"That miner Jikko’s in trouble," Caldar cut in belligerently. "We'll just sail away tomorrow, but he'll still be here getting beaten up by this ‘helpful’ bully. What are we going to do about it?"
Idressin eyed him with interest. "I half suspected you were contemplating some mad escapade. Jikko’ll survive, I promise you. Just forget about it and we'll all sleep easier tonight."
"Why?" Caldar was definitely getting angry now. "Because helping a stranger doesn't fit into your neat scheme of things? We have to be in Razimir by some date dreamed up by you and the Tinker, so it's just hard luck on anyone who's in trouble as we pass by. Like Gerevin or Jikko. Let them drown. Even though we might be able to extend a hand and rescue them. Or you could anyway."
"This self-indulgent crap will be the death of you yet." The tutor's voice was mild, but it struck Caldar like a blow. "And maybe of the rest of us too."
Unable to contain the emotions he felt flame up inside him, Caldar got to his feet ignoring Berin's restraining hand and crossed the room to go outside. He opened the door and came face to face with Jikko, smiling and calling out to his friends at he reentered the inn. Caldar stopped for a long moment, then closed the door and returned to his seat.
"Tell me", he said simply to Idressin.
The tutor's eyes were warm as he smiled at the boy and replied, "Tomorrow. On board the ship."
The next day was well advanced before anything as ordinary as conversation even occurred to Caldar. None of them except the tutor had been on the open sea before; the experience was both terrifying and highly unsettling from the moment the ship left the shelter of the harbour and staggered under the onslaught of the first mighty wave. That Caldar was the least sick of the three firsttimers made little difference; anyone suffering the misery of sea-sickness is not interested in nice degrees of classification. Fortunately he adapted quicker than his friends and eventually came around to seeking out the tutor and reminding him that they were due to talk.
They sat on the foredeck, protected from the ceaseless probing of the north wind by some large bales of cargo. The captain had stood well out from the coast at first and now they were headed south with the waves rolling up from almost dead astern, making the ship's motion easier.
"You must understand, Caldar, that you’re a dangerous person. At times you have the potential to invoke a certain amount of power, and if you do so in the manner of a lazy, ignorant, self-indulgent child, you have an equal potential to cause great damage."
Idressin's words caused Caldar no offence this time. After hours of retching he had no energy for an argument. And besides he knew what the tutor meant. His confrontation with Nexi on the Great Highway came vividly to mind. He had felt powerful enough to destroy his enemy at that moment and thankfully he had let it go.
"Ignorant," the tutor continued, "because you don't have the least idea what the power is, what it’s for, or how to handle it: you’re likely to produce some harmful result you don’t expect, possibly to the very person you wish to help. Lazy, because I’ve shown you before that using power is unnecessary in most situations where intelligence will serve. Strangely it seems to take more effort to shake ourselves awake and use our natural abilities than it does to create some whirlwind solution to problems, but it’s an illusion. If you manage to invoke power, you’ll be using up precious reserves in yourself at an enormous rate. It won’t always be like that, but for the present don’t expend yourself on minor issues."
"And self-indulgent?" Caldar prompted as the tutor paused.
"You enjoy the use of power or the idea of the use of it. If you could, you would have gone ahead and indulged your feeling of outrage against that stupid sergeant, and if you’d succeeded, you would have reduced your actions to the same level as his." Idressin paused again, his eyes casually watching the flight of a gull. "It's not a pretty picture if you follow it through, is it? The real power which is in your trust being evoked even indirectly by sadists and bullies. You’re no such person yourself, Caldar, but be careful. The power we call on is not ours; it’s independent in origin, nature and purpose. If we try to twist it to our own use, we can’t escape the consequences, and the price is high."
"The Tinker said that too. I guess I was only half listening at the time. Now you make the possible results sound so appalling, I won't even think of trying to use power again."
"I'm glad to hear you’ll be cautious at least for the rest of the day." Idressin smiled mischievously, then continued. "Perhaps, until you learn more, the best principle for you would be to solve things with the least use of force. As Master Dzar says, every action produces an extraordinary number of reactions. If you don't want to be dealing with a tangle of unexpected results, act simply and consider at least some of the consequences. Any attempt to free Jikko by violence, whether it succeeded or not, would have left him even worse off after we left. Unless of course you were going to try to kill every Special Forces man in Far Sentor. You prepared for that?”
“No,” the youth replied slowly. “I never thought about it at all. I was angry and scared back there in the tavern, hating that man so much, thinking was the last thing I wanted to do.”
The tutor eyed him with a slight frown before responding. “It’s hard for you to react any other way, isn’t it? You always side with a loner or a loser, even a Borogoi killer, you can’t help it. But you can’t go on fighting your own battles through other people’s lives, Caldar. Like Rass, you’re going to have to let go of your past.”
“I…” the youth began. Then he stopped, too drained to argue his corner today. “Come on, Idressin. Tell me how you fixed the sergeant.”
“I told him to release Jikko and leave him alone, because he and his subversive friends were already under observation by my subordinate, a disguised Imperial agent. That’ll have our bully-boy looking over his shoulder for years, someone he doesn’t know reporting to me and I’m the man who can influence his future career. Types like that are the easiest to deal with, they're mesmerised by their own fears and desires."
"He seemed so frightening in the tavern. I suppose that’s it, isn’t it? Bullies like that scare me, so I get angry."
"Well, on top of everything else, remember we have a job to do. If we turn aside to try and right every wrong in this wretched kingdom, we wouldn’t arrive in a thousand years. And using strange powers might make us extremely conspicuous, when the job’s tricky enough as it is. You set plenty of tongues wagging when you rescued Tintrip’s children. Better not to risk it again. The Imperial authorities are looking for us already and any hint of magic would lead them straight to us. The Tinker really would prefer our arrival in Razimir to be nice and unobtrusive."
The thought of arriving in Razimir raised pictures in Caldar's mind, not only of the Tinker, but of Tariska also. With sudden surprise he realised how much he wanted to see her again, and the days that followed as the cargo ship ploughed steadily from port to port down the coast seemed to stretch out interminably. At the boys' request, Idressin taught them all High Balotins, the language used by Imperial officials of all ranks throughout the Empire. People might think them quaint and assume they came from another part of the Empire, but they would understand, whereas Shattun seemed to be little used away from the main trade routes.
The captain of the ship was a squat cheery fellow from somewhere south of Razimir. He was suspicious at first of these passengers forced on him by the policeman in Far Sentor. But his sure instincts soon told him there was nothing sinister about this small group, and he became intrigued by their efforts to learn High Balotins. Joining in the game, he would address them in his own halting version of the language whenever they met.
Three weeks and six ports down from Far Sentor he greeted them on the deck with less than his usual good humour.
"Weather bad. Today stop. Next day Razimir."
It was obvious what he meant. The fog hung around them so densely that the top of the masts were invisible and one could see only half the length of
the ship. Closer to Razimir there were dangerous reefs extending miles out from the shore, the captain explained, and the sea traffic increased markedly. Even at anchor with the ship’s bell sounding monotonously they were not safe.
Idressin roused them early next morning with the words, "You might like to see this." They hurried on deck in the half-light only to find the same ghostly fog drifting around them and nothing in sight except mist and water. With the mainsails furled they seemed to be at rest on the calm surface.
They all saw the menacing shadow at the same time. The ship seemed to rush forwards taking on speed and they braced themselves for the inevitable impact, but at the last moment the blackness solidified and soared up and over the masthead. It was a bridge. It sprang from the sheer cliffs of a headland on their right in a tremendous arch across to a dimly seen stone pier, standing on rocks ringed with white froth in the fast current.
"That was Razimir’s North Gate," Idressin told them as the bridge fell away behind them. "We've arrived. We anchored outside to wait for the tide to turn and now we’re going in on the flood."
The fog thinned as the sun rose, until they could make out the shoreline on either side. Cliffs, beaches and the mouths of branching inlets slid by in eerie quietness, as the ship was propelled forward by the strong current. After a while the shores fell back to reveal a wider expanse of water, and some careful manoeuvres past a series of buoys brought them alongside a huge stone wharf which materialised out of the mist ahead.
*
If the boys expected to be ashore as soon as the ship docked, the officials of Razimir had other ideas, and no one was allowed on land for several hours. After that Idressin insisted on finding a good stable for the ponies, which proved to be some distance away. It was early evening before they set off, on what proved to be a long walk along the seafront road.
The fog had thickened again and for the next hour they saw little but wharves and rocks on one side and an unending row of buildings on the other. Warehouses, houses, taverns and shops passed in a weary blur, until suddenly the tutor stepped through a gate on the right and led them straight ahead up a long flight of steps. They emerged to find themselves at one end of a slender footbridge which stretched out from the summit of a bluff high over the sea to vanish into the fog. It was fully dark now, but the airy span was well-lit. They crossed it with curiosity, which quickened into wonder as Idressin led them up lighted walkways under huge mysterious trees and past half-seen lawns and water-gardens.
A star appeared above the trees, then a host of stars and quite suddenly they were above the mist. Still the tutor guided them upward, until they came out onto a huge terrace. Gardens spread before them for hundreds of paces, flowing around all sides of a central mound on which an enormous glowing structure drew them forward in fascination. As they approached, they could see numbers of people passing in and out of a soaring entrance way, but it was the building itself which held all their attention.
It floated above them, ethereal on a sea of light. Everything was built of glass, walls, ceilings, floors, even the balconies and the slender pillars which supported them. Some sections of the walls were clear as crystal, revealing glimpses of hundreds of people eating in a sumptuous dining room.
From inside, as the tutor explained later, these clear sections were designed to offer enchanting views of the city and the harbour, while others were delicately tinted to give the scene a magical transformation. Elsewhere the glass was an intricate blend of mirrored panels and opaque sections in smoky yellow and deep glowing blue. The mirrors were cunningly fashioned, so that one could see the reflection of an interesting face and even exchange glances without being able to discover where in that huge throng that one person was.
"It's exactly what they want in Razimir," Idressin added. "They're butterflies, flitting continually from one thing to another. Short-lived amusement without involvement suits them perfectly."
On this first night the youths were so enthralled that they walked right up to the entrance before they took in the scene around them. Expensively dressed Malefori thronged the brightly lit portal and the stylish crowds strolling the terrace outside gave the rough-looking group a wide berth, parting around them as smoothly as a river around a large rock.
"What are we doing here?" Berin whispered, feeling that they were extraordinarily conspicuous with their travel-stained clothing and bulging knapsacks.
"This is the Glasshouse. This is where we're staying in Razimir," the tutor answered, studying the scene with interest. "They're doing good business, even better than last time I was here."
"Is this one of your little jokes, Idressin?" Caldar asked. "Because I don't know about the others, but I'm tired and I'd like to find a bed in the next few hours."
“Feel out of place among all these superior people, do you?” Idressin laughed. “Follow me then and we'll go round to the tradesmen's entrance."
This proved to be a flight of steps round to the right which led down to the working areas under the elegant public rooms. Idressin got them admitted with apparent ease. Storerooms gave way to vast kitchens and then to living quarters before the tutor ran to earth the person he was seeking.
"Foxin," he addressed a diminutive figure bent over some books in a small room. "I didn't know the Empress had you doing the accounts as well."
The gnome-like Foxin looked up without surprise or embarrassment, revealing a wrinkled old face and a corded neck like a tortoise, and replied in cultured Shattun.
"Well met, A'Delzir. It is a pleasure to welcome you back, sir. Yes, things have changed here. We've been so successful these last few years that the Empress has no time for the ledgers any more, so it has been added to my list of duties. Do you wish to see her? She is unfortunately out tonight at the Governor’s Reception, but I will inform her of your arrival the minute she returns tomorrow. There is also a young lady who has been staying here the last few weeks, apparently waiting for you."
"Here? In the Glasshouse?" The tutor's surprise was evident.
"Yes indeed, sir. Is there something wrong? I was given to understand that it was your express wish that she should lodge here pending your arrival."
"Given to understand by whom, Foxin?"
"Why, by the young lady herself, sir. There was, I remember, some kind of disagreement between her and Mr S’Bissi when he brought her here, but it seemed to be quickly resolved. In fact Mr S’Bissi himself, before he departed, assured us that he approved wholeheartedly of the arrangement."
"The old fox is becoming a coward. He was supposed to keep the wench by his side. Still, I don't altogether blame him. What news of the Tinker?"
"I do believe the Empress has a message for you, sir. She has not confided it to me."
"It will keep until she’s free. Now, where’s this young lady?"
"Upstairs, on the third floor."
The tutor gave Foxin a searching glance, then laughed aloud as the little man hurried to explain.
"You see, sir, we have taken on a large number of extra servants. The restaurant is open eighteen hours a day now, and business on the second and third floors has expanded greatly. So the living quarters here in the basement are completely full and contain a number of persons of frankly inferior breeding. The Empress took the decision herself to place her guest in private rooms in a quiet part of the third floor, near her own apartment. I do hope you are not offended, sir."
"Well, the breeding of those on the third floor is certainly beyond question, isn't it Foxin?" Idressin chuckled. "Does that mean we’re also invited to live graciously in these rooms upstairs?"
"Yes, sir, that is the arrangement. But believe me if you find it distasteful, we will find an alternative at once."
"No, no. It will suit us admirably. Come, take us up. These young gentlemen want to find their beds almost as much as they want to greet their friend."
Realising he was about to see Tariska again, Caldar wanted to bound upstairs. Instead he had to wait, while Foxin carefully
locked away all the ledgers and then led them slowly along to what he called Number Four stairs.
Everything was very formal here, the boy reflected; even Idressin's speech had become rather flowery. Then he stopped in shock. He was emerging in the middle of a sea of tables and diners. The spiral staircare they were ascending was enclosed in one of many large glass columns which rose through each of the vast rooms above. He was doubly surprised when no one took any notice of him, although a pair of bare female shoulders were inches away from him and the young man staring hungrily at them was looking Caldar in the eye.
Idressin glanced back at the three who had come to a confused halt below him. "Interesting, isn't it? You can only see through this glass in one direction. You may feel exposed, but you're not."
More revelations awaited them above. The second floor was just as busy. Here too people were grouped about tables, but they were gambling. Although much of the activity was unfamiliar to the boys, they recognised dice and cards for what they were.
The third floor was quite different. They came up into a room of ordinary proportions, but extraordinary opulence. Passing through the door Foxin held open for them, they stepped onto fluffy white carpets so thick that Caldar was surprised to find his shoes still visible. The walls were draped with some kind of soft material in soothing shades of pink and blue. There were rich cushions scattered everywhere and at an elegant glass table sat the strangest-looking woman the boys had ever seen. Her pale gold hair was held up behind her head by a fan-shaped comb, her face was unnaturally white and her eyes were outlined in vivid blue. A long gold dress covered her to the ankles, but long slits down each side afforded revealing glimpses as she rose to greet them.
Inside the blue paint her brown eyes were sharp and hard as two flints. They flicked instantly over the group, checked for an instant on Rasscu, then appeared to dismiss them all as unimportant.
"Yes, Mr Foxin?" There was a practiced calculation of status in the tone of the words and in the smile which accompanied them. One could tell that Foxin was her superior, but not one that she feared or held in high regard.
The Tears of Sisme Page 49