‘Why do we have to have walls?’
‘Why indeed?’ said the bearded man. ‘Why do we have to have districts in different colours?Why do we have to have examinations, and ratings? Why do we have to strive harder, and reach higher, and make tomorrow better than today?’
Kestrel stared at him. He was speaking thoughts she supposed only she had ever had.
‘For love of my Emperor,’ she said in the words of the Oath of Dedication. ‘And for the glory of Aramanth.’
The bearded man gave a soft chuckle.
‘Ha!’ he said. ‘I’m your Emperor.’
And he ate three more chocolate buttons.
‘You?’
‘Yes, I know, it must seem implausible. But I am Creoth the Sixth, Emperor of Aramanth. And you are the person I’ve been waiting for all these years.’
‘Me?’
‘Well, I didn’t know it would be you. To be honest, I had assumed it would be a strapping young man. Someone brave and strong, you know, given what has to be done. But it turns out to be you.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Kestrel. ‘I wasn’t looking for you. I didn’t even know you existed. I was running away.’
‘Don’t be foolish. It must be you. No one else has ever found me. They keep me shut away here so no one will ever find me.’
‘You’re not shut away. You opened the door yourself.’
‘That’s another matter entirely. The point is, here you are.’
He was clearly put out at being contradicted, so Kestrel said nothing more, and he went on eating chocolate buttons. He seemed to be unaware that he was eating them, and altogether unaware that it would have been polite to offer her some. She wasn’t sure if she believed that he was the Emperor, but as she looked about her she saw that the room was furnished in a very grand manner indeed. On one side was an ornate bed with curtains round it, like a tent. On the other was a beautifully carved writing desk, flanked by bookcases filled with handsome volumes. There was the round table, where the glass bowl stood, and some deep leather armchairs, and a great high-sided bath; and soft rugs on the floor, and embroidered drapes at the windows. The windows that ran all round the room were deeply recessed, and between each set was a door. Eight windows, eight doors. One was the door she had entered by. Two others stood open, and she could see that they led into cupboards. That left five. Surely one out of five would lead her out of the tower again.
The bearded man now moved away from the bowl of chocolate buttons, and went to his writing desk. Here he started opening the little drawers, one by one, clearly searching for something.
‘Please, sir,’ said Kestrel. ‘Can I go home now?’
‘Go home? What are you talking about? Of course you can’t go home. You have to go to the Halls of the Morah, and fetch it back.’
‘Fetch what back?’
‘I have the directions here somewhere. Yes, here it is.’
He drew out a paper scroll, dusty and yellow with age, and unrolled it.
‘It should have been me, of course.’
He sighed as he looked at it.
‘There, now. All perfectly clear, I think.’
Kestrel looked at the scroll he held out before her. The paper was cracked and faded, but it was recognisably a map. She could make out the line of the ocean, and a little drawing that was clearly meant to be Aramanth itself. There was a marked trail, that led from Aramanth across plains to a line of pictured mountains. Here and there on the map, and most of all where the trail ended, there were scribbled markings, clusters of symbols that seemed to be words written in letters that were unfamiliar to her.
She looked up, bewildered.
‘Don’t gape at me, girl,’ said the Emperor. ‘If you don’t understand, just ask.’
‘I don’t understand anything.’
‘Nonsense! It’s all perfectly simple. Here we are, you see.’
He pointed to Aramanth on the map.
‘This is the way you must go. You see?’
His finger traced the track north from Aramanth. ‘You have to follow the road, or you’ll miss the bridge. It’s the only way, do you see?’
His finger was pointing to a jagged line that crossed the map from side to side. It had a name, in spidery lettering, but like the rest of the writing, it meant nothing to her.
‘But why must I do this?’
‘Beard of my ancestors!’ he exclaimed. ‘Have they sent me an infant with no brain? To fetch back the voice, so the wind singer sings again.’
‘The voice of the wind singer!’
A shiver went through Kestrel.
It’s real, she said inside herself. It’s real.
The Emperor turned the map over, and there on the other side was more writing, in the strange letters, beside a faded drawing of a shape that Kestrel recognised. It was the curled-over letter S she had seen etched into the wind singer.
‘Here it is.’
Kestrel stared at the drawing, and was filled with a confused mixture of excitement and fear.
‘What will happen when the wind singer sings again?’
‘We’ll be free of the Morah, of course.’
‘Free of the Morah?’
‘Free – of – the – Morah,’ he repeated, slowly and loudly.
‘But the Morah’s just a story.’
‘Just a story! Beard of my ancestors! Just a story! The city worse than a prison, the people scratching their lives away in envy and hatred, and you say it’s just a story! The Morah rules Aramanth, child! Everybody knows that.’
‘No,’ said Kestrel, ‘they don’t. Nobody knows it. They all think the Morah is a story from long ago.’
‘Do they?’ The Emperor peered at her suspiciously. ‘Well then, that just goes to show how clever the Morah is, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, I suppose it does,’ said Kestrel.
‘So you believe me now?’
‘I don’t know. All I know is I hate school, and I hate tests, and I hate examiners, and I hate Aramanth.’
‘Of course you do. That’s all the work of the Morah. They call Aramanth the perfect society. Ha! Have they done away with fear and hatred? Of course not. The Morah sees to that.’
The strange thing was, as Kestrel listened to him, it all made a kind of sense. She looked again at the drawing on the back of the map.
‘Where did you get this?’
‘From my father. He had it from his father, who had it from his, and so on back to Creoth the First. He was the one who took the voice out of the wind singer.’
‘To save the city from the Zars.’
‘Oh, so you do know something, after all.’
‘Why did the Morah want the voice?’
‘To stop the wind singer from singing, of course. The wind singer was there to protect Aramanth from the Morah.’
‘Then why did the first Emperor give the voice away?’
‘Why? Ah, why indeed!’ He sighed, and shook his head. ‘But who are we to blame him? He had seen the army of the Zars, and we have not. Fear, child. That is the answer to your question. He knew the wind singer had power, but could it stop the Zars? Dared he take the risk? No, it’s not for us to blame him for what he did so long ago. As you see,’ – he pointed one finger at the strange lettering that ran round the frame of the map – ‘he lived to regret what he had done.’
Kestrel stared at the incomprehensible writing.
‘So does the wind singer have the power to stop the Morah?’
‘Who knows? My grandfather, who was a wise man, said that there must be power in the voice, or why did the Morah want it so much? And as you see, it says on the back of the map, The song of the wind singer will set you free.’
‘Free of the Morah?’
‘Of course free of the Morah. What else would it be, free of flying fish? And don’t gape at me, child!’ The Emperor was becoming impatient again. ‘I thought we’d been over this already.’
‘Then why hasn’t anyone gone to get it back before now?’
‘Why? Do you think it’s easy? Mind you,’ he interrupted himself hastily, ‘I’m not necessarily saying it’s all that difficult. And it must be done, of course. But you see, for a long time, it seemed like it was all for the best. The Zars had gone away, and the changes came so slowly that nobody really noticed what was happening. It wasn’t till my grandfather’s time that it was clear it had all been a terrible mistake. And he was very old by then. So he gave the map to my father. But my father became ill. My father gave me the map before he died, but I was only a very small child. So now you’ve come, and I’m giving the map to you. What could be simpler than that?’
He went back to his desk and started closing all the little drawers he had opened: click, click, click.
‘You’re not little now,’ said Kestrel.
‘Of course I’m not little now.’
‘So why can’t you go?’
‘Because I can’t, that’s all. It has to be you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Kestrel. ‘There’s been some kind of mistake. I’m nobody special.’
The Emperor looked at her accusingly.
‘If you’re nobody special, how come you’re the only person who’s ever found their way here?’
‘I was running away.’
‘Who from?’
‘The examiners.’
‘Ha! There you are! That’s a very unusual thing to be doing in Aramanth. Nobody else runs away from the examiners. So you must be someone special.’
‘I just hate examiners and I hate school and I hate tests.’
She was close to tears.
‘Well, now,’ said the Emperor. ‘That shows you’re precisely the right person. Once you’ve got the voice, and put it back in the wind singer, there’ll be no more tests.’
‘No more tests?’
‘So you have to go, you see.’
‘You should go, if you’re the Emperor.’
He gazed at her sadly.
‘I would,’ he said. ‘Truly, I would. Only, there’s a difficulty.’
He went from door to door, opening them all. Three doors led on to landings, from which stairs could be seen descending.
‘I sometimes think of going,’ he said. ‘For example, I might like the look of that door. So I might set off.’
He took a few steps towards the doorway, and then stopped.
‘Just one more chocolate button before I go.’
He returned to the bowl in the middle of the room.
‘Take a handful,’ said Kestrel. ‘Then you won’t need to come back.’
‘It sounds so easy,’ said the Emperor with a sigh. But he did as she said, and scooped up a handful of chocolate buttons. Then eating as he went, he headed back to the door. On the threshold, he stopped once again.
‘What about when these run out?’ He started to count the chocolate buttons in his hand. ‘One, two, three – ’
‘Take the bowl,’ said Kestrel.
So he went back to the table and picked up the glass bowl. But just before the doorway, he stopped again.
‘It looks like a lot,’ he said, ‘but eventually they’ll run out.’
‘They’ll run out anyway.’
‘Ah, that’s just it, you see. The bowl is filled up again every day. But if I’ve taken the bowl away, how can they fill it up?’
He returned to the table and put the glass bowl back.
‘Probably best to leave it here.’
Kestrel stared at him.
‘Why do you like chocolate buttons so much?’
‘Well, I don’t know that I like them particularly. They just seem necessary.’
‘Necessary?’
‘Do we have to talk about this? It’s very hard to explain. I must have them there, even if I don’t eat them. To tell the truth, sometimes days go by and I don’t have any at all.’
‘You’ve been eating them without stopping.’
‘That’s because I’m feeling nervous. I don’t get many visitors. In fact, I don’t get any at all.’
‘How long have you been like this?’
‘Oh, all my life.’
‘All your life? You’ve lived all your life in this room?’
‘Yes.’
‘But that’s stupid!’
‘I know.’
He raised one hand, and suddenly smacked himself in the face.
‘I am stupid. I’m good for nothing.’
He smacked himself again, harder.
‘I’m a disgrace to my ancestors.’
He started to beat himself all over, on his face and chest and stomach.
‘I do nothing but eat and sleep, I’m fat and tired, and so, so dull! I never go anywhere, I never see anyone! No conversation, no fun! I’d be better off dead, but I don’t even have the strength of mind to die!’
He sobbed as he beat himself.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Kestrel. ‘I don’t know what I can do.’
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter,’ said the Emperor, weeping copiously. ‘It always ends like this. I get overtired very easily, you see. I’d better have a rest.’
And without further ado, he climbed fully clothed into his grand canopied bed, pulled the covers over himself, and went to sleep.
Kestrel waited, expecting something more. After a few moments, he began to snore. So she tiptoed softly to one of the doors that opened on to a staircase, and trod cautiously down the stairs, still carrying the rolled-up map.
8
The Hath family shamed
When Kestrel reached the tower door through which she had entered, she stopped, and peeped through the keyhole into the courtyard beyond. There she saw two marshals striding up and down, in a cross but aimless fashion. She pushed the map out of sight in one pocket, drew a deep breath, opened the door, and shouted.
‘Help! The Emperor! Help!’
‘What!’ cried the nearest marshal. ‘Where?’
‘Up in his room! The Emperor! Help him quickly!’
She sounded so distressed that the marshals didn’t stop to ask any more, but set off up the spiral staircase as fast as they could go. Kestrel at once ran helter-skelter across the courtyard, down the long corridor, out of the door at the end, and found herself in the main plaza, by the statue of Creoth the First.
She made her way back to Orange District by alleys and back ways, taking care not to be seen by anyone in authority. But as she turned into her home street, she saw at once that there was no hope of slipping into her house unnoticed. A small crowd was gathered in front of the house, and most of the neighbours were leaning out of their windows to watch. On the doorstep, on either side of the closed door, stood two district marshals, fingering their medallions of office and looking grave. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something to happen.
As Kestrel drew near, her footsteps dragging ever more slowly, Rufy Blesh saw her, and came running to her side.
‘Kestrel,’ he cried excitedly. ‘You’re in big trouble. So’s your father.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘He’s being taken away on a Residential Study Course.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Really it’s a kind of prison, my father says, whatever they call it. My mother says it’s awfully shaming, and thank goodness we’re going up to Scarlet, because after this we won’t be able to talk to you any more.’
‘Then why are you talking to me?’
‘Well, he hasn’t actually been taken away yet,’ said Rufy.
Kestrel went as close to the house as she dared, and then slipped down the side. She ran swiftly along the alley where the rubbish bins stood, and so came to the back of her home. She could see her mother through the kitchen window, moving back and forth, carrying Pinpin in her arms, but no sign of Bowman. She sent him a silent call.
Bo! I’m here!
She felt him at once, and his wave of relief that she was safe.
Kess! You’re all right!
He appeared at their bedroom window, looking out. She showed herself.
Don’t let them see you
, Kess. They’ve come to take you away. They’re taking pa away.
I’m coming in, said Kestrel. I have to talk to pa.
Bowman left the window and went downstairs to the front room, where his father was standing in the middle of the floor, packing an open suitcase. The twins’ class teacher, Dr Batch, sat on the sofa, beside a senior member of the Board of Examiners, Dr Minish. Both men wore expressions of grim seriousness. Dr Batch took out a watch and looked at it.
‘We’re already half an hour behind schedule,’ he announced. ‘We have no way of knowing when the girl will return. I suggest we proceed.’
‘You are to notify the district marshals as soon as she comes home,’ said Dr Minish.
‘But I won’t be here,’ said Hanno Hath mildly.
‘Come along, sir, come along.’
It irritated Dr Batch to see how the fellow stood looking so distractedly at the muddle of clothing and books on the floor.
‘Don’t forget your wash things, pa,’ said Bowman.
‘My wash things?’
Hanno Hath looked at his son. Bowman himself had brought down his toothbrush and his razor, half an hour ago.
‘In the bathroom,’ said Bowman.
‘In the bathroom?’ He understood. ‘Ah, yes.’
Dr Minish followed this exchange with exasperation.
‘Well, get on with it, man.’
‘Yes, very well.’
Hanno Hath went away up the stairs to the bathroom. Ira Hath came into the front room, carrying Pinpin, who could feel the anxiety in the house and was crying in a low whining way.
‘Would you like a drink while you’re waiting?’ Mrs Hath asked the two teachers.
‘Perhaps a glass of lemonade, if you have it,’ said Dr Minish.
‘Do you like lemonade, Dr Batch?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Lemonade would do very well.’
Mrs Hath went back into the kitchen.
Up in the bathroom, Hanno Hath found his daughter waiting for him. He took her silently in his arms and kissed her, deeply relieved.
‘My darling darling Kess. I had feared the worst.’
Speaking very low, she told him about the Special Teaching, and he groaned aloud.
William Nicholson - [Wind on Fire 01] Page 6