The Luck of Brin's Five (27 page)

“That you may not do!” cried Guno Deg. She flung down upon the table a short white staff. “I have canvassed the Council of One Hundred, and our demand is that you bring the person called Garl Brinroyan before them in two hours, else the threads are broken and the Five Elders dishonored.”

Tiath Pentroy's wrath was terrible to see. He turned on Guno Gunroyan Wentroy a look that should have withered her to ashes. “So be it,” he said. “But when the Council votes for Secret Hand, then even you must be satisfied. None can say that I do not follow the old threads.” He signed to his vassals. “Remove the Witnesses and the devil!”

“With your leave,” said Guno Deg, no whit softened, “I will add Wentroy vassals to their guard. I do not wish to hear in two hours that Garl flew untimely off a sky-walk.” She waved impatiently, and there were Wentroy vassals in the Sea Flower Room.

“Privilege!” cried Leeth Galtroy.

“Take the prisoners to the second gallery then,” said the Great Elder. “If it please clan Wentroy . . .”

Guno bowed her assent, and the Great Elder did not wait to see the order carried out but leaped up and swept from the chamber.

Guno raised her staff to Diver and myself, but neither she nor any of the other grandees attempted to speak to us. Gordo came to stand with us, and according to some prior command, one of the Pentroy guards untied Diver and let him replace his clothes. He asked for leave to shave his face, but they affected not to understand. We stood in the Sea Flower Room in a knot of clan vassals, and I felt so weary that I could have settled on the tiled floor, among the engraved sea shells and small fish. Then we were marched off again, with Pentroy behind and Wentroy before, through another basket-way and across a street on the lowest level and into the walls of that most famous of all buildings in Rintoul: “the crystal sanctuary,” “the rare shell,” “the wind's own weft,” the Corr Pavilion, summer-house of the last Torlogan.

We were not alive to its beauties at that moment; we sat in the empty pinkish spaces of the second gallery, and I whispered with Diver.

“Where were you imprisoned?”

“Why, below that place—the Sea Flower Room,” he said in surprise. “There are floors below it . . . a labyrinth of old rooms, many used as prison cells, I think. Were you and Gordo somewhere else?”

“A little higher,” I said. “Diver, do you know where the Five are?”

He shook his head. “I know the Pentroy went to the wig house and found them gone. Tiath said they had returned to the north . . . He promised. . . .” Diver had a rueful look, as if he knew what Tiath Gargan's promises were worth.

“What?”

“The Five would not be molested any more.”

“What did you promise in return?” asked Gordo Beethan sorrowfully.

“Information . . . the working of the engines. This ruling of Secret Hand means exile in some secret place here in the south.”

“He will have it yet . . .” I said. “Oh Diver . . .” I thought of our poor broken Five wandering back again towards the north, without their Luck and their eldest child.

“Never fear,” said Diver. “I made sure you would be returned to them.”

“I cannot believe Brin's Five would give up so easily!” I went on to tell Diver of the orange message skein, and we laughed shakily together.

He told us a story of an imprisoned king in very ancient times in his own land, who was found by a harper who played a certain air outside various citadels until the king heard and replied. We rallied, thinking of Harper Roy strumming away at “Een Turugan,” the “Song of the Young Harper,” from the skywalks and pinnacles of Rintoul. Gordo Beethan had the exquisite idea of all the ropes and cables of Rintoul as one great harp, responding to certain tunes, until the whole city played music.

“Alas,” sighed the Diviner's apprentice, “I wonder what will become of
me
. I was given promises too, but I am too unimportant for them to be kept. Yet I know even the Pentroy would think twice about harming the Ulgan of Cullin.”

“Never fear,” said Diver. “You will go north with Dorn, if that is how things must be. Guno Wentroy will not have the pair of you in captivity: trust her.”

But I thought of Diver, left to his fate, disappearing into the secret hand of Tiath Avran Pentroy.

The vassals on guard duty were bored and restless; they gave us fruit to eat and water to drink. I could see that Diver was trying to keep up our spirits and I tried too, not thinking too deeply of all that had passed and all that might come, but enjoying this last time together. There was a cold sadness behind my eyes; I winced at the thought of having no Luck again, but it was Diver himself we would miss. Was this ancient thread, the need for a lucky person, a cruel thing after all, a matter of putting some other being to use to ward off a family's misfortune?

I walked to the fretted stone wall of the second gallery and peered out at the wonders of the Pavilion. I saw the huge, pale whorls of stone, overlaid with silken panels, stretching up and down; a floor had been removed since the time of the Torlogan, and the interior was more than ever like a shell. Curved tiers of plain white benches curled in a helix from the mosaic pavement, which showed two sea-sunners twisting their scaly bodies in battle, with fire coming from their mouths in a flourish of flame and purple tiles.

Already the place was filling up for the meeting; there were more grandees than I had ever hoped to see, for the Pavilion held many more than a hundred, and all clansfolk could attend and watch. Their voices echoed into our chamber; their clothes were dazzling to my eyes even yet, but I gazed on them sadly. They were remote, bright painted figures; their clothes were so many bolts of silk and fine cloth and the skins of dead animals; their jewels were heaps of little stones. Even cloth itself, which was the greatest wealth, the work one must do, the weft of life, had lost its value in my sight. There stirred in my mind for the first time the thought that there might be other threads for me to follow.

I laid my cheek against the cool stone and wished all the grandees away and my Family together again, not as we had been, for that was impossible, but safe at least, with Diver in our midst. Then I walked back and sat by him, with Gordo; they were talking of flying machines. I had a sudden flash that this had happened before, this sort of conversation, and I remembered just as the guards ordered us to our feet. Sailing—I had talked of sailing with the children in Jebbal's tent.

Diver was kept back by the guards, but Gordo and I were sent out onto a small railed platform in the side of one of the tiers. We were close to benches full of grandees, but none paid us particular attention. The whole spectacle of the crowded Pavilion lay before us, and however coldly I had looked on this sight a moment before, I could not remain unmoved now, in the midst of it. There were the Hundred, invested in their white cloaks; there were the galleries of spectators, rippling with color and the flash of gems. Below to our left was a shelf of sculptured chairs, each one grand as a throne, for the Five Elders. Wentroy, Luntroy, Dohtroy, Galtroy; they came in slowly, robed in the colors of their clans. Then the Hundred rose to the sound of hoarse conch shells and fell silent as the Great Elder took his place, robed in black.

The meeting was formal, controlled by ten Council officers stationed throughout the Pavilion and the High Herald, who strode about on the mosaic pavement and motioned to the trumpeters who stood in alcoves by the arched entry. The Pavilion was so made that the least word could be heard from any speaker; a single note from the conch brought silence and the formal opening of the Council by the Herald. Then Tiath Pentroy rose to speak.

“I have not summoned this council, but I am glad it is called,” he said. “You are here to see wonders and you will see them.” His voice was smooth, almost conciliatory, but there was a cold edge to it. I saw Guno Wentroy sitting stiffly erect and Blind Marl with his long listening face, half-turned towards the Great Elder.

“What you have heard is true. There are strangers on Torin and one is, by great good fortune, safely held here for you all to see.”

A wave of sound and movement went through the Pavilion; the spectators rustled and sighed and were quelled by the voice of Tiath Pentroy.

“This creature has been commonly called a devil, but it is no devil. We would be in less danger if it were a devil . . . for devils, according to the old threads, can be kept at bay by prayers and chants. This creature is called Man, and it comes from a distant world writhing in the grip of a fire-metal-magic that is profound and deadly. You will see that this creature is no monster—in many respects it resembles a Moruian. I have two young Moruians here, from the wild north, and the Man has lived among them. Dorn Brinroyan, answer to your name.”

The vassal was about to prod me, but I stood to the rail, trying to forget the hundreds of eyes upon me, and answered, “I am Dorn Brinroyan.”

The vassal did prod me this time, and I added, “Highness . . .”

There was a little swirl of laughter. “It is a mountain child,” said Tiath Pentroy, reproving the audience for their laughter.

“Did the Man Scott Gale descend to the Warm Lake at Hingstull Mountain in an air ship?”

“Yes, Highness.”

“Did it live in your tent and eat Moruian food?”

“Yes, Highness.”

“That is all. Stand forth now, Gordo Beethan.”

I drew back from the rail trembling while Gordo stood forth. The last chance to speak for Diver had gone and all I felt was an empty relief. I scarcely heard the Great Elder lead Gordo through his meeting with Diver.

“It was a tall person dressed like a Moruian but its eyes were bright blue.” Gordo was parroting his lines as I had done.

Guno Deg rose up now and exchanged nods with the High Herald. “One question for Dorn Brinroyan.”

I stood forth again, conscious of every rustle and titter.

“When you had rescued this being, Escott Garl, was he made part of your family?”

“Yes, Highness—he was made our Luck.”

The reaction was neither more nor less, a little hum of anticipation that quickly swelled to a babble of voices. The moment Guno resumed her seat, Tiath signed to his vassals and Diver was brought in. He had been stripped of his clothes again, and he stood alone save for one vassal on a larger railed enclosure beside the Five Elders. Tiath Pentroy stilled the clamor in the hall with a blast from the conches.

“Here is the creature from the void!” he cried, “and I will ask presently for a ruling for its control and the protection of Torin.”

There was a tense stirring among the grandees and one not far from where we stood cried out, “Shame, Pentroy! Let it have clothes!”

This brought other shouts, and Tiath swooped in again, with a note for silence, and addressed Diver.

“Man . . . what is your name?”

“My name is Scott Gale. I come in peace to the land of Torin.”

“Does it speak Moruian then?” came a shout.

There was a jeering answer from the same part of the chamber. “No . . . Tiath Gargan is a Voice Thrower!”

There was a cry of “Question,” and a young Wentroy Councillor rose up. “Are you called Garl Brinroyan?”

“Yes I am.”

“Did you fly a machine called
Tomarvan
to victory at the Bird Clan in Otolor?”

“I did, Highness.”

“Call me rather your friend,” said the Wentroy, stiffly but gallantly; “for I flew
Utofarl
and I am sad now that once I was discourteous to you and to your escort.”

Then the cry went up again, “Question” and an ancient Councillor demanded, “Have you a nest of Man in the fire islands?”

“There are three of my people working there. They are scholars. I came by accident to Hingstull Mountain in a small air ship.”

“Where is your ship now?” interposed Tiath.

“I do not know,” said Diver. “Last I saw, it was taken down the mountain by Pentroy vassals, Highness.”

“Do you not know that the ship, with all it contains of fire-metal-magic, is in the hands of the exiled Diviner Nantgeeb?”

“I believe it may be so.”

The name of the Maker of Engines rustled about the Pavilion.

“Do you use engines of fire-metal-magic for many purposes,” continued Tiath, “for flying, for making silk-beams, for a weapon to strike down living persons?”

“I have small engines to do these things, but fire-metal-magic is not my thought.”

“You think there is no harm in these engines?”

“Not in the engines themselves,” said Diver cautiously.

Then a great questioning broke out from all corners of the chamber with inquiries, some of them serious, some jeering and foolish, about Diver's powers, his origins, even the shape of his body, and the conch blew for silence.

“I will call for a ruling of Secret Hand,” announced Tiath Gargan, “so we may hold the Man in custody and answer all these things. Let the formal trumpet call for the motion to follow, according to our procedure, and keep the silence of the Council unbroken and the dignity of these proceedings intact, I pray.”

The Hundred and the spectators settled down into a seemly hush, and I sat with Gordo, leaning arms against the rail, sleepy and defeated. I saw the vassal giving Diver his clothes again; the show was almost done, and Tiath Gargan, the puppet-handler, would have his will.

The High Herald was out of sight under the archway, and the conches blew a phrase of six, seven notes, high and low. I saw the Great Elder throw up his head; he broke the silence himself, angrily.

“Herald, what foolery is this?”

“Privilege!” exclaimed Guno Deg.

The silence in the Pavilion had become tense and deep; the Herald came to the center of the pavement and spoke. “The order is laid down!”

“What cause can precede this ruling?” demanded Tiath, “Guno Deg, is this your treachery?” And a chorus of voices said softly, “Privilege!”