Seeker (25 page)

The master addressed his overseer.

"Now you listen to me!" he boomed. "I won't have trouble on the plantation. What's this about cheating and beating?"

"It's lies, sir," said the gangmaster. "Your workers are happy in their work. And those who aren't happy, sir, why, they're free to leave."

The lady turned to Blaze.

"Speak," she said.

"The workers are not happy," said Blaze, speaking as if by rote. "They're starving."

"Starving?" barked the master. "Aren't they fed?"

"Two good meals a day, sir," said the gangmaster.

"I really don't see the problem." The master addressed his lady. "You have only to walk through the fields at harvest time to see that the men are happy. It gladdens my heart to hear them sing as they work."

"Your workers are not happy," said Blaze, doggedly repeating his simple refrain. "They work too hard for too little pay. They only sing because if they don't sing they're dismissed with no pay."

"My men are paid the proper wage for the work. I insist on it."

"And how is that decided?" asked the lady.

The master turned to his overseer for an answer.

"Pelican! Explain."

"Well, madam, that sorts itself out in the natural way of things. If we were to pay too little, we wouldn't get the men to do the work. And then again, if we were to pay too much, the plantation would be ruined, and there would be no work for anybody. So in the natural way of things, we fall into the middle way."

"Exactly!" said the master. "The middle way."

"This is no more than a trick, sir, to win the lady's sympathy, in the hope of getting more money for less work. We get his sort from time to time. They're lazy, sir, and envious, and they do their best to stir up dissatisfaction among the men. The only solution is to let them go."

"I believe you're right." He turned to Blaze. "If you're not happy here, my good man, you'd better go elsewhere. We're a happy team at the Mother Bear. If I've learned one thing in my life, it's that happiness promotes prosperity."

"And, sir," said the gangmaster, drawing Similin forward, "if you have any remaining uncertainty—"

"No, no. I've heard enough. Away you go, all of you."

The gangmaster gestured to Blaze.

"Come along. You've had your say."

He led Similin and Blaze out of the room. As they went, the master could be heard saying to his lady,

"Well, my dear, I hope you realize now. Affairs of business are best left to men, who have minds adapted for such complex matters."

As they passed through the hall, there was the pretty governess, now on her own. She jumped up and took a step towards them, but as she did so the house servant appeared, and she shrank back again.

Once they were back on the road to the cornfields, the gangmaster said to Blaze, with great satisfaction,

"So you've had your say. You've done your best to ruin me. And you've failed."

Blaze said nothing.

"This fellow here"—the gangmaster nodded at Similin—"was ready to call you a liar to your face. But I was pretty sure I could handle the situation. I understand these ladies and gentlemen pretty well. What you didn't reckon with is that they have good hearts, the best hearts in the world, but when it comes to the details, they don't want to know. They pay me to look after the details. And do you know what? That's where the money is. In the details."

He was extremely pleased with himself. Soren Similin, on the other hand, found himself in entirely the wrong position. Now Blaze would assume he had followed him to betray him.

"He's not a liar," he said. "Every word was true."

"Oh?" The gangmaster was very surprised. "So you're in league with him, are you? Is this some kind of plot?"

"I wanted to back him up," said Similin.

"You'll get your chance to back him up," said the gangmaster. "You can back each other up. Because I mean to teach you what happens to troublemakers."

They had rejoined the work group in the cornfields. Pelican now beckoned to his associates to come forward.

"Hold on to these two," he said. "And call all the men out to hear me. I've something to say."

The burly associates seized Blaze and Similin. Blaze offered no resistance. The secretary found his arms were pinned behind his back, and he was unable to resist even had he chosen to do so. The workers trooped in from the long rows of corn, curious to know what had happened and grateful for a break from the hard labor.

"You see this man?" cried Pelican, pointing to Blaze. "He went to the master to say he wasn't happy in his work. He said I cheated him. And you know what the master said? He said, If he's not happy, let him go. And I will. And this one here"—he pointed to Similin—"he's not happy either. So I'll let him go, too. Is there anyone else who's not happy?"

No one said a word.

"Do I take it that means you are happy?"

There came a mumbling, nodding response.

"I can't hear you."

"Yes," said the men. "Yes. Yes."

"Very good."

He clenched his fist and nodded to the man who held Blaze, and he called out to the crowd of workers.

"When a man calls me a cheat, I say—"

He struck hard with his fist, straight into Blaze's stomach. Blaze gasped and bent over, but the associates holding him jerked him upright again. Similin knew he would be next. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the coming pain. But Pelican wasn't yet done with Blaze. His fist was jabbing forward again, this time at Blaze's face. The blow brought bright blood streaming from Blaze's nose.

Blaze groaned aloud. Then he howled. Then he roared. And suddenly, like a giant awakening, he flexed his upper arms, and shook himself free. At once, roaring ever louder as he did so, he turned on the two associates, and using his right forearm like a club, smashed them to the ground. The men were more powerfully built than Blaze, but Blaze was driven by an uncontrolled rage that was like a madness, and they fell before him. The gangmaster had barely taken in what was happening when Blaze seized him by the shoulders and hurled him to the ground with such force that he rolled away in the dirt. Blaze chased after him, roaring.

"You bad man! You bad, bad man!"

As the gangmaster cowered on the ground, Blaze pummelled him with his fists, knocking him from one side to the other. The men holding Similin released their grip, to go to their master's aid. But the workers, astonished and excited, now began to shout, too.

"Kill him!" they cried. "Trample him! Crush him!"

The associates backed away.

"Kill them all!" cried the workers.

The associates turned and ran.

Blaze was roaring more quietly now. The terrified gangmaster made no attempt to oppose him. The blows came more slowly, and then they stopped. Shaking with the violence of the tempest that had possessed him, bewildered, like one emerging from a trance, Blaze walked away and stood by himself, the blood still flowing from his nose.

The workers closed in on the gangmaster.

"Take his money! Make him pay! Make the cheating dog pay what he owes!"

They pulled at the gangmaster's clothing and half stripped him and found his money bag. Shortly the coins came flying out, and the workers all fell to scrabbling in the dirt. The gangmaster, finding himself left alone, struggled to his feet and limped away down the road.

Soren Similin went to Blaze and wiped the blood from his face. He saw his way forward now: his way to turn Blaze's explosion of anger to his advantage.

"You're a hero," he said.

"A hero?"

"You fought against injustice."

"Did I?"

"The gangmaster cheated us. He beat us. He was a bad man.

Blaze remembered now.

"That's right! He's a bad man! Should I kill him?"

"He's gone now."

There came a loud crash. The plantation workers had broken into the gangmaster's store shed. There they found his liquor supply.

"We do all the work!" cried one. "The master gets all the profit!"

"The master!" cried the others, not quite knowing why.

"Let him share!"

They handed round the bottles of brandy.

"Share! Share!"

So shouting, drinking, and singing, the workers streamed away down the track towards the plantation house. They sang the Happy Workers song as they went.

"They're happy now," said Blaze.

"Because of you. You're the Noble Warrior."

"The noble warrior?"

Blaze frowned, as if he had heard these words before but couldn't remember where.

"You were a Noma once."

"A Noma?"

"But they cast you out. They rejected you. They said you were bad."

Blaze's frown deepened.

"I'm bad?"

"That's what the Nomana said."

"But I'm not bad. I'm Blaze of Justice."

"That's right. So the Nomana must be wrong."

"The Nomana are wrong." He spoke with emphasis. It made him angry to be called bad. Similin took note.

"The Nomana say you're bad. But you're not bad."

"The Nomana are bad."

"The Nomana are strong," said Similin. "Just like the gangmaster was strong."

"I beat him. He was bad."

"You did. You beat that bad gangmaster. Now it's the Nomana who are bad."

"I'll beat them, too."

"They're very strong."

"I don't care. I'll beat them."

"Would you like to beat them all?"

"Yes. I'll beat them all. I'm Blaze of Justice."

"But what if you get hurt?"

"I don't care."

"What if they kill you?"

"I don't care."

"You're willing to give your life in a just cause."

"Give my life?" Blaze's face cleared. He had heard this before, so it must be true. "Yes, I'd give my life."

"You're a Noble Warrior."

"A noble warrior..." Still it puzzled him, but he liked it. "I am. I'll give my life. Because I'm a noble warrior."

Soren Similin showed no outward sign, but inwardly
he rejoiced. He had brought this poor deluded boy to the necessary place. So much for cleansing.

There came a sudden clatter of iron wheels behind them, and the rapid clop of hooves. It was the wagonette from the plantation house, driven by the master himself, at top speed. With him, white-faced and silent, were the two children and the governess. The master cried out as he raced by.

"Robbers! Looters! They'll pay for this! I'll hang them all!"

Blaze stared after the wagonette as it disappeared in a cloud of dust.

"Not our problem," said Similin. But Blaze's gazing eyes were squinting with concern.

"Where's the lady?"

"What lady?"

"The lady who was kind to me. She must still be in the house."

"They won't hurt her."

"But he said there were robbers."

Blaze rose to his feet and stood hesitating for a moment, his brow furrowed. Then, without a further word, he turned and set off at a loping run down the track to the plantation house.

The secretary cursed in silent frustration. He had come so close. All he needed now was to get Blaze to Radiance. So, with a sigh, he too set off down the track to retrieve his perfect carrier.

As he came in sight of the house, he found the former plantation workers leaving it, in high spirits, carrying items looted from the house.

"You're too late!" they called to him. "All the good stuff's gone!"

Similin made his way slowly up the steps. All the doors were open. Many of the windows had been smashed. Shards of glass glittered on the gray timber floors. Chairs and tables lay overturned. The delicate white curtains had been torn and tangled and ripped from their poles. The masses of fine fabric lay where they had fallen, like heaps of windblown snow. The workers had torn them down because they were a tangible part of the elegance with which the owners had lived; they had torn them as they might tear a lady's dress, to render her as ragged as they were themselves.

Soren Similin moved on through the house, from room to room, and so found Blaze at last, in what had once been the children's schoolroom. Here amid the sad chaos of the looting sat the mistress of the house, on an upright wooden school chair, with Blaze bending over her, speaking to her softly. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, and she was shaking her head.

Blaze looked up as Similin entered.

"They left her behind," he said.

"No," said the lady. "It was my choice. They're better off without me."

"You're good," said Blaze. "We'll look after you."

Soren Similin's heart sank as he heard this. But he thought it best to support Blaze in his act of kindness.

"Do you know where your husband has gone?"

"He has a house in the city"

"The city? Radiance?"

"Yes."

That was a stroke of luck. With rather more enthusiasm, Similin said to Blaze,

"We'd better escort the lady to Radiance."

"Yes," said Blaze. "She's good."

Similin turned back to the lady.

"We have no carriage, I'm afraid. But if you feel able to make the journey on foot, we would be happy to accompany you."

"On foot? Of course. Why not? I can walk."

She stood up, as if to demonstrate, but then remained there, motionless, looking round at the wreckage of the schoolroom. The table had been broken in half. The schoolbooks lay scattered over the floor. A child's rocking-cow had been pulled from its rockers, for no purpose other than to make it useless.

"I'm so sorry," said Blaze.

She turned to him, surprised.

"Why should you be sorry? You didn't do this."

"The workers weren't happy. I beat the bad men. But now—"

He gestured at the destruction.

"Do you think I blame them?" Suddenly she became animated. "Do you think I don't know? All this"—she waved one hand down the passage, towards the other rooms—"all this for one family! For me! Of course I didn't deserve it. Of course it should all be taken away from me. Of course I should be punished. And now I have been punished. I have nothing and no one. I am an unnecessary creature. The sooner my life is over the better."

The tears were gone now. Her beautiful eyes were bright as she spoke, and her gentle voice was urgent, demanding assent. Blaze was hypnotized.