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clanking gold ornament dangling from one ear, leaned over the rail and tossed
Cathar a rope. Wel-come friend, he called down. Tik-rat, get those nets
overside.
* * *
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TAGUILOA WHEELED ACROSS the matting, sprang off into a double twisting
backflip, swung round and dropped onto his hands as he landed, used the slap
of his hands on the mat to power him back onto his feet, then went on one knee
in a low bow, the music behind him breaking as suddenly into silence.
Silence from the watchers, then a burst of applause, calls for more, more. But
Taguiloa was exhausted, not even sure he could stand yet. He stayed in the
bow, his arms outstretched at first then folded on his knee.
Maratullik touched the gong beside him and the ap-plause faded to silence. He
leaned forward. A remarkable performance. He watched as Taguiloa got heavily
to his feet and bowed again from the waist, acknowledging the compliment. For
him at that moment, the Meslar was little more than a paper figure,
unreadable, a mask that might have anything behind it, something a smooth
voice came from, saying pleasant things. Most remarkable. My compliments,
dancer. Come here, if you please.
Taguiloa stumbled forward, exaggerating his weariness though not by much,
wondering what was coming next.
Accept this poor recompense for the pleasure you have given my young
friends. With a sweeping gesture, Maratullik brought round a heavy leather
purse and held it out, smiling at the roars and applause from the benches.
Taguiloa dropped to one knee in a profound obeisance. Godalau bless your
generosity, saõ jura Meslar.
Introduce your troupe, Hina, they too deserve our thanks.
Was he preening himself before the sons of his peers or was he after something
else. Paper figure making ges-tures? He was pleasing those louts if the noise
was any measure of their feelings. Taguiloa stood slowly, holding the purse
before him. Linjijan. Hina, flute player, the second best in Silili, the
first being his great-uncle the wondrous Ladjinatuai who plays for the dancer
Blackthorn.
Nod from the Hand. Desultory applause from the benches.
Negomas. M darjin and drummer.
As before, a quiet nod from the Hand, a sprinkle of clapping from the youths.
Harra Hazhani, Rukka-nag, dancer and daroudist.
Nod from the Hand. He scanned her face with some care but said nothing.
Whistles and shouts from the benches that quieted as soon as Maratullik
touched his gong.
Brannish Tovah. Sujomann, seer and dancer.
Again Maratullik scanned her face, saying nothing, again he stopped the noise
from the meslarlings when he tired of it. My steward tells me the rain is
heavy. Rooms will be provided for you to take your night s rest here. You may
return to the Quarter come the morning. Without waiting for a response from
Taguiloa, he turned to Brann. You will please us yet more, oh seer, if you
stay to read for us.
She lifted her head and stared at him coolly. Taguiloa held his breath.
Certainly, saõ jura Meslar. If you will furnish a guard instructed to curb
the enthusiasm of the overeager. Taguiloa let his breath trickle slowly out;
this response fit within the margins of proper behavior though barely so.
Brann, oh Brann, oh Bramble-all-thorns, re-member who this is and why you re
here.
You suggest ...
Nothing, Saõ jura Meslar. I warn. My god is jealous of my person and prone to
hasty acts.
Ah yes. I know something of the Sujomanni. Which of their gods is yours?
The Hag with no name, saõ jura Meslar. She who spins the thread of fate.
Thus your calling. Most fitting. He looked from bench to bench, quiet now
except for some muttering, and moved his lips in a neat and mirthless smile.
We will forgo the readings, seer. This night. Perhaps another time would be
more propitious.
Your will is mine, saõ Jura Meslar. She bowed and stood silent, waiting with
the others for their dismissal.
Would it were so, Sujomann. He struck the gong and the steward came forward
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to lead them out.
WORKING SWIFTLY and with a vast good humor, the crew got the Arth Slyans
stowed below deck. The flight through the palace grounds and across the lake
had used up the better part of three hours and even the fittest among the
escapees was cold, weary and soaked to the skin. Rubbed down and dressed in
dry clothing, hoisted into hammocks, wrapped in blankets, swaying gently as
the ship hoisted anchor and started downriver, all tension drained from them,
warm and comfortable, most of them drifted into a deep sleep.
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