.)

"Speaking to other delegates. Voting. Ideally thinking about how you would like the country to be run, but if you want to pocket your gold piece and stare at the ceiling and always vote the same as the person before you in the roll-call you won't get in any trouble for it." She frowns, slightly. "That might not work, though, if your name is spelled with the numeral '3' and you wind up first in the roll-call... You can also change your name. If you don't like that one." She looks like she is trying to be respectful of the possibility that he likes the name "three" even though it's a very stupid name.

"Alonso," he says, immediately but almost absent-mindedly. He stands and bows. "Thank you for your patience. I'm going to go arrange my affairs now." 

She pulls a book and a folding chair and a coffee set out of her pocket and sits down to read. She's pretty sure that man is going off to commit some crimes and it is arguably her business as his sovereign but -

But if she's going to do anything about it it'd probably be to pardon him and it would in fact create a huge mess if she were to officially sanction likely-murder-maybe-just-theft committed by ex-slaves against their former masters. So she reads her book and sips coffee and waits for Alonso to be done.

He's gone for a little more than half an hour. 

He's freshly washed, wearing different clothes, and leading three other, female, halflings. 

"Hello, these are some free halflings who happened to be visiting for reasons, can they come with me?"

"Of course! Is this everyone?"

"Yes, it is." 

Nervous curtsey. "Thank you, ma'am." 

"Marianne." She pockets the chair and book and coffee and condescends. "Hold hands, please, in a ring?"

The four of them hold hands. The smallest one, not yet an adult, keeps sneaking admiring glances at Marianne. 

And they're in Westcrown! Marianne points out the large building where the Convention will meet and gives the four of them a general overview of the city, directions to the markets and to some possible lodgings (Mostly for tall people, but she thinks they have rooms sized for gnomes, and are unlikely to discriminate against a convention delegate.)

"Speaking of which, Alonso, I am going to give you a magical mark that will identify you as a delegate. I can put it on any part of your body that you choose. It can't be on an object, unfortunately, because it could get lost or stolen."

Alonso thinks about this for a moment, and then offers the outside of his left wrist. That seems like a convenient location to be able to hide or show it at a moment's notice. 

Left wrist it is, then. "I'm going to have to go now, to pick up some more people. Good fortune to the four of you."

"Good fortune and thank you dearly, ma'am." 

And that, at least, is said sincerely and with no calculation at all.