another drum turning in a higher cavern.
He watched the drum shudder and squeal as it turned. He saw the narrow ledge running round its side. He edged along it, crouching under the grimy axle, and saw the animals walking in the drum's treadmill hub. He peered and could hear above the din their wheezing breath. One looked up and Carnelian gaped. It was a man's face, a face that bore the chameleon tattoo. The tattoo was scrunching into the pain-grimace of the man's face. Carnelian could not understand why the man made no sign of noticing him until the guttering light showed the empty eye pits into which Carnelian could have poked his finger.
When Fey appeared before Carnelian his glare made her fall prostrate to the floor. He made her rise, oblivious of how she was withering in the face of his wrath. 'I couldn't help it, Master…'
'Help it?' He tried to clear his mind.
The tears were running down her cheeks. 'As the years passed and we'd no news of you, I crumbled… the Master was unrelenting…'
'Spinel?'
'Forgive me, Master. I've betrayed you.' Fey collapsed and hid her head under her arms.
Carnelian felt tears coming to his eyes. 'We Masters are all terrible. The fault's not yours.'
Fey sobbed. Carnelian crouched, touched her gently on the arms. 'Come on, it's fine. I forgive you, and my father will too when he comes. He's not cruel.'
She looked up. 'You don't understand, Master, even here.' She shook her hands at the chamber. 'I've conspired with them to cheat you of your rights. Seduce him with luxuries, they said. In exile he'll have had no experience of them and might succumb to their temptation.' She sobbed. 'I betrayed you to them, Master, I betrayed you.'
He put his arms round her. 'It doesn't matter, I tell you. If as a Master I showed such weakness, how can I expect more strength from you?' He rocked her until her sobbing slowed to groaning. He kissed her wet forehead and whispered, 'You're of my blood. Now please, get up.'
Fey rose shakily, leaning on his arm, wiping her face, and flickered red-eyed looks at him.
'Come on, let me see you smile.'
She managed a crooked one and let go of him.
That's better. I'd already intended to do something about this, and now…' As he described the treadwheel she saw the haunted look in his eyes.
'Once they were put there as a punishment, but for years now it happens to those the Master… Master Spinel can find no further use for.'
Carnelian's eyes were burning. 'But why?' 'At this time of year, Master, there's not enough water in the Sacred Wall and so it must be lifted from below.' 'Not enough…?'
She pointed to the waterfall that formed one of the walls of the chamber. She watched him go deathly pale and fought the desire to hide her face.
'Close the sluices,' he said in a level, dangerous tone.
'But they cool the air, Master.'
'Damn the air, I said close them.'
'As you command, Master.'
'After you've done this you will please go to Spinel. Tell him that if he's not here with the dawn, with the Seal in his hand, he'll regret the day he ever laid eyes upon my face.'
Fey stared.
‘Say it just like that. I've had enough of these Masters, of all Masters.'
Fey opened her mouth to speak, closed it, then opened it to say, 'As you command.'
Amidst tyadra and others of his household, Carnelian sat on a throne watching the approach of the Masters of the second lineage. Each was a jewelled spire pulling behind him a train carried by many boys. Behind them, among their guardsmen, walked Fey. She and Carnelian exchanged a look of understanding.
The Masters stopped in front of him, their faces impassive marble.
'You are welcome, my Lords,' Carnelian said and waited for their obeisance, but all they gave him was a nod.
'Have you heard the news, my Lord?' said Spinel. 'News?'
'Rebellion…'
'What rebellion?' Carnelian said, exasperated, wishing to come immediately to the matter of the Seal.
'In a nearby coomb, a Ruling Lord has been most heinously done to death by' – Spinel sketched disbelief in the air – 'apparently, by one of his slaves. Such a singular event shakes one's world to its very foundation.'
'What concern is this of ours?'
'It will affect the election and that is the concern of all the Great.' The election?' The Lord Imago was-'
'Imago? You speak of the Ruling Lord of that House?' 'Just so, my Lord.'
'And you say his murderer was a slave.'
Spinel threw his hands up. 'It is entirely beyond comprehension.'
'Will the Lord Jaspar now lead his father's faction?'
'He will if he has the courage to put on the mantle of his father's power along with the Ruling Ring of his House.' Spinel looked at Carnelian expectantly. 'He was your companion on the road, was he not, my Lord?'
'He was, but you were not summoned here, my Lord, so that we might discuss politics. You will surrender the Seal to me.'
'My Lord, the Seal is your father's.'
'My Lord might have noticed that my father is not here. Until he returns, I am the head of the first lineage.'
'Still, the customs of this House do not sanction what my Lord requests.'
Carnelian was determined to break the stony resistance in the Master's eyes. To spare your grief I have kept something from you.'
Spinel's eyes narrowed.
'When last I saw my father he was mortally wounded. For all I know he might now be dead.'
'We suspect otherwise,' said Opalid.
Spinel gave his son a sharp look, then reached into his sleeve and pulled out a letter. Then who is this from, my Lord?' The Master beckoned a servant and gave him the letter to take to Carnelian.
Carnelian hesitated, then took the parchment and brought its seal close. In the wax, a pomegranate showed its seeds. The letter began to tremble in his hands. It could only be the seal of He-who-goes-before. Carnelian looked at the letter, reluctant to open it.
'My Lord?' said Spinel.
The look Carnelian gave Spinel made the Master flinch. 'How came this into your hand?'
Spinel's hands were apologetic. 'I rule this coomb…'
Carnelian broke the wax, unfolded the parchment and read:
My son, I have sent this letter sealed with the Pomegranate because my ring has gone, none knows whither. Leave the House Seal in my mother's hand. Avoid disrupting the flow of power in the coomb. Have a household prepared and send it to me here. Include a letter from yourself. I am making a fair recovery and will come to you as soon as I am free to do so.
Your father, in the Halls of Thunder.
He should have felt joy instead of unease. He examined the glyphs. They were not in his father's hand, though they were very like. There was a difference in the faces that proved to him the letter had been written by someone else. He could feel a corner of his mind steeping in dread. Was this one of Aurum's schemes? He felt sick. What if his father was dead and Aurum had arranged this whole charade to conceal it?
'Is our Ruling Lord well?' asked Spinel.
Carnelian looked at him, striving to keep the misery from his face, trying to gauge the man's intentions. 'Apparently, he is recovering.'
Spinel's face was blank but Opalid's betrayed disappointment before it set like plaster.
'I must go to join him in the Halls of Thunder.' Carnelian heard the emotion breaking into his voice and saw that Spinel could hear it too.
Opalid framed a questioning gesture. 'It is forbidden, my Lord.'
