Slaves of the Mastery (23 page)

Ortiz looked at the Johdila. He had not been told she would be veiled. Of course, this marriage was more in the nature of an alliance than a love match, but even so he couldn’t help
feeling cheated that he wasn’t to see her face.

‘My lady,’ he said, making her a low bow.

A silence followed.

‘It is our custom,’ said the Grand Vizier, in case there was any misunderstanding, ‘for the bride not to speak to the groom until she is married.’

‘Oh,’ said Ortiz, feeling even more cheated.

‘Her first word to you will be the word which makes her your wife.’

‘Ah,’ said Ortiz.

He looked round, a little at a loss, frowning to conceal the fact; and so caught sight of Kestrel. The Johdila’s young servant, as he presumed her to be, was standing just behind the
Johdila, with her eyes cast modestly down, and unveiled. As he looked on her, it seemed to him that he recognised this young woman’s face. He searched his memory, wondering where he could
have met her before, not guessing that what was striking him was her resemblance to her twin brother.

Suddenly her eyes lifted, and met his. He saw a flash of recognition burn there, just for a moment. Then she looked down again. Ortiz felt a shudder of surprise go through him.

At exactly the same time, Sisi had discovered, standing some way behind her husband to be, a slight young man with a pale face and big dark eyes. The young man was gazing steadily, not at her,
but at Kestrel. As she looked at him, his eyes moved to rest on her. Because she was veiled, she was able to gaze directly into his eyes, and he couldn’t tell that she was looking back. She
found those dark eyes fascinating. There was so much quietness in them, and so much understanding. She realised then that most men’s gaze was rough and bossy, as if their eyes were forever
trying to force something onto her; whereas this gaze was gentle, receptive, kind.

Bowman, for his part, longed with all his being for one look from Kestrel. He understood that they must not give themselves away, and had made no attempt to reach out to her with his mind. But
the temptation to catch her eye was too strong. He turned his gaze from the veiled princess back to his beloved sister, and just at that moment she looked up, and their eyes met. For a fraction of
a second, they told each other through their eyes all there was to be said: all their love, all their deep gladness that they were both safe, all their gratitude that they were near each other
again. Bowman longed with a terrible aching longing to run into her arms, to feel her touch, as he had done every day of his life, until the coming of the Mastery. But he never moved so much as a
finger, and almost as soon as their eyes met, the look was broken again.

Not before Sisi had seen it all. The look in Bowman’s eyes was unmistakable. He knew Kestrel! At once, gazing on him with this clue to help her, Sisi saw the resemblance. This must be
Kestrel’s brother! Secretly excited, she now studied him all over again. He was not as tall as she had hoped, nor did he look strong; but his face was so interesting. It kept changing. He
didn’t laugh the way Kestrel laughed, but then there was nothing here to laugh at. He seemed not to know what he was supposed to do. Sisi liked him for that, because she didn’t know
what she was supposed to do either.

She felt a pinch on her arm.

‘Make your respects.’ It was her mother, whispering. ‘Return to your carriage.’

The Johdila did as she was told. Kestrel and Lunki followed behind. As soon as they were back in the carriage, Sisi sent Lunki out on an errand, and turned eagerly to her friend.

‘I saw him! He’s your brother! He is, he is, I know it!’

Kestrel’s confusion gave her away.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t tell anyone.’

‘Oh no, I won’t, darling! It’ll be our secret. But you have to let me meet him.’

‘What for?’

‘So I can marry him, of course! You have to meet people you’re going to marry.’

‘You’re not marrying my brother, Sisi.’

‘I am so. He’s sweet.’

‘You’re marrying that – that –’

‘That murderer, you called him.’

‘Well, so he is.’

‘I like your brother better.’

‘You’re to forget about my brother. No one’s to know he’s my brother.’

‘Why? I don’t understand. Why can’t we just send for him to come and visit us? Don’t you want to see him?’

Reluctantly, Kestrel realised she would have to explain, at least in part.

‘He’s a slave, Sisi. So are all my family. I’m looking for a way to help them escape.’

‘Kess, how simply thrilling! What way?’

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘I have an idea! I’ll ask the Master to give them to me, as a wedding present.’

Kestrel was touched. She smiled, but shook her head.

‘It’s not just my family. It’s my people.’

‘How many is that?’

‘Thousands and thousands.’

‘Oh.’ Sisi was dismayed. ‘That’s too many, Kess. You’ll never find a way for thousands to escape.’

‘Yes, I will. I want to, and I have to, and I will!’

Her fierce determination thrilled the Johdila.

‘I expect you will, too, Kess,’ she said. Then, with sudden dismay, ‘But what will happen to me? I’ll have to marry the murderer, won’t I?’

‘Who knows? No one ever knows what will happen until it happens.’

But Kestrel had no intention of waiting for some unknown fate to intervene. Now that she had seen Bowman, now that they could communicate, she was determined to carry out her plan to the end.
All the necessary pieces were falling into place. She and Bowman, working together, could do anything. And as for Sisi – she preferred not to think about Sisi. The unfortunate fact was she
was growing fond of her. She had thought at first that Sisi was stupid, but now she realised she was simply ignorant. If anyone was stupid, it was Zohon. She had laughed at him to start with, but
now she knew that a vain and stupid man with a sharp knife is not funny at all. How could she deliver Sisi into the clutches of a man like that? But would she be any better off with the murderer
Ortiz, to whom her family were selling her? So Kestrel resolved to pursue her plan whatever the consequences, and to trust to the inspiration of the moment to save Sisi.

Marius Semeon Ortiz rode back to the High Domain in a thoughtful silence. His mind was on the young woman who had attended the Johdila. She wasn’t what anyone would call
beautiful, but there was something about her that was hard to forget. What was it? A directness of manner, a boldness in her eyes, even a touch of wildness. And the mouth – he imagined that
mouth smiling. He imagined the lips forming into a kiss. He imagined kissing – With a start, he forced himself to break off such a ridiculous train of thought. If his circumstances had been
different, he might perhaps have sought to know the young stranger better. But his duty lay clear before him. He would marry the Johdila, and so bring the immense Sovereignty of Gang under the
Master’s control. The Master would be proud of him, and would make him his heir. In time, all the power and wealth of the Mastery would be his.

He gazed down the gentle sloping land towards the lake, and the city-palace that rose from its waters. In just a few short days now he would be married. His bride, the Johdila Sirharasi of Gang,
would come to live with him in his beautiful rooms. Her servants would come with her. The fascinating young woman with the dark eyes would have a bed under his roof. He would pass her in the
passages. Her eyes would look up and meet his. Her arm would brush against his arm. He would turn, to find she had also turned, and was looking at him. He would reach out a hand, draw her close,
kiss her neck, her cheeks, her lips –

Boomba-boomba-boomba
– The horses’ hooves clattered over the timbers of the causeway. Ortiz blinked, roused from his daydream.

What’s happened to me, he thought in alarm? I don’t know this young woman’s name. I’ve not spoken a word to her. I’ve looked at her once, for barely a second.
It’s ridiculous, impossible, and untrue, to suppose that I’ve fallen in love.

Fallen in love!

The words alone, spoken only in his head, made him tremble with delight. Fallen in love? Of course not! Fallen in love? It was out of the question. How could the heir to the Mastery ride out to
view his future bride, and fall in love with the wrong woman?

B
owman rode back with his master to the High Domain, eager for the first opportunity to return to his family. Ortiz had required him to remain in
the city-palace overnight, allocating for his use a room more suited to a friend than a servant; but he had still not told Bowman what his particular duties were to be. He treated him with
courtesy, and sought his assistance as if he were asking a favour rather than giving an order. Therefore Bowman hoped he would grant his urgent request.

However, once back in his quarters, Ortiz dismissed all the others, and asked Bowman to stay. He beckoned him to join him on his private terrace. Here, where a fine view of the city was laid out
before him, Ortiz was accustomed to come when he wanted to reflect.

Bowman was just preparing to make his request when Ortiz said abruptly,

‘What did you think of my bride?’

‘Your bride?’

‘Her beauty? The sweetness of her voice? Her temper, her manner, her understanding?’

‘But – she was veiled. She never spoke.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Sir –’

‘What is marriage?’ Ortiz was talking as much to himself as to Bowman, driven by confused currents within himself. ‘An arrangement, nothing more. Not love. Not even happiness.
Only a fool expects to love his wife.’

Bowman hardly knew how to respond to this, so he kept silent.

‘So you see, love has nothing whatsoever to do with this marriage. The wedding proceeds as planned. Business as usual. I can tell the Master that I am perfectly satisfied. Is that
clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Bowman had been so full of thoughts of his sister that he had not been paying close attention to Ortiz. He now realised he had no idea what was going on inside his young
master.

‘I suppose you wonder what I’m talking about.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’m talking about nonsense, about moonshine, about dreams and shadows. Look!’ He gestured over the glowing domes of the city. ‘Has there ever been so beautiful a city?
Have men ever lived so well? This is real, this is lasting. Not some fleeting glimpse of how it might be to – to – what? To be interested in another person? To catch their eye? To hope
for an answering smile?’

He turned an eager face to Bowman’s, and Bowman caught the excitement of his feelings. Like all lovers, Ortiz was overwhelmed by an impulse to share his emotion with someone else.

‘I can talk to you, can’t I? You understand me, at least a little, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said Bowman; beginning, belatedly, to investigate.

‘One look! Isn’t it absurd? How can so little lead on to so much? I feel as if I’ve peeped through a tiny hole in a door, a pinhole, and seen on the other side – myself,
leading a different life.’

Bowman was thinking fast. This burst of passion could not have been prompted by the veiled Johdila Sirharasi.

‘One look from a pair of dark eyes!’ said Ortiz with a sigh.

Now Bowman was there.

‘The Johdila’s servant?’

‘Ah! You saw her too?’

‘Yes. I saw her.’

‘I tell you, if I wasn’t about to be married, I would hope – I would ask – I would wish – to know her better.’

Bowman’s mind explored this new development. Somehow, he was sure, he should be able to turn it to the advantage of his enslaved people.

‘You don’t have to go through with the marriage,’ he suggested.

‘It’s the Master’s wish.’

‘You don’t have to do everything the Master wants.’

Ortiz turned to stare at Bowman.

‘I don’t have to –? Of course, I’m forgetting. You’re new here. You don’t yet understand. This –’ a sweep of one hand over the view, ‘this
perfect world is the Master’s creation. It exists and prospers because we do his will.’

‘A perfect world for you,’ said Bowman. ‘Not for the slaves.’

Ortiz looked at him again, in an odd sort of way.

‘Are you sure about that?’ he said. ‘Don’t the slaves of the Mastery live well? In comfort and safety? Don’t they do good work here, their best work, and grow fat
and rich and well-respected? What more can any man want?’

‘To be free.’

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ Bowman was taken aback. ‘Everyone wants to be free.’

‘Everyone wants? Like everyone wants chocolates? It’s not always good to be given what we want, is it?’

‘No, but – but freedom is –’

Bowman began to feel confused.

‘Freedom is what?’ said Ortiz. ‘I’ll tell you. Freedom is vanity. Freedom is greed. It sets man against man. It makes savages of us all. The Master has shown us the
terrible cruelty of freedom.’

It was madness, but Ortiz seemed to believe it, and with conviction. Bowman forgot for the moment that he was a slave, and that this was a man who had power over him.

‘I’ve seen cruelty,’ he said, letting the anger into his voice. ‘I’ve seen innocent people burned alive.’

‘Of course! Every one of us here has seen that! But that’s not cruelty. That’s terror. A single act of terror forces obedience. Without obedience, there’s chaos. With
obedience comes peace and order. First we obey in terror. Later we obey in love. The Master has taught us so. And this rich and beautiful world is our reward.’

Once again Bowman said,

‘For you. Not for the slaves.’

Ortiz then reached out his right arm before Bowman, and in silence, drew back the rich fabric of his sleeve. There on his wrist was a branded number.

‘We’re all slaves here,’ he said. ‘That’s the secret of the Mastery.’

Bowman stared.

‘All?’

‘All but one. The Master bears the burden of freedom for us all.’

Bowman looked from Ortiz to the view of the city, and the lake, and the well-tended fields beyond. He saw farm workers following the plough. A team of wagons plodding down the road. A troop of
chasseurs trotting briskly over the causeway. He recalled the young lords in Ortiz’s party, and the dance teacher; the manacs, and the choirs singing in the dusk. All slaves?