Cyprytop looked concerned. The gallery became restless again. Harris prepared to stand — his gavel in absentia.
“No, Archon Supreme,” the Augustii murmured. “This was not my destined place. Tarhippus the Regulator ordered me to the Katorias to be interrogated by the Fantin and punished under the Book of Pain. But I was spared. I was spared. No such cruelty for me. I am here in the Myrkpykyn by the grace of the Didaniyisgi.” Ricktus Morphinus faced Harris, and then knelt, his head disappearing behind the holding dock wall. “So say I,” he muttered. “So say I to the man who has saved my life, thank you, my lord.”
“So say I,” Gypysyp shouted. “Thank you, my lord.”
“And I,” Rypchypy echoed. “So say I.”
Then together, they raised their eyes to Harris.
“So say we.”
The Ryyvytys disappeared behind the dock wall, their weeping clearly heard. The gallery exploded.
Adadooski.
Arkmo.
Bobyfysmagu.
Jipjipjiptipu.
Harris slowly stood as the applause wafted over him like honey, buoying him with a sense he had changed the course of Yuyutlu administration when he intervened and saved these men from Tarhippus’ clutches. It was like dropping a house in Munchkinland. He glanced toward Garan, who shrugged, and then toward Cyprytop, who grinned.
Harris scooped up the scrolls, flapping them like flags. He held them to his chest, and then descended from his lofty spot, signaling the Danuwa and Taleenay to join him. Buhippus showed up with three Yunockers, no doubt stirred by the commotion. Had the Didaniyisgi run amok and incited insurrection? But when Harris reached the courtroom floor, the gallery crowd hushed.
“Elypticus,” he said in a low voice. “I need light.”
Elypticus looked to Parnasus, and then they separated, each retrieving a bronsker, returning to Harris and lifting the lamps high.
“Yustichisqua, I need more light.”
“Yes, oginali.”
Little Bird knelt and unfastened his waddly wazzoo from his belt, the rope lamp at once glowing. Slowly, Yustichisqua kindled it, and then held it high, illuminating Harris’ angelic visage.
“Melonius,” Harris said.
“Yes, my lord.”
“More light, if you please.”
Melonius touched his Columbincus, and a light jet umbrellated around the Seegoniga, enclosing them in a shimmering membrane. The gallery audience hummed with wonder. Garan and Cyprytop approached on the perimeter.
“A new day has dawned for the Yuyutlu,” Harris proclaimed. “Light shall replace darkness and justice shall prevail. Leniency shall be the example and the stern claw of the Book of Adjustment shall be reserved for egregious infractions only . . . infractions of commerce. Social law is not the law of the Yuyutlu or the Yuganawu, but the jurisdiction of Kuriakis and the Ayelli, who purge such judgments in a superior light.”
He paused to see if the gallery cheered. They didn’t.
They should know what they are getting in me, he thought. My imprint is more important than the ability to enforce it, but they’ll think twice before they arbitrarily condemn a Trone on my watch.
He inclined his ear to the bubble’s edge.
“Archon Supreme.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“What is the harshest punishment I may mete out on these prisoners?”
Cyprytop frowned, his grave eyes perusing the dock.
“You may fine the Ryyvytys as much as one-thousand yedalas. You may suspend the Augustii from duties for three months.”
He bowed, awaiting Harris’ decision.
“Deegosgi,” Harris said.
“Yes, my lord,” Garan responded.
“What do you recommend under the circumstances, considering this is my first pronouncement and I have declared a new dawn?”
“You could set them free.”
“Impossible.”
“You might apply them to a social cause of worth and excellence.”
Harris cocked his head.
“How so?”
“These Ryyvytys traffic in zulus, my lord, footwear mandated to all residents of the Kalugu. Many Cetrone are restricted because they lack zulus, which they must wear. If the artisans who supply these Ryyvytys were to donate a few pair of zulus to the Kalugu, it would be significant — a social cause of worth and excellence. The Augustii spinctus is permitted entry into the Kalugu, and could thereby deliver the goods.”
Garan bowed deeply, while Harris considered these words. He clapped. Melonius released his hand from his Columbincus, and the bubble burst. Harris stepped toward Buhippus, waving the fragmented scrolls.
“Captain Buhippus,” he said.
“My lord.”
“Hear my sentence and prepare to make it so.”
Harris tried to keep a straight face. Everyone was so serious, but the words he uttered sounded like an old Cecil B. DeMille epic — lines from The Ten Commandments¸ when Debra Padget didn’t break a sweat in the heat of Egypt and muttered her dramatic Moses, Moses, Moses to that hack, Charlton Heston. So, like Edward G. Robinson extolling the Calf of Gold, Harris moistened his lips and waited for the prisoners to stand, the Yunockers pulling them up.
“Ryyvyty Gypysyp and Ryyvyty Rypchypy, you shall prepare two pairs of zulus daily in perpetuity as a donation for the betterment of Farn, and Ricktus Morphinus, you shall act as agent and deliver these donations to the Kalugu for distribution to those fellow creatures who have done your bidding since the outland peoples invaded this fair valley and placed the Cetrone into servitude. This is my judgment and final word.”
“But my lord,” Ricktus said. “The expense will be great.”
“Cheaper than the Katorias.”
Ricktus shuddered, and then bowed.
“Thank you, my lord. I am beholding to you, my lord.”
“Then tell your fellow Augustii about the new dawn in the Yuyutlu.” He looked to the two Ryyvyty, who grinned and also bowed. “Tell all.” He looked to Buhippus, who remained steely, his expression noncommittal. “Return them to Ryyve Aniniya . . . gently and courteously. They shall keep the peace now, I trust.”
Harris regarded the now-stunned gallery. The crowd was either amazed at his clemency or bemused by his foolishness. Perhaps they expressed collective incredulity, but the moment was too ripe for Harris to let pass. He threw the scrolls to the floor, and then stomped them flat.
“Case closed,” he shouted, and then marched to his Seegoniga.
It was a long day and the wee upstairs cubby beckoned him.
2
The bedroom was small and Harris now shared it with Yustichisqua, who had relinquished his place in the adjoining room to the Thirdlings.
“You deserve to stay with them,” Harris said.
“Yes, oginali, but there are better ways to ease their thinking. It is better I sleep at your feet again.”
“Nonsense,” Harris replied. “There’s room in this bed for two.”
Little Bird nodded and prepared for sleep. Harris gazed out the window — a skylight in the roof’s bevel. The night was fair, the moons hanging among the stars like Christmas ornaments.
“Sometimes I believe Farn isn’t so bad,” Harris mused.
“It is beautiful at times, oginali, even to the sons of slaves.”
“I’m sorry about that ruckus in Ryyve Aniniya.”
Little Bird sat beside him on the bed, his waddly wazzoo prepared for evening prayers. It kindled low.
“I was frightened,” Yustichisqua said, “but the General never would have taken me. You know this to be true.”
Harris pictured Yustichisqua lashing out at Tarhippus, the dagger lodged in that hideous face — right between those wide spaced eyes. But Yustichisqua never could have succeeded. When Tappiolus had threatened Yustichisqua in the Forling, Little Bird had poised the dagger at his own heart. That’s what his Taleenay meant to do in the Ryyve Aniniya. He would have taken his own life rather than be hauled to the P
orias, where he would receive no trial — just a sentence — the only one sentence in the Porias.
“Sometimes I regret I ever gifted you that knife, Little Bird.”
“If you hadn’t, oginali, you would have been porcorporian food.”
Harris chuckled.
“You are true and faithful.”
“We are oginali — friends. The Cetrone do not take this lightly.”
Harris sighed. He had many acting jobs in Farn — opportunities to fulfill roles and not even being paid scale, although the perks of being Lord Belmundus could be considered the perk of perks — even the unlimited sex with an enchantress. Some would call it lucky. But perhaps his greatest reward was a realization. There was more to life than acting. Today he had been a VIP-deluxe — escorted through the Ryyves, surviving the wrath of the most feared personage in Montjoy and rising like cream in the role as Judge — the Didaniyisgi of the Yuyutlu. But sitting here beside this lad of fifty or fifty-seven, the acting fell by the wayside. Harris recalled his life in that other place — the one that was fading.
He looked through the skylight again, regarding the moons of Farn. He recalled his last gig on The Magic Planet — his fun on the set, with the director and with . . . with Tony. He missed the drone of cockney commentary from that Dorsetshire sissy. He missed normal dinners — steak and French Fries instead of suweechee and mongerhide. He longed for untrammeled love and sex, instead of jade-ring driven lust. He saw his sister’s face and heard the dulcet sounds of her shepherding voice. And Mom . . . the guide of all guides. An errant tear rolled down his cheek, salty to the taste.
“Oginali,” Yustichisqua whispered. “The outlands are far away.”
“Far away, Little Bird,” Harris sniffed. “Thoughts of them unman me.”
“My homeland is far away too. Beyond the Forling in the Spice Mountains.”
“Do you miss it?”
“I have never seen it.”
Harris turned, drying his tears.
“How sad.”
“Someday the ferry will fly again and Cosawta will find a way to steer the course. It is my only hope.”
“Until then?”
“Until then, I am your Taleenay and oginali, and I am content. But I know you look beyond me.”
Harris turned away, peering out the window again. He saw the charcoal outline of the Kalugu in the distance. To have made it this far was good, but not good enough. There were other places to know.
“You seek the secrets of my people, oginali,” Yustichisqua said. “You want to go to the Kalugu and know what there is to know.”
Yes, that was the ticket. Hierarchus knew the way and may have found it.
Harris squinted, sharpening his view of the distant phitron walls. Moonlight caught a corner of one tower — an ugly claw proclaiming cruelty. He closed his eyes, barring the night orbs’ strange sight over the landscape. Instead, he saw a single Moon, full and bright, reflected in a shimmering ocean. He could hear the waves crashing on the jetties and the heels of pedestrians strolling on the pier. He caught the aroma of cotton candy and corn dogs. Yes, he needed to know the secrets of the Kalugu so he could recapture the brilliance of his own Moon — the one shining on his Mom in Santa Monica.
Part III
Takes and Retakes
Chapter One
The Gulliwailit Bridge
1
“There it is,” Harris said, raising his hand, halting the Danuwa.
The Cabriolins clustered behind him. Yustichisqua took his usual place in Lord Belmundus’ vehicle. He sighed, shaking his head, probably recalling the sadness dwelling behind the walls. At the Seegoniga’s backs, Montjoy City buzzed prosperously — Yunocker folk soaring from place to place, unconcerned for those who lived beyond the bridge over the gulliwailit — the black stream separating the Yuganawu from the Kalugu.
“What’s our chances?” Harris asked Little Bird. “Do you think we can crack this safe open today and glimpse the inner workings?”
“I know the inner workings, oginali. No day is a good day to cross this bridge.”
Harris leaned forward, shading his eyes. The phitron walls, ebony and pitted with sharp metallic netting called yuyenihi — an impenetrable razor demon, were formidable and heavily controlled by the gate guardians. These guards checked every Trone’s gollywi — a brand on the upper forearm near the elbow, which proclaimed clan affiliation — alisoqua (bear), chisqua (bird), geetli (dog), tlugu (tree), or seegoniga (blue holly). Yustichisqua had the bird clan mark burned into his flesh. Harris had seen it and wondered what cruelty led the Yunockers to brand the Cetrone like cattle. He later learned these marks were self-imposed and worn proudly. That the Yunockers used gollywi to sort by clans and that they served as indelible passports into the Kalugu was a matter of convenience. That Harris’ entourage had been given a clan name by the Gurts and Zecronisians — seegoniga, was significant.
Harris had explored Montjoy during his first three months as the Didaniyisgi. The Yunockers were a privileged race, although several classes emphasized social stratification. The city burghers, the praeters, lived in mansions around the central plazas and owned estates in the foothills. The majorin class went to business — record-keeping, yedalas trading, and aniniya speculation. They lived in neat neighborhoods surrounding downtown central. The minorin — shopkeepers, clerks and petty regulators, fended as best they could in rental plots and small holdings in the suburbs, although they commuted to their employment on speedy zulus. Finally, the regulati were Yunocker policeman, militia, enforcers, prison guards and peacekeepers. They lived in several strategic barracks around Montjoy. There were so many regulati, the city seemed to be a police state. However, although the Ayelli controlled the Yunocker, the regulatis specialized in policing the Trone population, which was considerable.
The Cetrone left a significant mark upon the landscape. The oldest structures in town were Georgian-style dwellings, constructed of banibara and phitron, with kaybar doors, which would have barred anyone but Cetrones from entering. However, Yunockers, mostly majorins, now occupied these houses, retaining the kaybar doors for servant Trones to conveniently enter to perform their duties. Praeter estates sprawled behind high gates and parapets. Gurt designed and constructed, these mansions competed for attention among the status sensitive praeters. Harris made a special note of one unusual feature of buildings in Montjoy. Beside each was constructed a low phitron kettle-shaped building, black and miserable — as ubiquitous as chimneys in Victorian London. These were the kaleezo and housed the Trones when they weren’t about their duties or in the Kalugu. Huddled out of sight, their waddly wazzoos lit for scant but true light, Cetrone servants sang their hymns at night to the spirits who had made them, but who had abandoned them to cruel masters. Cetrone were only free to return to the Kalugu when their contracts had expired, and pnly then to renew them, if luck prevailed.
“I served the praeters of the House of Guranitos,” Yustichisqua told Harris on one of their spins about the Yuganawu. “I scrubbed pots and waited tables. They were not cruel to me and occasionally allowed me to drift up to the Ayelli in the procession to Greary Gree. But when my contract expired, I returned to the chisqua clan in the Kalugu. It made me sad. At least in the kaleezo of Master Guranitos, I could sing my songs and kindle my light. But in the Kalugu, the regulati pestered me incessantly. There I was fed sqwallen, until my cousin Littafulchee saved me, recommending me for service at Mortis House. That is when I met you, oginali.”
The Trone’s plight in the Yuganawu distressed Harris. However, he recognized Yunocker society’s structure and its apartheid creed. The Yunockers ignored their servants unless a pot was cracked or a jewel had gone missing. Then General Tarhippus’ crew would sweep the refuse away to the Porias, the prison for Trones — phitron built, secure and mostly vacant, because few Trones lasted more than a day, the Porias’ crematorium kept busy.
Harris spent his days in the Myrkpykyn adjudicating Yuyutlu disputes, many now beca
use word had spread. The new Didaniyisgi was fair and had declared a new dawn. But unlike his first judgments, the courtroom was rarely packed and ceremony had fallen by the wayside. Cyprytop occasionally turned up to defend a prominent Augustii, but mostly he sent his opinions in writing — writing which Harris still couldn’t decipher. But Garan could. The Deegosgi was present at all proceedings and beyond them. He’d show up at all hours to chatter about happenings in this Ryyve or that Ryyve. Harris found Garan fascinating, especially when he spoke of travels to the Makronican Islands in the Amaykwohi Sea. This was the home of the Finistrians, a tribe of pearl fishers, who harvested pearls as big as ostrich eggs, which said much about the oysters.
Belmundus (The Farn Trilogy Book 1) Page 36