Slaves of the Mastery (25 page)

Now she was pulling on a robe over her nightclothes, and feeling under her cot for her slippers. Now, treading lightly, she was passing down the carriage to the door. Now the door was
opening.

She flew down the carriage steps and into his arms. He held her tight and close, feeling her heart beat by his, and pressed his cheek to her cheek, first on one side, then on the other. Then he
pressed his brow to her brow. In silence of voice and mind, they remained like this, arms wrapped tight round each other, for many long minutes. They had been cut in half, and now were becoming
whole again.

Then they parted, and held hands, and looked deep into each other’s eyes.

You’ve changed, my brother
.

In answer, he let her feel the new power that was growing in him: letting his mind press against hers. She reeled back.

‘How do you do that?’

‘Hush! Speak softly. I don’t know.’

He drew her away into the trees, where they could talk without fear of waking anybody. Even so, they dared not stay together long. There were other sentries, who might pass close enough to see
them. If Bowman were sent back to the Mastery under guard, accused of spying, the fires would be lit again beneath the monkey wagons.

Kestrel heard of the Mastery’s ways of enforcing obedience with anger.

‘They’re monsters! I’m going to kill them all!’

‘We will, Kess. We’re going to destroy them.’

Kestrel marvelled that her gentle brother could say such things. What had changed him? There was so much to ask, so much to tell, and so little time.

‘I know how we can do it,’ she said. Speaking rapidly, she told Bowman about Zohon and his ambitions. ‘He doesn’t want this marriage. He’ll use his army to stop it.
He wants the Johdila for himself.’

‘Everyone fears the Mastery. Are you sure this Zohon will make a fight of it?’

‘I know how to make him sure.’

‘We have to get all our people away together. If any are left behind, they’ll be killed.’

‘When the fighting starts, that’s our chance. But our people must be ready.’

‘They will be.’

Bowman took her hands and squeezed them. He was sure now. Together, they could do anything.

‘Kess, there’s more you need to know –’

But just then they heard a soft voice calling from the camp.

‘Kestrel! Where are you, Kess?’

‘The Johdila! You must go! Don’t let her see you!’

Bowman gave her one last quick hug, and slipped away through the trees. The Johdila appeared from the other direction just in time to catch a glimpse of his shadowy departing form.

‘It’s him, isn’t it?’

‘Hush!’ said Kestrel. ‘You should be asleep.’

‘Call him back, Kess. I want to meet him.’

‘Not now. Nobody must know. It’s our secret.’

‘Why did he come? What did he want? Did he want to see me? Did he ask about me?’

Kestrel led the Johdila back to her carriage, doing what she could to calm her excited spirits.

‘He came to see me. We’ve missed each other very much.’

‘Yes, I do see that, darling. But he’s seen you before hundreds of times, and he’s never seen me at all. I really do think it’s my turn, you know.’

‘Maybe soon. But now we must both go back to sleep. Who knows what tomorrow may bring?’

B
owman reported to his master, Marius Semeon Ortiz, early the next morning. The streets of the High Domain were awash with water, as they were
hosed down and swept clean for the coming day. Ortiz himself was bright and eager, full of nervous tension.

‘The Master has sent for me! We’ll set out right away. This is a great, great day for me. You’ll say nothing about my little fancy of yesterday, will you?’

‘No, sir.’

‘All nonsense, of course. A whim of the moment. I’ve hardly given her a single thought since I woke this morning. The first rule is, obey the Master. Then everything else works
itself out. You’ll see.’

He led Bowman out onto the gleaming street.

‘By the way,’ he said, ‘if you don’t agree with anything I say, you’re to speak up. The Master teaches us that those in power quickly lose touch with how matters
really are. No one will tell them the truth, you see. Everyone tells them what they think they want to hear.’

He stopped and turned his handsome face to Bowman with a smile.

‘I never did tell you your particular duties, did I? You’re to be my truth-teller. I picked you out on the march. It seems to me you go your own way. Was I right?’

Bowman was very surprised, and a little impressed. This eager young warlord became more complicated all the time.

‘For example,’ said Ortiz, ‘when I say I’ve not given a moment’s thought since I woke up to a certain pair of dark eyes, you as my truth-teller might reply, then
why do you speak of her now? Do you see? I offer that merely as an example.’

‘What if the truth I tell is painful, or dangerous?’

‘Dangerous how?’

‘Suppose I were to tell you I was going to kill you.’

‘Going to kill me?’ Ortiz was a little taken aback. But true to his word, he listened, and thought about it. ‘I don’t think that’s truth-telling,’ he said
after a few moments. ‘That’s future-telling. I’m not asking you to tell the future, because no one knows the future, not even you. Now if you were to say, I want to kill you
– that would be truth-telling. You’d be speaking about your own desire, which would remain true whether or not you actually carried out the deed. Do you see the difference?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Bowman, amused in spite of himself.

‘So go on. Tell me a truth.’

Bowman thought. It didn’t take long.

‘You’ll never be a Master to others so long as your greatest ambition is to please your own Master.’

‘Great stars above! Do you think so?’

They had now reached the staircase that led to the upper levels.

‘That’s good! I’ll have to give that one some thought. But here we are now. Don’t mind if the Master ignores you. He has a great deal on his mind at present.’

They ascended the stairs and entered the wide bright upper levels. The Master was striding up and down with a pair of binoculars clamped to his eyes, gazing out over the streets of the High
Domain, and making strange signals with his free hand. His servant Spalian stood beside him, holding his violin.

‘There! No, he still can’t see me. There!’

‘He sees you now, Master.’

Meeron Graff was stationed a little way away, also with binoculars to his eyes. The Master waved his left hand above his head. Across several streets, a tiny figure on a high roof terrace waved
back.

‘Got him! Mark it!’

Ortiz and Bowman waited and watched. The Master seemed to be establishing a number of lines of sight, to people posted in windows, and terraces, and on rooftops, all down the main avenue of the
High Domain. The upper levels reached along part of this avenue, but by no means all. Some of the more distant lookouts were equipped with telescopes, so that they could track the Master’s
signals. Bowman’s immediate thought was that a great trap was being prepared, for the members of the wedding party and their armed escort.

He fixed his mind on the Master, and probed as far as he could. He felt the power of the man radiating out from him like heat from a fire; and beneath the surface heat, he felt the
Master’s deep inner coldness. What came as a surprise was the jangle of energy, the restlessness, the brittle rage so quickly lost in brittle laughter – in all, the unexpectedly high
level of anxiety. This huge man, with his crimson cloak flapping about him, and his gold-belted belly, and his streaming white hair, was fighting some secret fear.

‘There, Graff! Those are their positions. Make sure they know them.’

‘Yes, Master.’

‘The timing is crucial. There’s to be no delay. On my signal, they begin.’

‘Yes, Master.’

The Master now lowered his binoculars and turned to take in the waiting Ortiz. He paid no attention to Bowman, who stood quietly behind him.

‘Ah! You’ve come.’

Ortiz at once prostrated himself on the floor.

‘Did you see her?’

‘Yes, Master.’

‘Up! Up! What’s she like? Will she do?’

‘I’m content to marry the Johdila, Master, if that’s your wish.’

‘I asked you what’s she like, not what you wanted.’

‘She was veiled, Master.’

‘Veiled!’ The Master burst into booming laughter. ‘Excellent! So you’ve no idea! That’s fine, I must say. A surprise package. This calls for a wager. I say
she’s a beauty – well, passably pretty, at least. I’ll stake – what? The Sovereignty of Gang! How about that?’

‘Master?’

‘If she’s pretty, you get the pleasure of a handsome wife. If she’s a shocker, you get an empire of your own. How’s that for a bet?’

‘You’re more than generous, Master.’

‘I’m going to give you the wedding of all time, Marius! These primitives from Obagang will never have seen anything so glorious in all their miserable lives! It will be a living work
of art! Food!’

This last word came out as a sudden bellow. A slave appeared, seemingly from nowhere, holding out a tray on which lay several small pastries. The Master took one of the pastries, put it whole
into his mouth, and after two or three vigorous chews, swallowed it.

‘Delicious!’ he exclaimed. ‘There’s a new pastry cook, a kind of genius. Try one.’

Ortiz accepted a pastry, and ate it rather more slowly. The Master took a second, and demolished it as ferociously as the first. Bowman watched him in growing surprise. The man clearly had
enormous appetites, which he made no effort at all to control.

‘It’s your wish, then, Master, that I marry the Johdila?’

‘Yes, boy. Why not? Someone must.’

‘And that I . . .’ Ortiz cautiously left his sentence unfinished.

‘And that you? And that you?’

Ortiz bowed his head humbly.

‘Be named your son, Master.’

‘Well now, that’s quite a jump, isn’t it? For a man to acquire a son at my age. Let’s take a look at you.’

Ortiz knew what that meant. Trembling, he raised his eyes to meet the Master’s. He felt the Master reach into him, deeper and deeper. His heart beat fast, but he did not turn away.

Suddenly the Master growled with menace.

‘What’s this, Marius? What secret are you keeping from me?’

‘Secret, Master? I have no secrets from you.’

‘Liar!’

The Master’s eyes flashed with anger. His bearded chin jerked, and Ortiz crumpled to the floor with a cry of pain. There he writhed and contorted, while the Master tossed him as if with an
invisible pitchfork. Bowman watched in horror, knowing exactly what the Master was doing. He was holding Ortiz in a mind-wrench, tormenting him with crushing pain. It was the same power the hermit
had taught him, though in the Master it was far stronger. Bowman knew he must find out just how strong, because the time would come when he would face the Master’s power himself. Carefully,
not wanting to attract the Master’s attention, he extended his senses into the crackling energy that gripped Ortiz.

‘What’s this dirty little secret of yours?’ thundered the Master, as Ortiz thrashed and screamed at his feet. ‘You belong to me, do you hear! All your thoughts and all
your passions belong to me!’

‘Yes, Master!’ sobbed the stricken man.

‘Tell me!’

‘Only a pretty face, Master! Only a servant girl who caught my eye – aaah! –’

‘A girl, eh?’

As abruptly as he had gripped Ortiz, he let him go. Ortiz let out a long breath, the pain still shuddering through his aching body.

‘No harm in that,’ said the Master. ‘You’re young. It’s to be expected. Look at me again.’

Fearful but obedient, Ortiz looked up from where he lay. This time the Master smiled on him, and as he smiled he healed him of all the pain he had inflicted, and filled him with sweet sensations
of joy. Ortiz felt his body relax. He bathed in the warmth of the Master’s love, and tears sprang to his eyes, tears of joy, and rolled streaming down his cheeks.

‘I love you, Master. All that I do, I do for you. I love you now and forever.’

‘Well, well,’ said the Master, his voice now soft with kindness. ‘You shall marry, and you shall be named as my son. Does that suit you?’

Ortiz crawled onto his knees, and from there, prostrated himself before the Master, flat out on the floor at his feet.

‘Master!’ he cried. ‘Father!’

Bowman was taking care to veil his feelings, and to keep his eyes down, not wanting to attract attention. However, when Ortiz rose up again, his wet eyes still shining with joy, he was so
brimming with love for the Master that he couldn’t resist turning to Bowman and saying,

‘Now you see why all his people love him!’

‘Yes, sir,’ murmured Bowman.

‘Master,’ cried Ortiz, ‘I have taken this young man as my truth-teller.’

‘Truth-teller, eh?’ The Master looked at Bowman for the first time. ‘Young for a truth-teller.’

‘He’s one of the Manth people, Master.’

‘Is he, now?’ His eyes were still on Bowman, but Bowman himself looked resolutely down at the floor. ‘Ever heard of a prophet called Ira Manth?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Bowman.

‘Yes, Master!’ thundered the Master.

‘Yes, Master.’

‘Look at me, boy. Let me see your eyes.’

Bowman raised his head and looked. He emptied his mind, making it as blank as he could, while the Master explored him. After a few moments, the Master looked away with a shrug.

‘I’d say he was more of a simpleton than a truth-teller, Marius. I shouldn’t pay too much attention to him if I were you.’

I will destroy you
.

‘What was that?’ The Master jerked round, eyes blazing. ‘What did you say?’

‘Nothing, Master.’ Bowman drained his mind once more. He was angry with himself for letting his true feelings out, even for so brief a moment.

‘He said nothing, Master,’ said Ortiz.

The Master ignored him. He came up close to Bowman. His eyes flashed as he gripped him with his mind. Bowman forced himself not to resist. He let the Master shake him, wincing at the pain.