‘Carnelian, why do you stare so?’ It was his father.
‘You . . . you startled me, my Lord.’
The Master crowded into the cabin and hunched forward. Tain found a space in which to perform the prostration. The door slammed open in a draught. Suth’s cloak billowed up so that it filled the cabin. His gold face turned to look at the bunk where Crail was a crumple among the sheets. It lingered, then turned its eyeslits back to Carnelian. ‘We are to have a conclave,’ it said. Carnelian could hear a nuance of emotion in his father’s voice ‘When you are called you must attend. You are required to do nothing, save that, should it be required, you will vote with me.’
Carnelian said that he understood and his father backed out of the cabin. For a few moments, Carnelian remained slumped where he sat and then found the will to stand. Tain cleansed him. They stood there, Carnelian bowed by the ceiling, Tain bracing himself by holding on to his arm. An eternity later they were finished. Carnelian was like some dead thing that had been wedged between the ceiling and the floor.
It was Keal who came to get him. Carnelian was alarmed when he saw how much life had gone out of his brother. Keal rasped some words that Carnelian could not make out, then pointed down the corridor. Massing round the mast column, were several immense shapes. As he came towards them Carnelian saw that all three Masters were there with his father: each masked, each shrouded in his travelling cloak, each a being of a power that the wooden bulkheads looked too flimsy to contain. In their midst the mast shuddered and the bronze shoe that held it squealed.
‘Now that we are all gathered, my Lords, I would beg your patience to hear first the evidence of the baran’s captain,’ said Vennel. His voice played above the ship’s creaking like an oboe. ‘Captain, make your report,’ it said in Vulgate.
‘The Twins Themselves are against us, my Masters.’ The voice spoke from the ground. Carnelian searched among their feet and saw the captain grovelling there.
‘You were asked for a report, not a theological conjecture.’
‘Apologies, Master.’ A glint curved around his neck as the captain thumped his forehead against the floor. The sliders on his collar chinked.
‘The ship, my Masters, has been blown far off course. For nigh on twenty days we have struggled south against the westerlies.’
Twenty days, thought Carnelian, startled. Twenty days already.
‘We’ve lost several sails and one of the steering oars is close to breaking. The ship’s been taking on water. Because of the storm we couldn’t go down there. I must regretfully report that two starboard bulkheads have been breached and that sixteen oars of sartlar’ve been drowned.’
‘Have the affected bulkheads been sealed off ?’ asked Suth.
‘Yes, Master.’
‘And they can be bailed out?’ asked Aurum.
‘We attempt it even now, Master.’
‘So there’s no immediate danger?’ said Jaspar.
‘If we’re hit by another storm we could sink, my Master.’
‘You appreciate the risk, my Lords?’ Vennel said in Quya and then, in Vulgate, ‘What’s our current position, captain?’
‘According to the lodestone and what reckonings I can make, Master, we should be somewhere near the Woadshore’s southern reaches.’
‘And how far from Thuyakalrul?’
‘Under the right conditions, depending on our real position, taking into account—’
‘How many days?’
‘Perhaps three or four, Master. But against the wind?’ He peered up with a twitch in one eye. ‘I just can’t say.’
Vennel turned his mask on them. ‘My Lords, it seems to me the height of folly to keep to our present course.’
‘And what then is your proposal, Vennel?’ asked Jaspar.
‘It seems, my Lord, that our captain knows of some anchorage that should not be too far from here.’
‘And this anchorage, I presume, is in the swamps?’ said Aurum.
‘And what will we do if we should miss it?’ said Suth.
‘The winds will take us there,’ said Vennel. ‘We would be sailing before the tempest rather than against it. We would hug the shore. If there is some error in the captain’s calculations, no matter. There are countless trading posts all the way up this coast.’
‘And what does my Lord suggest that we should do once we find this salubrious spot?’ asked Jaspar.
‘We should carry out what repairs we can and wait until the tempest has blown itself out. From there we would need only a few days of clear weather to make a crossing to Thuyakalrul across the open sea.’
‘I can see that you have given this matter much thought, Vennel,’ said Aurum. ‘But you seem to have neglected one factor.’
‘And what, pray, is that, Great Lord?’
‘Time.’
‘What matter time if we should end up among the fish?’
‘You well know, my Lord, that time in this matter is everything,’ said Aurum with an edge to his voice.
‘You heard the captain’s words. He said that we will founder if we pursue our present course.’
‘He said that we might founder.’
‘You also forget, Vennel,’ said Suth, ‘that it was not one of the Chosen who spoke those words. So, the creature fears. What of it? It is a condition of its state.’
‘Valour will not make this vessel move against the wind,’ said Vennel.
‘But oars will, my Lord.’
‘Even a full complement of oarsmen could not maintain such an effort. How much less can we depend on the animals we have below?’
‘That is true, and that is why we must needs bend our own servants to the task.’
‘My votes and my slaves are yours, my Lord,’ said Aurum.
‘I too will throw my ring in with Lord Suth’s,’ said Jaspar.
‘In that case it is decided,’ said Aurum. ‘We shall continue on to Thuyakalrul.’
The drum beat its dirge in the ship’s rotting belly. In his cabin, Carnelian clapped his hands over his ears. It was a long time since it had started and its insistent pounding was driving him mad. He stroked the eye on the silver box. It was a door he was reluctant to pass through even though it promised escape. Twenty days. The captain had said that they had been at sea for twenty days. Truly it had seemed like an eternity. He could hardly remember when his life had not consisted of dreaming in this cabin. Tain was snoring. Crail seemed less alive than something carved into the bulkhead. Those twenty days were all lost time. A single unending night. The wooden bulkheads pressed in on him. Carnelian wanted to stretch, to stand tall. He rose and curved up against the ceiling. He shuffled on his cloak, put on his mask and left the cabin.
The drumbeat pulsed louder in the corridor. He climbed the stair-way and passed through the door onto the deck. The sky was striped with cloud. The moon hid its silver eye behind some tatters. A voice cried from the deck. Others answered from above. He looked up the mast. Only a few sails were unfurled, great hands running their fingers through the sky. The ship’s heart beat on and on. The deck leaned off to starboard. He walked down it to the rail, leant over and saw the oar heads fly out into the air like fish. The drum thumped and they plunged back in. His people were down there on the end of those oars, in the stinking dark, pickling in brine with the sartlar half-men. He slid his hand along the rail. Where the harpoon engine had been there was nothing, a gap and the torn deck where the bolts had pulled through. The moonlight suddenly brightened and sketched an eddying silver inlay over the sea.
The melodies of Master voices fluttered his heart. He turned and saw the two apparitions come up out of the ship and drift off towards the prow. Carnelian was sure that they would see him but they kept right on. They stood under the stem. He could hear the lilt of their Quya but could understand nothing of what they said. The moonlight dimmed. Carnelian looked up and saw that the moon now passed mysterious behind a veil of cloud. He looked to the prow and saw that one of the Masters was looking up at th
e moon. His mask caught a rill of its light. He stooped and ignited the Gods’ fire on Their altar. Carnelian was uneasy under the Green Face’s lurid stare. The Masters turned so that the firelight fell on their hands and then began to make signs.
Carnelian looked up again. He estimated the length of the cloud behind which the moon was sliding and decided to take the chance. He lifted his bright hands up into the sleeves of his cloak, then crept towards the prow trusting to the darkness. He came close enough to see the signing hands.
. . . her eyes are not only here. The signs were shot through with a jewel glimmer that spoke of Aurum’s hands.
. . . even she would not dare. Those signs had his father’s familiar framing.
Do you forget what she has already dared? made with strong, bold gesture. Aurum.
If she should even for a moment suspect. His father with a certain nervous slurring between the signs.
Aurum made a sign of reassurance.
His father’s hands began signing again. Her arm has grown long indeed if she can stretch it even to the sea.
Her arm has grown long, the signs precise with emphasis.
Carnelian sensed more than saw the moon waxing. It was as if he felt its colour on his back. He turned, hoping that the Masters were focused on their conversation. When he reached the mast, he moved behind it and from there went down the steps two at a time.
When he had closed the door of his cabin Carnelian stood for some moments listening. Wind. Timbers creaking. He removed his mask, threw off his cloak, and shrugged off the various robes. He lay down and slowed his breathing to match Tain’s. His heart quietened till it seemed to Carnelian that the ship’s pulse was his own. His feet managed to find their way to Tain’s warm back. Tain moaned a protest but did not move away.
It could only be the Empress Ykoriana that they spoke of with such dread.
TRAPPED in AMBER
The Categories of Concealment are: first, the offspring and the consorts of the God Emperor; second, the Ruling Lords of the Great and the Grand Sapients of the Wise; third, other Lords of the Great and the Ruling Lords of the Lesser Chosen; fourth, the remainder of the Chosen and the Wise; fifth, the ammonites of the Wise.
The Protocol of Concealment states that those in a lower category must unmask whenever those in a higher category do so unless this contravenes the second Law of Concealment.
The Categories of Seeing are: first, Lords of the Great and Ruling Lords of the Lesser Chosen; second, the remainder of the Chosen; third, a Lord’s own household or the ammonites of the Wise; fourth, the household of another Lord; fifth, marumaga; sixth, all other creatures.
The Categories of Punishment are: first, blinding; second, the addition of mutilation; third, the addition of flaying; fourth, the addition of capital crucifixion. At Chosen discretion, the third and fourth categories may be commuted to immediate destruction.
The Laws of Concealment are: first, that the God Emperor must always remain concealed; second, that the number of a Category of Seeing determines the Category of Concealment in which concealment may be waived; third, that, for the Unchosen, a Category of Punishment is referenced according to how much the Category of Concealment exceeds the Category of Seeing.
(extract from the Law-that-must-be-obeyed)
THE WORD FELL LIKE A STONE INTO THE WATER AND RIPPLED ITS BLACK mirror. The sky was up there, far, far away, its bright disc like the moon in the night. Another word dropped into the well, cleaving deep into the water, trailing a churn and froth.
‘Land.’ A muffled word. Carnelian came vaguely awake. ‘Land.’ He could hear the word clearly above the creaking of the ship, distinct from the dull thudding drum.
He sat up in the blackness.
‘The land, the land.’
The words caused him to breathe again. Land. He fumbled blindly for clothes. He fought his way into something. His hands wandered till they touched feathers. He grabbed them, pulled them to his nose, smiling at the smell and feel of his feather cloak. It fell around him, comfortable, familiar. He opened the door. Land. They had reached land at last. He stumbled up the stairway, throwing his arm up to shade his eyes from the high sun. He reached the deck, saw faces, walked round the mast. There, beyond the prow, was a blue horizon. His heart pounded against his ribs.
His ears came alive as if he were coming up out of water. There were fearful cries and shouting. There was a man kneeling off to one side, staring at him, his mouth hanging open, his eyes unblinking. It was the captain. Carnelian could not understand that horrified stare. He looked round and saw sailors flattening on the deck. Aurum was there like a pillar of tar smoke, his face impassive gold. Guardsmen stood around him holding forked spears, their eyes hidden in the crooks of their arms.
‘Carnelian,’ his father’s voice called out.
Carnelian was turning to find him when he heard Aurum say, ‘Cover the Master.’ He looked back and for an instant saw the face glowing white. Eyes like the heads of nails. Mouth a razor edge. Then it was gone as Aurum’s slaves hid him with screens. The Master shifted behind their membranes like a god in a shadow play. A guardsman who knelt watching this, turned round with horror staring from his eyes. He held Aurum’s mask out with stiff arms as if it were slaked with poison. Carnelian reached up to his face. His fingers found his cheeks, his nose, uncovered, naked. He masked himself with his hands and stared through the bars of his fingers as the guardsman crept towards him with the mask. Carnelian took its weight and put it quickly over his face. It was still warm and smelled of stale perfume. It was too long for him. He slid it down to peer through the eyeslits and held it there.
‘Carnelian,’ said his father behind him. But Carnelian did not turn. Trapped behind the screens Aurum’s shadow was scanning the deck. He lifted his arms.
‘Attend me,’ he said over the sounds of fear. His guardsmen were reluctant to pull their heads from their hiding places. ‘Attend me, I say.’ A hint of impatience was in his voice. His men looked up, timid, hesitating. Through the screens their Master’s hands were like cleavers, making chopping motions. The guardsmen turned where they pointed, lowering their spears. They looked as frightened as everyone else. Carnelian was surrounded by shaking bodies sobbing like children.
‘Spare only the captain,’ said Aurum.
A shriek became a gurgle as one of the sailors was suddenly impaled. Carnelian twitched as each body was skewered. Blood ran along the deck’s grating and dribbled into the space below. Bleating broke out under their feet. The sweet smell of blood clotted the air. The guardsmen unstuck the sailors from the deck with kicks and threats. They forced them to drag the bleeding bodies to the gaps in the rail and throw them into the sea. Then they were ordered to kneel. Red to the elbows, with tears coursing down their faces, they urinated down their legs. Forked spears shoved into them making a sound of slicing cabbages. The guardsmen yanked the blades out then kicked their victims over the edge. They came back grim, the redness running down their spears to stain their hands. One slipped on the deck and fell. They clustered round the man who was still on his knees before Carnelian.
‘Stand back, my son,’ his father said quietly beside him.
Carnelian backed away. The man looked round at his companions as they closed round him. He looked up into the face of one of them: a youth, eyes bleary with tears. Carnelian could see the similarity in their faces. The man gave the youth a nod then bowed his head. The youth unsheathed a sword, his eyes huge and white, then he brought it down through the neck. It caught. He had to jerk the blade out. He seemed to be choking, but he managed to chop again. The head came loose and rolled drunkenly towards Carnelian’s feet. The trunk sagged over onto one side, showing its meaty neck, spraying blood everywhere. The youth edged towards Carnelian with the dripping sword hanging from his hand. Carnelian prepared himself for the blow, almost welcoming it. He flinched as the youth looked up at him. Grief had cut stripes in the spatter of gore that was his face. It was a boy’s face but hatred gave him the
eyes of a man. He stooped, laid the sword on the deck, then lifted the head and cradled it as he moved away.
Carnelian looked down at his cloak. He remembered he had given it to Tain. Its feathers were darkly matted with blood. His father walked past him towards the captain who was a huddle on the deck. He nudged the man with his foot. ‘Clear the deck.’ The huddle flinched. ‘Now!’
The man rose mumbling as he stared at the bloody deck.
‘You can have that cleaned later,’ said Suth.
The man stumbled off with horror printed on his face. Carnelian watched him mouthing orders. There was a taste of acid in his mouth. The stink of the blood mixed with the mask’s. He gagged. All he could hear was the wind, the drum’s relentless beat, the hiss of the oars.
Carnelian watched Aurum come out from behind the screens. He had expected anger but there was only contempt on the Master’s face. ‘You stupid boy.’ Aurum reached out and snatched his mask from Carnelian’s grip. It had been like a shell. Carnelian blinked, exposed. The smell of death and Aurum’s sneer were all the world. ‘Look at this mess.’
‘Do not be too hard on the boy, my Lord,’ his father said. Carnelian heard something like pleading in his father’s voice.
‘I have lost one of my tyadra, Sardian,’ said Aurum.
‘I shall give you his worth or a replacement.’
‘And can you also replace the sailors upon which this vessel so much depends?’
Carnelian watched his father’s head drop a little. Then Aurum turned on him. ‘How do you explain this, boy?’
Carnelian shook his head.
‘I knew you were provincial, callow, but I did not think to add stupid.’
The Chosen (The Stone Dance Of The Chameleon) Page 12