Slaves of the Mastery (22 page)

Ortiz was amused. ‘He may be right, you know.’

‘Careless, indeed! You will be precise. Exact. Perfect. When you leave my class you may be as sloppy as you choose, but here – precision! Acha!’

They danced again. Ortiz danced better. He had understood Bowman, even if his teacher had not. Against his will, Bowman felt himself warming towards Ortiz. That hawk-like face, that head of
tawny hair, presently so absorbed in the complex dance, was like the Mastery itself: cruel, but beautiful. And harder yet to understand, Bowman sensed that his young master believed himself to be
doing, to the best of his ability, what was right and good. There seemed to be no guilt in him when he let his eyes meet Bowman’s eyes. As he danced, he seemed almost innocent.

Bowman himself did not feel innocent. He didn’t know yet what duty he was to perform for Ortiz, but he sensed it would lead him to his greater duty. Beautiful though this city was, it must
be destroyed. Bowman was certain of it. And somehow, he was to be the destroyer.

Hanno Hath sat at the library table, holding the brittle cream-coloured pages in his trembling hands, reading and re-reading the line of text that ran across the top of the
first page:

For the child who bears my name, and must complete my work
.

For generations, Manth scholars had known of the existence of the Lost Testament, but no record had ever been made of its contents. All that was known was who had written it, for whom, and
why.

The author was the first prophet of their people, Ira Manth. It was known that he had written it for his seven-year-old granddaughter, who was also called Ira Manth. His purpose had been to
leave an account of all that the prophet had learned. Some even said that the prophet had foretold the future of his people in the Lost Testament.

And here it was, on the table before him: a few small sheets covered with line after line of carefully-penned old Manth script. Beneath the opening line, the blocks of handwriting were divided
at irregular intervals by lines drawn across the entire page. These blocks were numbered, using the old Manth hand-signs, which counted in fives. At the end of the document the author had sketched
the looped-over S that was the symbol of the Singer people. Hanno was astonished to see it on so early a document.

He steadied his hands to hold the paper to the light, as he read the first page.

W
hen the great caravan of Gang reached the borders of the Mastery, it came to a halt. Here the seventy-seven carriages, the royal court, its
officials, its servants, and its enormous retinue of guards, pitched camp and settled down to make final preparations for the wedding. There was a great deal to do. The bride’s wedding dress
must be taken out of its travel trunk and assembled. The Johanna’s regalia must be polished. The ceremony must be rehearsed. And in general, everybody began to bustle about and become
anxious.

Kestrel knew that she was now close to her brother, because the feeling of him came to her strong and clear: but she didn’t realise just how close she was, until all at once, she heard his
voice. She was in the Johdila’s carriage with Sisi and Lunki when there came a flurry of moving air, a tingle of warmth, and then, far off but recognisable, Bowman calling to her.

Kess! I’m coming
!

She stood absolutely still, and forced all other thoughts out of her mind.

Kess! I can feel you! You’re there
!

Yes
, she called back to him.
I’m here
!

At once she felt a wave of joy flow out from him to embrace her. She couldn’t see him or hear him, but she sensed that he was coming nearer all the time. Her own dear brother was
coming!

Are ma and pa
–

All well
! came the joyful reply.

Are you slaves? Are they hurting you
?

Not free
, he answered her.
But not hurt
.

Tell them I love them.

She wanted to cry, and knew he could feel it.

Love you, Kess. We’ll all be together again soon
.

Shortly after this a messenger arrived from the Mastery, to announce that a party was on its way to welcome the travellers. With them rode the bridegroom, the Master’s son, coming to view
the bride.

The Johdila received the news with fury.

‘Coming to view the bride!’ she exclaimed. ‘What does he think I am? A menu? He can’t pick and choose, you know.’

‘Don’t forget,’ pointed out Kestrel, ‘you will be veiled.’

‘Oh, yes.’ The Johdila had forgotten this. ‘He can view me till his eyes pop, but he won’t see me.’

‘But you’ll see him.’

‘I will! Serve him right!’

‘What if you don’t like him?’

‘I’ll run away. Will you run away with me, darling? We’ll live in the trees like squirrels, and never marry anybody. Or do squirrels get married?’

‘Let’s wait and see what happens. After all, who knows? Something may happen to stop the marriage taking place.’

Kestrel could feel Bowman coming closer all the time. She realised he must be riding with the bridegroom’s party. This coincidence, that her brother was accompanying the bridegroom while
she accompanied the bride, first astonished her, and then gave her renewed confidence. It couldn’t be chance. Somehow, it must have been arranged. Someone was watching over them. And soon
now, very soon, they would be in each other’s arms –

No! They mustn’t give each other away.

Bo! You’re not to show you know me
.

Don’t worry. I won’t
.

He understood. Of course he understood: he always had.

Zohon came striding by, followed by a stream of armed men. He was engaged in positioning soldiers in hiding places on either side of the road. Kestrel saw this, and was disturbed. She sought out
the Grand Vizier.

‘Should the Johdila be better protected, sir? If there’s to be fighting.’

‘Fighting? What fighting?’ exclaimed Barzan. ‘This is a wedding party.’

‘It’s just that, when I saw the soldiers hiding in the bushes –’

‘Soldiers hiding in bushes!’

This had the desired effect. Barzan stormed up to Zohon, and demanded to know what he was doing.

‘Defending the Johanna,’ replied Zohon curtly. ‘If they think they can creep up on me, they’ll learn their lesson soon enough.’

‘They’re not creeping anywhere, you great baboon! They’re coming to view the bride!’

‘How do we know that?’

‘Because a messenger was sent to tell us.’

‘They’d hardly send a messenger to say, “We’re coming to attack your camp and kidnap the Johdila”, would they? Really, Barzan, I do sometimes wonder if you’re
up to the job.’

‘Kidnap the Johdila? What for? We’re giving her to them!’

‘We might be. And we might not. We might be only pretending to give them the Johdila, in order to spring a trap and attack their country.’

‘But we’re not!’

‘They can’t be sure of that. So they may decide to strike first. But I will strike before them!’

‘You’ll strike first, before they strike first?’

‘Exactly!’

‘How will you know they were ever going to strike first, if they haven’t yet struck?’

‘That is my skill, Barzan. That is why the Johjan Guards have been undefeated for the last five years, since I took command.’

‘No it isn’t. You’ve been undefeated for the last five years because we haven’t had a war in the last five years.’

‘Precisely! I think my point is made.’

‘I think you’re barking mad.’

Barzan went to the Johanna to protest against the arrangement of the guards.

‘Don’t you see, greatness? It strikes the wrong note entirely. The note of suspicion, and veiled aggression.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ said the Johanna. ‘They’re fine-looking fellows, you know.’

‘They’re soldiers, gloriousness. Soldiers fight wars. We do not want a war.’

‘Oh, poo poo, Barzan,’ said the Johanna.

At the request of the Johdi, Ozoh the Wise held a special sign reading before the arrival of the bridegroom and his party. The royal augur, badly frightened by his encounter with Zohon, was now
struggling to please both sides. He spun the sacred egg with trembling fingers.

‘Oh! Ah!’ he murmured as the egg came to rest.

‘Well?’ said the Johdi, who was becoming more anxious every day.

‘You see for yourself, fragility! The egg is in Spong!’

‘In Spong! Foofy, the egg is in Spong!’

‘Well, well, my dear. If it is, then it is, you know.’

‘In Spong,’ said Ozoh, ‘the blessings of peace are sustained by the flower of manhood.’ Ozoh was pleased with this phrase, ‘the flower of manhood’. It seemed
to him that it showed an inclination towards the Johjan Guards, which would satisfy Zohon, but in a peace-loving way, which would satisfy Barzan.

‘So will everything be all right?’ fretted the Johdi.

‘Where there is shadow, there must be light,’ said the augur. ‘Though the sun sets, it rises again.’

‘That’s quite right, you know,’ said the Johanna, impressed and cheered.

Zohon’s lookouts now shouted that the visitors had been sighted.

‘To your places!’ cried Barzan. ‘Everyone in position!’

The courtiers and officials formed up in two angled lines, reaching out from the royal carriages in the shape of welcoming arms. The horn players raised their horns to their lips and waited for
the signal. Zohon strode up and down, swinging his hammer with suppressed violence. The Johdila and Kestrel pressed close to the gauze-covered window of the carriage, each as eager, though for
different reasons, to see the bridegroom’s party arrive.

Then the horns sounded on the highway, followed by the horns on the approach track, followed by the horns in the camp itself. Into view rode a handsome and brightly-coloured group of young men,
wearing cloaks that billowed behind them, over elaborately-embroidered tunics, with plumed hats on their heads.

‘Peacocks!’ sneered Zohon to himself as he saw them. ‘I’ll set them squawking before I’m done!’

Kestrel, peeping through the carriage window, recognised Ortiz at once. He rode in the lead, bareheaded, his thick tawny hair rippling in the breeze. He sat tall in the saddle, conscious that
hundreds of eyes were now upon him, and slowed his horse down to a walk. Behind him came his gentleman companions. Behind them his servants. Kestrel looked on him, and felt her whole body stiffen.
The memory swept through her so vividly that she could almost smell the burning houses and hear the screams: she saw again that arrogant face turning towards her, not seeing her, the cruel eyes
reflecting the red and dancing flames that were destroying her home. This was her enemy. This was the one she had sworn to destroy.

‘He’s not so bad-looking,’ said Sisi. ‘And he’s not at all old.’

‘He’s a murderer!’ said Kestrel.

‘Is he?’ Sisi was surprised. ‘How do you know?’

Kestrel longed to tell Sisi, but she didn’t trust her not to blurt it out to all the court. For now, her secret was her power. So she replied,

‘Look at his face. Don’t you think he looks cruel?’

‘Not especially. What does cruel look like?’

Now Ortiz had dismounted, and all his party were swinging down off their horses. The Johanna and the Johdi descended from their carriage, and the Grand Vizier presented the bridegroom to his
royal master. Kestrel could feel Bowman’s nearness, but still she couldn’t see him. Then the gentlemen round Ortiz moved forward, clearing a space, and there he was, standing quietly at
the back, holding Ortiz’s horse. He looked just the same; if anything, a little smaller, frailer-seeming beside the big handsome horse. She knew he felt her too, but couldn’t yet see
her. A glow of happiness came over her as she gazed at him.

I can see you
.

Where? Where are you
?

His head turned this way and that, hunting her.

In the green and gold carriage, with the bride. We’ll be coming out soon
.

Now his eyes were turned directly towards her. But he couldn’t see through the gauze-curtained window.

The formal introductions were over. The time for the viewing of the bride had come. Footsteps approached the Johdila’s carriage.

‘Lower your veil, pet,’ murmured Lunki.

The door was opened from the outside. The Grand Vizier proclaimed,

‘The Johdila Sirharasi, Pearl of Perfection, Radiance of the East, and the Delight of a Million Eyes!’

Sisi stepped out of her carriage, followed by Lunki and Kestrel. As soon as she was out, Kestrel felt Bowman’s eyes on her, but she avoided looking at him. Her eyes on the ground, she went
meekly behind the Johdila, as a good servant should.

The Johanna took Sisi’s hand as she came up to him, and held it tight. Now that this imposing young bridegroom had come to view Sisi, the Johanna found himself not wanting to let his
little girl go.

‘Speak, mightiness,’ whispered Barzan.

‘Oh, very well,’ sighed the Johanna. So he raised his royal head and addressed his son-in-law to be.

‘I present my beloved daughter. May she find favour in your eyes.’