. . . He had spoken instead as “vayneeam dahtay domeenatorays. Plasayatnay vobis kognoscoray kwoad kogneeseeownem ahleequam leenguay vestray hahbayo?”
Something very much like a panic stirred in him now. He searched his mind hastily for lines that they must recognize, even if the pronunciation was not what they were used to; and his memory came up with the opening lines of the Aeneid, by Virgil: “Arma verumque cano Troiae . . .”
“Owdeetay,” he said hastily. “Arma veerumquay kano troyay . . .”
“You mean, I think,” interrupted Pier in Latin, almost coldly, “Owdeetay: Arma weerumquay kano Troyeye.”
It was not exactly the classic pronunciation of that first line of Latin verse as Bart had learned it from his father, but it was so similar that the differences in pronunciation were negligible.
“Where did you learn to speak classical Latin?” Pier went on to ask in French.
“From my father,” answered Bart; also, with relief, in French.
“Ah!” said Marta, in a universal tongue, looking at her husband.
“He spoke a number of languages,” added Bart hurriedly, “and he taught me a lot. There was no one else to learn from, except the teacher at a little school that really only tried to teach writing and basic arithmetic to the local children.”
“What other barbarian tongues do you speak?” asked Pier.
“German, Italian—French and English, of course—Cree, some bits of other Indian languages and a little of other European languages.”
“And you learned all these from your father?” Marta demanded.
“All but the Indian languages,” said Bart. “We only had each other; and the only thing he had to give me was what he knew—about languages and things like that—”
He broke off.
“Go on,” said Pier.
“I was going to say, about the world and people,” answered Bart.
“What people?” The question came like a bullet from Pier.
“People in general. The history of those in Europe eastward into China, and southward into Africa . . .” Bart hesitated, then took the bull by the horns. “He never told me about any place like this one, however, or any people like yours, Lord and Lady.”
Marta and Pier once more exchanged glances. It occurred to Bart that they hardly needed the Latin dialect in which to communicate privately. Like many people who have lived closely together for a long time, with the help of a glance or the ghost of a facial expression one to the other, they could practically converse in silence.
“Leave it up to Bart,” said Marta unexpectedly. “Bart, how much have you guessed about yourself from what we’ve all said here?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Lady—with submission,” said Bart.
“Yes, you do,” said Marta. “You’re just afraid that you may get yourself in trouble by being completely open with us. While what I think,” she turned to her husband, “is that either too little or too much has been said already.”
She turned back to Bart.
“Pier and I promise you, Bart,” she said, “whatever you have to say to us, we’ll keep to ourselves. We won’t tell anyone of anything you say; and of course, we trust you to do the same with what we tell you. Isn’t that right, Pier?”
She looked at her husband again. Pier sighed.
“Yes. Yes . . . ,” he said. “Bart, honor is a great thing to those of us who are Lords. I give you my word of honor that whatever you may tell me about yourself will not be told by me to anyone else. I’ll also promise that I’ll not act upon what I hear from you, in my official capacity as one of the Three and under my responsibilities as a Lord.”
Bart’s thoughts were tumbling over each other in his mind. He felt at once a great elation and a great wariness. What he was hearing was far more than he had ever expected to hear and almost more than he could trust. He had found himself coming to like Pier and Marta. But there was no guarantee in that which meant he could trust them. And while their attitude seemed to bode well for his ideas, he still had no idea just what they were themselves seeking.
Not yet, said his inner, cautious soul. Not completelyf yet. Perhaps eventually.
“Are you satisfied, Bart?” Marta asked.
“Yes,” he said, knowing that his naturally expressionless face would not give away the lie.
“Then, I’ll ask you again. How much about yourself have you guessed from what’s been said here?”
“I’ve guessed,” said Bart, “that the Lord and the Lady are more interested in me than they might be if they were only concerned with me as a possible house servant.”
“Vincent, all over again,” murmurred Marta. “Bart, you’ve got to do better than that. I want you to tell me the most you’ve guessed, not the least.”
She had him cornered.
“My greatest guess,” he said slowly, “is that for some reason you seem to be interested more in me, as me, than as one of your slaves, in any possible slave capacity.”
“Of course,” said Marta. “Tell him, Pier.”
“Tell him what, my dear?”
“Tell him everything.”
“No,” said Pier slowly, and his voice deepened. His dark eyes were steady on Bart under the gray, straggly eyebrows. “I’m sorry, my love, but not everything, yet. He still has to prove himself to the world we live in. He’s only one person, and healthy. We’re two, and no longer young. He might live anywhere. Here is the only place we can survive; and we have a right to defend the safety of our position here. You’ll have to wait—wait a little, Marta.”
“At least tell him—”
“I’ll decide what to tell him,” said Pier. “I’m one of the Three; and I know things I’ve not even told you, who are closest to my heart—things I’ve not told any living soul. There are things that have to wait for the proper moment for their telling; and a lot that you’d like to have me tell Bart hasn’t yet come to its moment.” He stopped, still looking at Bart, then went on.
“I think Bart understands. I think, too, he’s got his own matters about which he waits for the proper moment for telling us. Am I right, Bart?”
“Yes,” said Bart. He felt an admiration for the small, old man before him. “I have. I trust you, Lord and Lady, but there are things I can’t say because they involve others besides me.”
“But—,” began Marta, then checked herself. Once more she looked at Pier.
“Bart’s hesitation to be completely open with us, and ours to be completely open with him, needn’t stop us from going ahead with what you and I planned for this moment,” Pier said to her. “After all, this is only our first talk. He doesn’t know us yet; as we don’t fully know him. But we do know enough to tell him some things and do what we had decided to do for him first.”
Bart’s inner ears pricked up at the “for him.” He was tempted to bring up the subject of Emma, but reason told him not to push his luck until he knew more of what these two extraordinary people had in mind.
“Then it’s all right,” said Marta, “to let him go on just the way he has so far? If he goes on without knowing any more than he does now it’ll be cruel to him and shameful for us.”
“Sometimes cruelty and shame can’t be avoided,” said Pier. “But you’re right. Bart, listen to me.”
“Yes, Lord.”
“Many things I’m not going to explain to you now. For now, it’s enough for you to know that Marta and I once took an interest in the young man who later became your father. Because of that interest we—while we were still careful not to break any of the laws of our Inner World, here—were able to help him considerably. Because you’re your father’s son, and if you continue to show you deserve it, we’ll try to help you in the same way.”
“I see. Thank you, Lord and Lady.”
“You don’t have to thank us—” Marta checked herself. “You’ll be giving us something in return.”
“What, Lady?”
She smiled.
“Nothing, I thi
nk, you’ll hesitate about giving,” Marta said. “But I should let Pier handle this part of it. Go on, dear.” “Bart,” said Pier, “you’re a slave. Even as one of the Three Who Command, I can’t change that. There are only three classes here in the Inner World. Ourselves, who are born to be its rightful rulers, the Hybrids, who are born with a part of our bloodline but in whom the slave blood of one parent bars them forever from being Lords—and all else, who are slaves as you are.”
Bart nodded.
“Yes,” said Pier, “I’d assumed you’d understood that much. I just wanted to make it very clear that there are limits to what my Lady and I can do for you—but, at the same time, what we can do is considerable. There are slaves and slaves.”
“Like Chandt?” said Bart.
Pier frowned.
“You should never speak to me or any other Lord or Lady without being spoken to first,” he said.
But then he, too, smiled.
“However,” he went on, “here in the privacy of our own home, you’re absolved from that rule. Yes, like Chandt. Chandt’s a special kind of slave, and specially favored because only one of that kind is needed. Also he’s required to be in a position of authority over a large number of other slaves.”
“Including me,” said Bart.
“Yes,” said Pier. “But I’ll speak to him. After that, he’ll still have the authority, but he’ll use it with restraint, in your case.” “Thank you, Lord,” said Bart.
“You’re not a Steed by accident, you know, or by reason of your size and strength alone,” Pier went on. “There’re advantages to being a Steed, as you’ll find out. For one thing, you’ll get more respect and obedience from other slaves than you would in any other position you could hold among them. Part of this is because they believe—with some reason—that the Steeds are specially favored by us Lords. But there are other advantages that’ll be useful to you as well as to my Lady and myself. You’ll find out about those, as occasions involving them come up.”
He broke suddenly into a warm smile.
“And while I’m on the subject,” he said, “forgive me if you can for having ridden you such a distance that first day. It’s not that I’m not aware of the effort and discomfort of carrying one of us in a chair. The original intent was frankly punitive: one more way to make humans suffer as they’d made our ancestors suffer. Later it became a way of showing off, as it were . . .”
He interrupted himself.
“But that’s beside the point, now,” he said. “The important thing is that I knew what I was doing to you and wouldn’t have done it if it hadn’t been necessary. I had to show you off all over the Inner World, the way any one of us with a new Steed would have shown him off; and also I had to show that I was indifferent to the pain and effort you felt as a result; so that no one should suspect I intend to favor you—as they’ll see me doing later on.”
“I understand,” said Bart.
“I thought you would,” answered Pier. “And you’ll understand, consequently, if in public—for no apparent reason you can see or understand—I seem to treat you with deliberate harshness for a while, yet. The reason will always be the same; to avert suspicion of any favoritism toward you by me or my Lady.”
“You don’t understand what’s meant when my Lord speaks of himself as one of the Three Who Command, do you?” put in Marta to Bart.
“No, Lady.” Bart shook his head.
“Here in the Inner World, we rule,” said Marta. “But we’ve got out own rulers. From among ourselves we elect, for life, Three Who Command us generally. Sitting as a body, they resolve disputes and make all the decisions that affect the Inner World as a whole. The Three are the Emperor, who is in authority even over the two who Command with him—the Regent, and the Librarian. Pier’s the Librarian. As such, he has some powers and freedoms even the Emperor doesn’t have—particularly so far as the Library’s concerned. So, what’d be only a minor bit of favoritism for the average Lord or Lady would be scandalous in his case.”
“Oh,” said Bart.
“I want you to understand that, because I want you to understand how much he’s risking to give you the help you’ll be given,” she said. “He’s doing this not only for your own sake, but for me, because he knows how much it means to me to help you. So, if he’s hurt by it, both you and I are going to have to share the blame—not that that’ll help, because he’ll have to face the other Lords as if the responsibility was his alone.”
“I see,” said Bart.
He looked at both of them.
“I appreciate what you want to do for me,” he said slowly. “I don’t understand, but I’m grateful. Only, I’d like to know more about why you’re doing it.”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” said Pier. “Just as soon as it’s safe to tell you. Meanwhile, I’ll tell you this much. You’re a Steed because, as I said, it’s a useful job for you to have. But, also as I said, I’ll be talking to Chandt and making sure he understands that while you’re still one of his corps, your primary duty is going to be to wait on my pleasure here; or go back and forth between me and my Lady with-messages and perhaps other things. Now, you’ll remember all this, what I’m telling you now?”
“I’ve got a good memory, Lord,” said Bart.
“I’d expected as much.” Pier nodded. “All right, your duties, then, are going to leave you free to move about the Library and even the Inner World in general, if necessary. If questioned you can always tell whoever’s questioning you that you’ve been sent on some errand by me. Refer them to me. I’ll take care of it from that point on.”
He paused to stare piercingly at Bart. Bart nodded.
“Good. Now, in the Library itself, I want to give you as much opportunity as possible to take advantage of what’s there. If you’re the sort of person we think you are, you won’t waste any time making use of that. Slaves who work in the Library and slaves of supervisory rank—like Chandt—are allowed to make some limited use of the Library facilities. If I were to create some excuse to grant you that kind of privilege, it’d attract attention. Steeds aren’t thought of as the type of human who’s interested in books.”
Bart could believe that.
“So we need an excuse to give you the freedom of the stacks and the freedom to carry off for reading any book you want. There’s a way. You can have been sent by me to pick out a book and bring it to me in my office. Also we need a place of privacy for you where you can read without people knowing you’re doing that. It won’t do to have you sitting down in the rest quarters for slaves and have the other slaves who come in while you’re there find you reading all the time. So, to answer both problems, I’ve ordered a small alcove partitioned off in my office, on the excuse that I need you at my beck and call to run errands for me. It should be finished by now.”
Bart stared at the small, old man. Pier’s authority evidently was considerable, and a good deal more than Bart had assumed before. He had been in that same office only a few hours past, when he had, as ordered, picked up Pier and carried him home; and there had been no sign of an alcove, then, or preparations to build one.
“My official reason for the alcove is that I don’t wish to be reminded of your presence all the time, but I do want you at hand. It’ll be assumed that you don’t understand our true language, so anyone of rank visiting me in the office will believe they can speak freely.” Pier frowned again. “We’ll have to guard the fact you do understand. I think you can imagine how my guests would feel, having some of their more private utterances overheard and understood by a slave.”
“Yes,” said Bart—and was careful to keep out the note of irony that threatened to creep into his voice.
“So,” said Pier, looking for a moment at Marta. “I think that’s all for now. Jon, outside, will show you around our quarters here, so you’ll have some idea of how they’re laid out. Then he’ll show you the route from your Steed quarters to both here and to the Library.”
Bart did not offer to expla
in that he already knew at least two routes to the dormitory and was fairly confident, from what he had seen so far of the Inner World, that he could find a more or less direct route from here back to the Library by himself—even though in his trips with Pier he had been led on roundabout inspection tours—using the map he had built in his head from his earlier movements around the Inner World. But Jon might have things to show him he had not suspected; and in any case there were a great many questions about the Library and the Inner World in general he still wished to ask the young man—not the least being some queries dealing with Pier’s status among his fellow Lords.
“Yes, Lord,” he said. “Was there anything in particular you wanted me to study, using the books in the Library?”
Pier raised his eyebrows.
“Don’t be ungrateful, Bart,” said Marta. “We assumed you’d want to read the books in the stacks at the Library. Pier’s simply making it safe and easy for you to do so.”
“You might start out, of course,” said Pier, “by looking at maps of the Inner World, so as to familiarize yourself with the ways around in it.”
Bart did not see him move. But the other must have made some kind of signal, for with the last of his words the door opened and Jon stepped in.
“My Lord and Lady?” he asked. “You called?”
“You can take Bart away, now,” said Pier. “Show him around this home of ours, and the direct routes from the Library to here, as well as from the dormitory to the Library. Tell him anything he needs—or wants—to know.”
“Yes, Lord,” said Jon.
He stood aside and Bart moved past him toward and through the entrance. He noticed that the door stayed open behind him; and so, once he was through it and outside the room, he turned to look back at Pier and Marta.
“Thank you, Lord and Lady,” he said.
Neither of the small people responded. The door closed.
chapter
eleven
“PAOLO DOESN’T WANT to fight you,” said Chandt. He spoke with careful articulation, for the drink was already beginning to affect him.
The Earth Lords Page 15