Master and Servant (Waterman)

by Dusk Peterson

CHAPTER SEVEN

  Meredith returned from the holidays to find his form much diminished. The Dozen Landsteads' universities all held entrance examinations during the autumn holidays; anyone who was six tri-years old by the beginning of the autumn term was eligible to sit exams. As a result, every lad in the seventh form who was six by then left Narrows after the autumn term, other than Carruthers, who had missed his previous summer term and was still making up his studies.

  Meredith's sixth birthday had come past the starting point for the autumn term, so he joined the students returning to school. The seventh form was always the smallest class, what with students dropping out after sixth form if they weren't planning to attend university, and a handful of students being sent down for violations of school rules. Now, with most of the six-tri-years students gone, so few seventh-formers were left that the Head Master erased the distinction between the Lower Seventh and the Upper Seventh, allowing third- and second-ranked students to attend lessons alongside first-ranked students.

  The result of this was that Meredith found himself in all but one of the lessons that were attended by both Rudd and Carruthers.

  To Meredith's great relief, Carruthers never looked his way. He sat in the front row in each class, industriously taking notes, as though his being heir to the Second Landstead, as well as Head and Captain of the Second House, wouldn't be reason enough for the instructors to pass him with alacrity. Rudd, who had watched Meredith through narrowed eyes for the first week or two, gradually lost interest in scrutinizing the activities of his fag. After a while, Meredith managed to keep his mind on schoolwork during lesson-time, rather than on the explosive combination of himself and the two Heads.

  The lesson that Meredith did not share with either Head was Astronomy, the closest that Narrows had to a science course. It was allowed onto the curriculum only because astronomical mathematics was mentioned by the ancient authors and was therefore deemed respectable. Most of the lesson-work consisted of mathematical proofs. Master Trundle, who taught Astronomy, would have considered actually looking at the stars to be an activity beneath notice, while news of the latest rocket ships being launched into orbit from Yclau would have fallen under the category of Foreign Heresies.

  Meredith had no great interest in foreign activities himself, but he was passionately interested in the history of the Dozen Landsteads, and it was impossible to study the history of the First Landstead without stumbling across pages upon pages of references to scientific matters. He had assembled at home – under his father's proud eye – a respectable library of scientific textbooks, while the school library turned out to have a fairly good collection of scientifiction tucked away in the section for first-ranked students and their classmates. Since he had not previously studied alongside first-ranked students, Meredith had not been permitted to enter the first-ranked section before this term. Now he discovered, upon proudly presenting his Upper Seventh card to the librarian, that at least one other person at Narrows School shared his interest in scientifiction, for several of the books he had hoped to borrow were already off the shelves when he checked. All the other lads learning astronomy seemed to be sleeping through the proceedings, so Meredith assumed that one of the school masters had a taste for thrilling adventures in outer space.

  It was not until the second week of term that he came into the nook that held the scientifiction books and discovered Carruthers there, carefully examining each spine, with a stack of scientifiction books already tucked under one arm.

  He looked up before Meredith could retreat. Meredith froze, staring at the book in Carruthers's hand, which Meredith had been planning to borrow. He blurted out, "You want to read Fantastic Voyages to the Moon and Beyond?" Then he felt himself turn crimson.

  Carruthers said in an easy manner, "I've already read it, about twelve dozen times. Did you want to borrow it?" Before Meredith could think of what to say, Carruthers placed the book atop Meredith's stack of history books.

  Meredith thought to himself that there must be a more graceful way of retreating than dropping his books and running. But every instinct in his body – the instincts that he had tried so hard to rid himself of – told him that he could not leave until Carruthers dismissed him.

  The Head seemed to be expecting some sort of response. Groping for words, Meredith said, "Master Trundle mentioned that book in our lesson yesterday."

  "Favorably?" Carruthers managed to hide any look of disgust at Meredith's inane remark.

  "Er . . . no. He was making fun of it, actually. He said that it talked about planets around other stars, which Flaminius said couldn't exist."

  Carruthers smiled. "And since Flaminius lived in the seventh tri-century, long before the invention of the telescope, of course he was the expert on such matters. . . . I wish my Government lesson wasn't at the same time as Master Trundle's lesson; I would have liked to have taken it, if only for Trundle's entertaining commentary. What topic is he covering this term?"

  "Astronomy in the middle tri-centuries." It was becoming easier by the moment to talk to Carruthers; the Head Prefect seemed absorbed in the conversation, as patient as the Head Master would have been at what Meredith was saying.

  "Is he, by all that is sacred? He'll never get the class to the twentieth tri-century at this rate."

  "I don't think he wants to, sir," replied Meredith with a smile. "Then he might have to demonstrate actual knowledge of astronomy."

  Carruthers actually laughed then; Meredith grinned, relieved. He had been sure, at the beginning of this meeting, that Carruthers was holding a grudge against him for never having turned up for the invited meeting, but now Meredith realized how ridiculous an idea that was. Carruthers had undoubtedly forgotten their conversation in the changing room within a day of its occurrence. No doubt, if Meredith had actually showed up at Carruthers's door, the Head would have found a way to politely quiz him as to his purpose there, and might even have humored Meredith by giving him . . . by giving him whatever it was that Carruthers had offered in the changing room. But the idea that the Head should care whether or not Meredith came to his rooms was patently absurd, as was the idea that Carruthers had been using Meredith as a tool in his war against Rudd. Meredith simply didn't matter that much.

  Cheered by this thought, and warmed by Carruthers's politeness toward a third-ranker from a rival House, Meredith opened his mouth to make another light joke . . . and at that moment he heard Rudd, talking loudly as he entered the library, just to show that he could.

  Carruthers's gaze flicked toward the door, where Rudd was continuing to raise his voice as he spoke with the second-ranked librarian, who was timidly suggesting that he speak in lower tones. Then Carruthers said quietly, "I'm heading over to the tuck shop to buy some sweets. Would you care to join me? The shop is usually deserted at this time of day, so we'd be able to hear ourselves speak for once." He gave a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

  That smile – the same one he had given in the changing room – made Meredith step backwards, as much as the vision of what Rudd would do if he discovered Meredith and Carruthers alone together in the tuck shop. "No," Meredith whispered. "Thank you. Sir. No."

  He fled then, his instinct to avoid pain overcoming his instinct to await dismissal. Yet even as he fled, part of him whispered, Failed as a master, and you can't even succeed as a servant?

  o—o—o

  The weeks passed in spring term. Ice boats occasionally skidded across the iced-in portions of Richland Cove, filled with school masters taking a much-needed break from their duties. The students preferred to skate on a nearby pond. Snow fell, blanketing the playing fields, so that students grumbled, as they did every sun-circuit, that there would be no opportunity left to play the final matches leading to the Spring Term Cup. Snow forts were built by the students on the fields, with the participants showing as much fierceness with ice-balls as well-equipped third backs. Once, flatteringly, Davenham invited Meredith to help defend the Third House's fort, but Meredith decline
d the offer. The universities would be holding examinations again during the spring holidays, and Meredith did not have a first-ranker's luxury to be slack in his studies; he would be sitting for one of the fiercely fought scholarship exams. So, like a soldier, he spent all his free time in preparation for the coming battle.

  Rudd was busy too, helping to plan the upcoming picket season with Pembroke, who was a fair fielder. Rudd rarely called for Meredith's services this term, so Meredith was free to spend his days in the third-rankers' study, alone except for the occasional servant who entered to tend the fire, while Meredith watched him out of the corner of his eye.

  At night, he dreamt of jet-cars in the sky, and slidewalks and computers, and the underground dome of Prison City. He had chosen to try for the school's History Prize, and was therefore writing an essay on the history of the First Landstead since 1912. Because that was a topic which had been little studied by any upper landstead historian, he was able to receive permission to consult First Landsteaders' books at the High Masters' library. The library, along with the other rooms of the High Masters' council, was located on Lower Hoopers Island, down-Bay of Narrows School.

  This was his first visit to the council's headquarters, though he was scheduled to return there in the summer, when the High Masters would hear his court case. He found himself disappointed by the architecture of the buildings. Amidst the library books' pictures of the First Landstead's gleaming buildings of glass and stainless steel and bold colors, the crumbling stone castle with its faded tapestries seemed like a step into the past, rather than a step into the future.

  He saw from a distance the High Master of the Second Landstead, who was M Carruthers's uncle, but he did not possess the courage to walk up and introduce himself. He returned from the council's headquarters with nothing to show for his visit except a few exciting passages about the experiments being run on the prisoners at Prison City.

  The cold finally broke; snow melted from the fields, and the students waited anxiously for the fields to grow dry enough to be played on. The snow players returned indoors, making concerted concentration at studies impossible, for more students wanted to chat and rag in the third-rankers' study than to work. Meredith took his books outside, sitting on the chilly perch of the lamphouse. In the distance, he could hear the boom of cannons and the crack of gunfire as the dredgers and tongers fought, and sometimes, on the Honga River, he caught sight of the sails of the dredgers' bugeyes and skipjacks, or the tongers' log canoes and brogans. But none of the watermen ventured into Richland Cove, where the waters were littered with rocks that could destroy larger boats.

  North and east and south of Hoopers Island were the Fourth through Twelfth Landsteads, which Meredith had never visited. He had never been to any landstead other than the Third, but when he daydreamed of travelling, it was not to the remaining upper landsteads – it was to the First Landstead, which looked forwards to the future, not backwards to the past.

  Yet all the while, as the days of sunlight extended and the spring holidays approached, Meredith felt like a footer forward, watching the clock tick down as he lost his remaining opportunity to achieve his goal, before it was too late.

  o—o—o

  Spring term also meant one thing that was of overriding importance to most of the students at Narrows: the final weeks of footer season.

  Pembroke's pre-match talks were usually held in the Third House's changing room, a fact for which Meredith was grateful. It was easier, amidst the clutter of wardrobes and helmet hooks and equipment racks, to hide himself in an inconspicuous corner as he slipped into his uniform and readied his equipment.

  Pembroke, as usual, did not wait for the other players to finish dressing before he started on his talk.

  "We play hard," he said, "but we play fair. Contrary to what some other Houses think, it's possible to win a match without cheating. Indeed, if we lose a match because the other side has cheated, we are the true winners – the men who have held to honesty amidst temptation. 'Play fair' has been the Third House's motto since this school began, six tri-centuries ago, and what is the result? We are second in running for the Spring Term Cup this sun-circuit. We'll be first," he added, looking at the players around him, "by the time this afternoon's match is ended."

  The players gave cries of approval; even Meredith smiled as he fastened his helmet-strap below his chin. He had as much pride in the traditions of the Third House as the next student, and if Pembroke had been Head of the House instead of Rudd, Meredith's pride would have been unadulterated. As a player, he did not even have to worry about Rudd's scrutiny. Rudd, who was so poor a player at footer that even his rank wouldn't permit him to be picked for the team, invariably skived off from prefecting during week-break matches in order to visit Hoopersville. The locals, wise to Rudd's ways, kept their virgin daughters and sons at home during week-break.

  Because of this, Meredith could forget, for a small space of time each week, that his body and soul belonged to Rudd. On the field, all that mattered was pleasing his true liege-master, Pembroke.

  "Masters Fletcher, Edwards, and Aspinall." Pembroke addressed the three first-rankers lounging on the benches, fully dressed in their gold-trimmed black uniforms and with their hands free of equipment. "There have been too many cases in recent matches of last-minute passes when the clock is ticking down to zero. If you see that one of the other forwards has an opening for a quick goal or try, then of course you should pass to him. But to pass to another forward simply because the clock is about to reach zero is sheer cowardice." His gaze, which had been travelling between the three first-rankers, paused momentarily on Edwards, then passed on to Fletcher, where it stayed. "And to allow the Dredgers to get hold of the ball simply in order to avoid being the man who holds the ball when the clock reaches zero is worse than cowardice."

  Fletcher, reaching down to retie his boots, grunted. There was a grudging murmur of acknowledgment from other two forwards for this reprimand. There had been trouble the previous term when Rudd, contrary to all House tradition, had named his second-ranked friend to the post of Captain, instead of any of the eligible first-rankers, but a nearly unbroken string of victories had gradually persuaded the forwards that, if they must be led by a second-ranked master, Pembroke was the right lad for the job.

  As for the second- and third-rankers on the team, they now hung on Pembroke's every word. They were leaning forward now, their hearts barely caged within their ribs, to hear whether he would pick any of them out for special notice, either positive or negative. Meredith, whose own heart had sped up despite himself, took up a cloth and began cleaning his equipment.

  "Second backs." Pembroke, resplendent in a House Captain's all-white uniform, turned his attention to the second-ranking masters, who were dressed in black with silver trim. "Your job is to support the forwards. Not to win glory for yourselves. If I hear of any more nonsense such as prizes for the lad who fouls the most players—" All six of the second-rankers grew suddenly pink or turned their attention to their feet. "—I'll ask Master Rudd to cane the lot of you. Understand?"

  There was a sudden, dreadful silence, and then voices tumbled over one another as the second-rankers assured Pembroke that they would never think of putting their own interests ahead of the team's. Pembroke let them speak until they were hoarse, while the forwards grinned and the third-rankers in their copper-trimmed uniforms exchanged uneasy glances. If Pembroke was threatening second-rankers with beatings, what lay in store for the third-rankers?

  "Third backs." Pembroke cut away the final, shrill promises of the second-ranked masters. The third-rankers, to a lad, sucked in their breaths. Pembroke looked round at them solemnly before saying, "You've done well this term."

  All nine third-rankers emitted a huge sigh, including Meredith. Pembroke added, "That doesn't mean there isn't room for improvement. I know that I've allowed you more freedom than previous Captains have—"

  "That's why we love you, sir!" cried one of the third backs before he rea
lized what he had said and turned crimson.

  A ripple of light laughter ran around the changing-room as Pembroke solemnly replied, "Thank you. I'm not trying to be critical of previous Captains; every Captain has his own style and encourages particular traits in his players. I prefer my players to show initiative and imagination – but I also expect them to work within the match's plan." He flicked his gaze over to the third backs who were still giggling, and they fell abruptly silent. "Initiative without unity is mere anarchy. I know that it can be difficult, during the frenzy of the game, to remember prior orders, but keep in mind: our games are preparation for life. If any of us ever takes to the field in earnest, it's unlikely we'll be fortunate enough to have a Captain by our side, reminding us of our orders. Whether we learn to obey orders now may be a matter of life or death to us and our fellow soldiers in the future."

  Everyone was silent a minute before one of the second-rankers asked, "Do you really think war is likely, Pembroke?"

  Pembroke shrugged as he reached over to pull his helmet off its hook. "Your guess is good as mine. The High Master of the Second Landstead is a fair-minded man, but the House of His Master's Kindness is showing no signs of wishing to obey his orders. And our own High Master is bound to defend the House of Mollusc if things continue the way they have for the past four tri-years."

  Meredith, feeling sober, ducked his head as he ran the cloth down his equipment again. He had only been on the boats once when the tongers of the Third Landstead fought the dredgers of the Second Landstead, who seemed intent on scraping clean all the oyster bars in the Third Landstead's waters, just as they had already scraped clean all the oysters from their own waters. But that one battle had taught him that the dredgers of the House of His Master's Kindness were vicious fighters. If the men of the Second Landstead's other Houses were just as vicious, matters might go very badly indeed for the Third Landstead if their two landsteads went to war with one another over fishing rights. And if the other landsteads decided that this was just a matter to be settled between those two landsteads, and if the Third Landstead continued to follow its tradition of fair play . . .

  Not for the first time, Meredith inwardly cursed Carruthers's father, who had drawn them all into this mess. The Second Landstead's High Master was as fair-minded as Pembroke had said; if matters had been left to him alone, the Second Landsteaders would never have engaged in illegal oystering in the Third Landstead's territory. And Meredith was quite sure that M Carruthers, who was set to succeed his uncle one day as High Master, did not countenance his father's flagrant violations of the high law, if only because the younger Carruthers was foresightful enough to see what civil war could mean to the future of the Dozen Landsteads.

  Indeed, Pembroke was tacitly acknowledging that now by saying, "The Captain of the Second House has shown considerable restraint since he took over the Dredgers last term, but remember: our two teams have been bitter rivals for many tri-centuries now. However sincere Master Carruthers's commitment to fair play may or may not be, it's unlikely that he can fully control his players, who have been inculcated by previous Captains in the dirtiest fighting methods to be found in the world. So keep guard. Play clean, but don't hesitate to defend yourselves. I'll personally beat the backsides of any of you who hit with a rifle-barrel when a fist will do, but if the Dredgers play dirty, don't hesitate to do whatever the rules allow, in order to defend yourselves. As for shooting . . ." He looked around the room, not only at the third backs, but also at the second backs and forwards. "Kill the fuck out of them. I want to see that field swimming in blood."

  Everyone was completely still now. Meredith had ceased to wipe his rifle some time back; now he ceased to breathe. He could not remember ever having heard Pembroke swear before.

  "Master Rudd's father," said Pembroke slowly, "was Master of the House of Mollusc before his rise to the High Mastership. You all know that. You also know that, before his rise to the High Mastership, Master Rudd's father was liege-master to my father, just as young Master Rudd will serve as my liege-master until he becomes High Master.

  "That I am Captain of this team isn't by coincidence. Master Rudd chose me as Captain because my father has been captain and boat-master of the Elsie Pembroke. In the past three-and-two-thirds tri-years, twenty-eight of my father's watermen have been killed by Second Landsteaders while defending our House's oyster territory. Twenty-eight. They were murdered by those pirates who steal our landstead's oysters and leave nothing – nothing – for us to tong afterwards. They dredge our side of the Bay until it is dead. We've tonged these waters for tri-centuries, allowing the oysters time to grow back and provide us with further harvests in the coming sun-circuits, but those arrogant, dredging Third Landsteaders steal into our territory and kill our oyster bars. They kill our men."

  No sound now except the faint sound of laughter, coming from the direction of the Second House. Pembroke turned his cool gaze upon every lad present before saying, with utter simplicity, "Last spring, two members of the Third House died at this school, during games, due to dirty play. They were both killed by players from the Second House."

  The silence was much longer this time. Several of the players present had turned white, though whether from fear or anger wasn't clear. Pembroke finally said quietly, "This school has never countenanced such behavior; the Head Master immediately sent down the offenders. But both those incidents tell us what types of stakes we are playing for. The Second House – indeed, many of the Second Landsteaders – will stop at nothing to get what they want. It is left to us, the House whose motto is 'Fair play,' to show the world that we are the better players. We can win victory without resorting to foul, underhanded deeds. We are not pirates in the night, stripping men of their livelihoods and their lives. We are soldiers who defend what is ours, and who do so while upholding the high law."

  For the briefest of seconds, Pembroke held everyone in the palm of his hand. Then the silence broke, and the cheers that rose in the room threatened to bring down the ceiling upon them. Meredith cheered with the rest, thumping his stock on the floor, since his rifle was not yet loaded.

  Pembroke, fastening his metal helmet, waited until everyone had cheered themselves hoarse before adding, in a matter-of-fact manner, "So keep your shots clean. Remember: you're aiming for a game-killing, not a real killing. Unless your chosen player is already down and not moving, shoot to disable. Legs, arms, buttocks – those are all fair play. Avoid the rest of the body unless you're certain of hitting the target safely. These may not be real bullets" – he reached over and plucked out of Meredith's hand the pellet he had been about to stuff into his air rifle – "but they can do just as much damage as a bullet if they're shot too close or on the wrong part of the body. Remember those two players who were sent down last sun-circuit, and show appropriate caution. If that's not incentive enough, remember that the Dredgers were forced to forfeit both those matches to our team. . . . Oh, and Hobson?"

  "Sir?" squeaked Hobson, who was a third back.

  "Watch out for the barbed wire – there's a good lad. . . . All right, Tongers, I think we're ready now." Pembroke clapped his hands. "Everyone out on the field. —No, wait, Meredith. I'd like a word with you."

  As the other players began to stream out of the changing room, Meredith hurried over to Pembroke, rifle in hand. "Yes, master?" he said. "Do you require my service?"

  From the doorway came snickers from some of the departing players. Pembroke flicked a glance at Fletcher, who was chortling, but waited until all of the players were gone and the changing-room door closed before he said, "Meredith, don't call me master."

  Meredith, who was in the midst of putting his rifle aside, hung his head, biting his lip to keep from speaking any sentence that began, "But . . ." After a few seconds, he said, "May I ask a question, ma— Sir?"

  "Yes, of course." Pembroke gestured impatiently.

  "You sometimes address Master Rudd as master. Is it wrong to . . . ? I mean, are there times when I'm supposed
to . . . ?"

  Pembroke sighed. "Yes, I sometimes address my liege-master as master. But nobody is questioning whether I am a master."

  There was a long silence as Meredith stared at the floor. Through the windows came the faint sound of guns, from the direction of Honga River.

  "Meredith, look up."

  Pembroke's voice was so sharp that Meredith had to exert all his effort not to fall to his knees. He raised his eyes far enough that he could see his liege-master's annoyed expression, but could not find the strength to raise his face.

  Pembroke sighed heavily and thumped Meredith into an upright position, as though he were a first-former who had not yet learned service and protocol. "Listen to me," he said. "Most of the students at this school believe you're a servant. That's not fair of them, but you don't help matters when you act subservient. Even third-rankers have opportunities to demonstrate their mastership. You're a good third back; you ought to be able to exert leadership among the third backs, rather than hang back and let others make decisions on your behalf. Show initiative, make bold decisions, take charge. If you do that on the field, then it won't matter whether you call me 'master' off the field. I have faith in you; I know that you can do this."

  "Yes, mas—" He bit his lip, lowered his eyes, and heard Pembroke sigh again.

  "Oh, Meredith," murmured his liege-master. "By all that is sacred, what should I do with you?"

  He had any number of answers to that question, but he did not have the opportunity to figure out how to raise the topic of Pembroke's neglected duties, for his liege-master said, "Now, about our fathers . . ."

  "Yes, sir?" He quickly looked up. "I was very sorry, sir, to hear about your father's accident." He had been wanting to say that since he returned to school, but this was the first opportunity that Pembroke had offered him for private conversation.

  Pembroke nodded, his gaze drifting away. "My father, you understand, is unable to remain your father's liege-master."

  Meredith felt pain clutch at his chest. Would Pembroke use this as an excuse to set aside his own oath of protection? "Yes, sir," he managed to reply. "I was grieved to hear that his health did not permit him to continue working. Is he doing all right?"

  "He's as well as can be expected." Pembroke continued not to meet Meredith's eyes. "You know I have two elder brothers. My eldest brother has inherited my father's title."

  "And his boat and crew?" Meredith suggested, thinking of Sol.

  Pembroke shook his head. "He already has his own boat and crew. My father's crewmen will have to find other masters to serve, and the boat . . . Well, my father has given me the Elsie Pembroke, though I've no idea what I'll do with it. That doesn't matter. What matters is that my brother has decided that he doesn't wish to take on another liegeman."

  Meredith stared at his boots, saying nothing. He had met Pembroke's eldest brother several times; on his last visit to the school, Captain Pembroke's oldest son had spoken of his desire to acquire more liegemen.

  Just not this particular liegeman, it seemed.

  "What will happen to my father, sir?" His voice sounded hollow. He tried to think back to his lessons in constitutional law. By the rules laid down by Remigeus, every third-ranked master must have a liege-master. Every third-ranked master was assumed to be able to find a liege-master. But if no one wanted Meredith's father . . .

  "My other brother is in the Oyster Navy," Pembroke said.

  Meredith looked up quickly. "But he's a cadet, isn't he? Is he permitted to take liegemen, sir?"

  Pembroke ignored Meredith's question, although his gaze had finally drifted back to his liegeman. "His liege-master, Commander Crayton, came to visit our home when he learned of my father's accident. When he enquired after my father's future . . . Well, I happened to mention your father's case to him. He says that he is desperately in need of trained watermen to serve in the navy. Of course, your father would have to start as a cadet, but do you think he might want to—?"

  "Sir, that's wonderful!" Meredith burst out, unable to contain himself. "He'd love to follow the water again! Oh, thank you, master!" He fell to the floor – remembering at the last moment to kneel on only one knee – and tried to kiss Pembroke's hands.

  Pembroke snatched his hands back. "Meredith, stand up!"

  Hearing the anger in his voice, Meredith quickly rose and stared at his boots again, feeling his joy smothered by disappointment at himself for so blatantly disobeying his liege-master's orders. There was another moment of long silence as the gunshots from Honga River resounded more loudly. Daylight raids by the dredgers had come more frequently during the past sun-circuit.

  Finally Pembroke said in a weary voice, "Go to the field, Meredith."

  "Yes, sir," Meredith replied bleakly, but he could not have said whether Pembroke heard him, for his liege-master had already turned away.