WATERMAN
a
Turn-of-the-Century Toughs omnibus of historical fantasy and
retrofuture science fiction
Dusk Peterson
2010 Edition
Love in Dark
Settings Press
Greenbelt, Maryland
Published by Love in Dark Settings Press in Greenbelt, Maryland, in the United States of America. Smashwords Edition (smashwords.com).
This text, or a variation on it, was originally published at duskpeterson.com as part of the series Waterman. Copyright (c) 2010–2011 Dusk Peterson. September 2010 edition; reprinted with minor changes, July 2011 and August 2011. Some rights reserved. The text is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial License (creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/3.0). You may freely print, post, e-mail, share, or otherwise distribute the text for noncommercial purposes, provided that you include this paragraph. The author's policies on derivative works and fan works are available online (duskpeterson.com/copyright.htm).
The credits section of the back matter includes a further copyright notice.
ISBN (ePub): 978-0-9841179-0-1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Waterman contains all the current stories in the ongoing Waterman series. Readers' feedback is welcome and will be taken into account in the preparation of future editions of this e-book.
Parental supervision is strongly suggested for this e-book. Information for parents, guardians, and readers who control their own reading matter is available at:
duskpeterson.com/books/sitelabel.htm
CONTENTS
=== Master and Servant ===
Born into a society with a strictly ranked system of masters and servants, Carr has sought to tread his way delicately between the clashing values of the parents who raised him and the uncle whose household Carr will one day live in. Yet when he and other students at his boarding school become the latest participants in an ongoing battle between the oystermen of their Bay, Carr finds that his position of power may bring danger, not only to himself, but also to a schoolfellow he is drawn toward.
¶ Novel: 100,000 words so far | Historical fantasy.
Each part of Master and Servant can be read on its own, as a stand-alone story.
Master and Servant 1: The Abolitionist (excerpt). When a foul-mouthed, seditious foreigner turns up at your door, what are the benefits of letting him in?
Master and Servant 2: The True Master. An interlude, flashing back to six tri-centuries before the beginning of Master and Servant: In a society where the rank of master or slave defines every aspect of a person's being, what do you do when you're a master and you envy your slaves?
Master and Servant 3: Unmarked. "Fair play" is the motto of the Third House at Narrows School, but that motto takes on a different meaning when a lonely member of the Third House is secretly wooed by a young man from a rival House.
Master
and Servant:
Historical Note and Acknowledgments.
=== Side stories ===
Queue. Depositing money in the bank was always the worst problem.
¶ Short story: 500
words | Science fiction.
=== Back matter ===
If you enjoy this e-book . . . A note from the author.
Author's website, blog, e-mail list, and contact information.
Turn-of-the-Century Toughs e-books.
Other e-books by Dusk Peterson.
o—o—o
o—o—o
o—o—o
=== Master and
Servant ===
Master and Servant 1
THE ABOLITIONIST
Excerpt
1962 Clover.
"Any valuables to declare?"
Carr spoke automatically, reaching for the foreigner's port-of-passage, which gleamed gold with the seal of the Queendom of Yclau. Carr's mind was not on his work today; it was on the fact that he'd spent half the night dreaming of his father's valet, and the other half of the night trying to forget the dream.
"Yeah," said the foreigner, "but unless you're going to do a body search on me, you're not likely to get a chance to yank it."
Carr's gaze jerked up from port-of-passage, which was signed, not by a minor government clerk in Yclau, but by an official from the Queen's palace. The foreigner was smirking at him.
Carr looked down at the port-of-passage again to give himself time to think. First name, last name – no title initial, of course, but the foreigner's class was clear enough. Not just from the palace official's signature, and not just from the fact that the foreigner was in a second-class cabin rather than steerage – his class was clear from his behavior. Yclau's commoners, on the rare occasions that they visited the Dozen Landsteads, were either deferential or belligerent toward the border guards. They didn't smirk.
Carr flipped through the rest of the port-of-passage, but it was blank, showing no indication that the foreigner had left his queendom before. Carr glanced up at the man again. Young, perhaps a year or two older than Carr. Dressed in a nondescript travelling cloak that hid his clothes. As light-skinned as Carr himself, but with dark hair and hazel eyes, like a Vovimian. Perhaps the young man was from northern Yclau, near the border to the Kingdom of Vovim? Carr couldn't quite place his accent.
"Do you have any items you wish to declare, comrade?" As always, the final word emerged awkwardly, even though it generally had no effect on foreigners passing over the border. Some foreigners would assume that his mode of address was a quaint custom in the Dozen Landsteads. The ones who knew better tended to be amused rather than angry.
Amusement seemed to be the young man's response; he was smirking again. "'Comrade'? Are you a member of the Commoners' Guild, then? I didn't know that the labor unions had made such inroads into the Dozen Landsteads."
"I'll need to see a second piece of identification, sir." He kept his voice empty of emotion as he held out his hand. For all he knew, this youth with the lordly manners and the signature of a palace official on his port-of-passage was a titled heir. Yclau liked to claim that it was the perfect egalitarian state, where all class divisions had been abolished. Judging from the behavior of the elite men whom Carr had met at the border since he reached journeyman age, Yclau still had a long ways to go before reaching its ideal.
The young man, laughing, tossed Carr his identification. Carr caught the plastic card neatly in one hand and examined it carefully. First name, last name, and one of those eerie holopics that the Yclau government used. The young man peered out of his holopic, solemn-faced.
Everything looked in order. Carr was about to say so; it was hardly worth pressing an aristocrat as to whether he had any valuables to declare, since everything this young man owned was likely to be of value. At that moment, though, the foreigner asked abruptly, "What is your name?"
He kept his gaze focussed on the identification. "M Carruthers, sir."
"What's the 'M' stand for?"
It was a question he had received from innocent visitors before, but something about the tone of this young man's voice was disingenuous. Carr flicked up his gaze and said steadily, "It's my first name."
The foreigner laughed again and grabbed Carr's hand, the one that was holding the identification. Before Carr had time to pull back, the foreigner had jerked up Carr's sleeve to reveal the M tattooed on the back of his wrist.
Carr jerked back, his heart pounding as much as though the young man had unexpectedly pulled open the flap of his trousers. The foreigner, blast him, was laughing again.
"Your first name?" the man said in a mocking tone.
"I'd like to see your bag, sir."
The man's laughter stopped abruptly. His face turned suddenly as solemn as his holopic. For a moment, he was motionless; then he reached down to the floor.
Carr caught a glimpse of his bare right arm as he heaved the travelling bag onto the bed; his biceps bulged as he did so. Any delusions Carr might have harbored that he was dealing with an Abolitionist who had come home under disguise to help other runaways was destroyed by that brief glimpse. No tattoo. Even if the tattoo had been removed – Yclau had surgeons who would do that, for a high fee – the mark of it would still be faintly present, for anyone who had eye enough to look for it.
Not a former citizen of the Dozen Landsteads, then, and anyway, his accent was wrong for that. Carr, watching the foreigner open the bag, wished that he hadn't allowed himself to be goaded by the laughter into inspecting the bag. By the rules of his job, he was supposed to inspect the bags and trunks of anyone who passed over the border. In reality – as his supervisor had made clear on his first day of work – the border guards of the Dozen Landsteads only inspected the bags and trunks of anyone who bore an S or was the foreign equivalent of an S. The border guards – the vast majority of whom wore the letter S on their wrists – couldn't afford to antagonize high-class foreigners. And Carr couldn't afford to antagonize his parents by getting himself into a row that they would have to pull strings to extract him from.
The foreigner, still expressionless, stood back to allow Carr to inspect his bag. It was a surprisingly old-fashioned bag: it opened at the top, had a brass lock, and was made of leather. Carr was used to seeing gleaming metal cases from Yclau citizens, with buttons and lights and alarms that went off when he hit the wrong button. One trunk he had inspected had begun chattering out what looked like ticker-tape. The 'trunk' had turned out to be a calculating machine that Carr had accidentally turned on. That particular foreigner – an Yclau professor visiting the Second Landstead University – had been eager to explain the workings of his marvellous luggage. By the time Carr managed to extract himself from the conversation in order to inspect the border-crosser in the next cabin - leaving it to his supervisor to break the news that the calculating machine was contraband in the Dozen Landsteads - Carr had learned more than he had ever expected to know about laser colors, logic circuits, vacuum tubes, ferrite cores, semiconductor diodes, and ongoing efforts to make computers think in a ternary fashion, just as humans did.
The latest visitor looked far less pleased to have his travelling bag inspected; he was frowning now as Carr pawed through his clothing. Carr avoided looking at the man directly as he squinted down into the interior of the bag. The light in the ocean steamer's cabin was dim; the visitor had turned off the gas lamps, though the porthole was open, allowing in the afternoon light, the fish-scent of the harbor, and the call of gulls wheeling south, toward where the Bay opened its mouth to the ocean. Most of the gulls would go no further than the narrow shipping lane between the Dozen Landsteads' southeastern port, in the Second Landstead, and Yclau's northerneastern port. The First Landstead's southeastern border lay between the two, but if any Bay ports existed there, Carr had never heard of them. For all he knew, the residents there all travelled by jet-car.
Digging down toward the bottom of the bag, Carr wondered whether the visitor came from the First Landstead. Many of the residents there, he knew, held dual citizenships with both the First Landstead and Yclau, and they would need a port-of-passage to enter the upper landsteads, due to their peculiar legal position. First Landsteaders usually entered the upper landsteads by way of the Celadon-Brun Memorial Bridge, which linked the First Landstead with the Second Landstead. But perhaps this man had been travelling overseas and had elected to come home by a less orthodox method.
Tangling with a First Landsteader could get Carr into even more trouble than tangling with an Yclau aristocrat. Carr hastily withdrew his hands, which had found nothing in the bag other than a few items of clothing, some articles of toiletry, and three books about the Dozen Landsteads, one with a garish picture of Prison City on its cover. He turned to apologize to the visitor.
The young man was standing against the wall, his hair rustling under the light wind through the porthole, his eyes darker than before as he glared at Carr. He had pulled his cloak back far enough to allow himself to fold his arms. His hands were in fists; his biceps bulged.
Carr's gaze lingered on those bulging biceps. Then he turned, closed the bag, and picked it up.
He heard the man's breath whistle in; then the visitor was silent.
Yes, he had been right. The bag – heavy enough to strain the visitor's arm when he moved it onto the bed – must be holding more than Carr had seen so far. Moving with the sureness of experience now, Carr pushed the bag onto its side and began inspecting the bag's bottom.
The hidden latch was not hard to find. He flipped it and pulled open the secret compartment, keeping half his eye on the visitor and both his ears on the sound of his supervisor outside, who was politely greeting foreigners and returning Landsteaders as they made their way down the gangplank. If the young man in this room was going to try to make a break over the border, now would be the time.
But the visitor showed no sign of either fleeing or turning violent. He simply continued to glare as Carr carefully pulled out the contents of the secret compartment: A carnival half-mask. A length of rope. A stack of leaflets. A gun.
Carr inspected the gun first. It was not a model that he recognized, but its change lever was easy enough to locate; it was in the safe position. He peered into the pistol's chambers. A dozen chambers, fully loaded.
The leaflets were printed by letterpress rather than through the electrostatic printing that Carr was accustomed to seeing in Yclau publications. The nature of the leaflets was even easier to ascertain than that of the gun: each of them bore a title glaring out from the front. The leaflets said: "Seeking freedom? We can help."
Keeping the gun carefully cradled in his hand, Carr turned to look at the visitor. The young man's expression of hostility had disappeared. He raised his eyebrows at Carr. "Well?" he said in a challenging voice. "Are you going to use that rope on me? Or do you have handcuffs hidden inside that uniform?"
Carr turned the gun in his hand and carefully offered its handle to the visitor. As the young man's expression changed to puzzlement, Carr said, "Actually, sir, I was going to invite you to dinner."
Then, as the
visitor's puzzlement deepened to bewilderment, Carr smiled slightly.
"I think my parents would like to meet you."
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Master and Servant 2
THE TRUE MASTER
"It is clear, then, that there is some reason for the dispute that slaves or freemen by custom are not necessarily slaves or freemen by nature, respectively, that such distinction [i.e., between a slave by nature and a freeman by nature] exists, and that it is expedient and just for such a slave to be ruled and for a master to exercise the kind of rule which befits his nature, i.e., that of a master. To rule badly, on the other hand, is harmful to both [the] master and slave by nature; for what is beneficial to a part is beneficial to the whole also, whether this be the body or the soul or both, and a slave is a certain part of a master, so to speak, an animate but separate part of the body of the master. For this reason, the relation between master and slave, whenever they deserve by their nature to be called such, should be one of friendship and of benefit to both; but if their relation is not such but exists by law or is forced, it leads to contrary results."
—Aristotle: The
Politics (translated by Hippocrates G. Apostle)
CHAPTER ONE
Cycle back: 1317 in the tri-year following the death of Remigeus, in accordance with the Old Calendar (449 years before the establishment of the Tri-National Calendar).
"The true master must listen to his slave."
The shout of laughter that greeted this remark rebounded off the stone walls of the receiving chamber and the ceiling-high gold doors that led to the winding stairwell. Enos, the first of the seated men to catch his breath, wiped his eyes with an embroidered handkerchief as he spluttered, "The slave actually said this to you?"
"Worse," replied Pentheus, handing his wine cup to the scar-faced slave beside him. "He said this to my brother, his own master. And he did so while staring bold-faced at my brother."
Sert gave a low whistle. Ledwin growled, "I trust the slave is dead. The last thing our landstead needs are perverts wandering about causing trouble."
Pentheus shrugged as he leaned back in the cushioned chair. "My brother judged that a beating was sufficient punishment, since it was a first offense. Truth to tell, I would say that the person who was most deserving of punishment was not the slave but my brother."
"That's a harsh comment, Pentheus," remarked Harmon as he put forward his hands to allow a slave to wipe them dry. "Surely perverseness can occur within any master's household."
"But the wise master does not allow such feelings to grow. I am convinced that most of the perverseness in our land occurs when masters fail to make sufficiently clear what sort of behavior they will abide. Many slaves who might otherwise fall into perverseness are saved in such a manner."
Ledwin snorted. "Perverts will be perverts, no matter what measures are taken early on. Besides, how far would you take this rule? If you were to don slave clothes tomorrow, is Celadon to blame?"
Another round of laughter rippled through the chamber. Smiling, Pentheus said, "I doubt that Celadon would allow the matter to grow that far."
"Allow what matter to grow that far?"
The voice came from the doorway, where the heavy golden doors were just being shut by the guards there. Harmon, who had already sighted the movement, had risen to his feet; the other seated men quickly followed.
The newcomer remained by the doors for a moment, surveying the chamber. He was in his early thirties, younger than any of the men who stood in a circle within the chamber, except for Sert, who had only just passed his twentieth summer. A gold sunburst surrounded by a dozen stars lay woven upon the breast of his long gown; otherwise, the newcomer looked much the same as the men who were standing, with his long hair swept back into a tie at the base of his neck, and a beard trimmed short. Unsmiling, he swung his gaze slowly about the chamber until it rested upon a tall stranger standing next to Sert.
He walked forward then, pausing only to lay his hand lightly upon the stubbly-haired head of the scar-faced slave, who had been in the midst of crossing the circle with cup tray in hand, and now was kneeling on the floor, his eyes cast down. The newcomer's gaze barely flicked down at the slave as he passed; then he had reached Sert and was saying, "You've brought a guest, I see."
"If it so please you, master." Sert gave an awkward bow. "This is Nellwyn, who is visiting my homestead this month. My father visited Nellwyn's home in Akbar many years ago, and now Nellwyn has come to see how people in the Dozen Landsteads live."
"I see." The newcomer's gaze travelled over the guest for a moment, as though he were making an assessment; then he said abruptly, "I welcome you to the Ninth Landstead, Master Nellwyn. Or are you addressed as Mastress?"
"Just Nellwyn will do." The woman's voice was soft and courteous. "And how shall I address you?"
Pentheus, who had been reaching forward to take a cup of water from a female slave, checked his motion; Ledwin gave a low growl. The newcomer, though, simply replied, "My name is Celadon. If you were to address me in the formal manner of my people, I doubt that your own High Master would be pleased."
Nellwyn looked as though she would speak, but cut her breath short and nodded. Celadon added, "I trust that you will be able to stay for the quarterly?"
"I am looking forward to it," said the Akbarian. "I have heard that there is no greater spectacle of ceremony and beauty than when the High Masters of the Dozen Landsteads meet to hold court. I was joyful when Sert told me that the quarterly meeting would be taking place at your landstead this time."
Celadon gave a grimace. "My slaves no doubt feel otherwise – all of us here have been overworked, preparing for the arrival of the other High Masters and the lesser masters. However, now that the lesser masters of the Ninth Landstead have arrived, perhaps it will be easier to finish the work." His gaze travelled back to the other standing men, lingering upon Pentheus.
"We and our homesteads are at your disposal, master," Pentheus replied. "You need only tell us what service you require of us."
Celadon nodded as he waved Pentheus into his seat. The other masters present seated themselves. The dozen slaves, who had been kneeling all this time with their heads bowed, looked up cautiously, then followed the lead of the scar-faced slave, who had just risen to his feet and was coming forward to offer wine to Celadon.
"What were you discussing when I arrived?" asked Celadon, taking the wine without looking at the slave.
"The insolence of my brother's slave," Pentheus said.
"Ah." Celadon spent a moment arranging himself upon the high-backed chair at the head of the chamber before he said, "He was quoting Remigeus, you know."
There was a long silence in the chamber, during which several of the stubbly-haired slaves could be seen exchanging glances. Then Enos said, astonishment coating his voice, "Surely not."
"The High Master is right!" It was Sert, leaning forward eagerly in his chair. "I've heard that this is one of Remigeus's uncollected sayings."
Ledwin glared at him. "You said nothing of this before."
Sert shrank back, as though he were a flower wilting. "I w-wasn't sure it was relevant."
"Sert thinks before he speaks, Ledwin," Pentheus said smoothly. "I know that is a characteristic you are unlikely to understand."
Ledwin snorted amidst the laughter. "Well, so Remigeus may have said this. What of it? I'm sure he didn't add, 'And if you should ever forget this, have your slave scold you.'"
"It could be said that any slave who did so was showing courage." Celadon's voice grew soft.
All eyes turned once more toward the man seated in the high-backed chair. Before anyone could speak, though, Celadon brushed away an offer of candied fruit from the female slave beside him and said, "In any case, that is a matter for speculation. How did this topic arise?"
Pentheus said in an even voice, "We were discussing whether it was a violation of a master's duties for him to take a bed-slave."
There was another small silence. Sert had his eyes fixed upon Celadon; without seeming to be aware of it, he had begun chewing upon one of his thumbnails. Ledwin, oblivious to the quiet, said flatly, "It's rape. To order a slave to scrub your floors is one thing; to order the slave to open his or her hole to you is quite another. Why do you think Remigeus declared that only the daughters of masters may be married by other masters? It was to prevent the ravishing of female slaves. And to deprive a male slave of his dignity is even more appalling. No true master would— Sert, what the devil do you think you're doing, waving your hand in my face?"
Sert, having given up signalling Ledwin by subtle means, pointed to one of the slaves. For a moment, Ledwin's face remained blank; then he gave a choking cough and looked swiftly toward the man in the high-backed chair.
Celadon was not smiling. This was of no significance in itself – the High Master of the Ninth Landstead rarely shared his smiles. Still, even Pentheus could be seen holding his breath, while Sert was frankly staring at the dagger at Celadon's hip. Then Celadon broke the tension by saying, "I agree with you, Ledwin."
Ledwin blinked rapidly several times. "You do?" he said cautiously.
Celadon nodded; though his voice was relaxed, his hands were tight about the stem of his cup. "Forgive me if I offend you, Pentheus, but I do believe that in cases such as that of your brother, where the slave is given no choice as to whether to be bedded, the slave has reason to feel ill-used. It is something that the High Masters have discussed, whether there is sufficient warrant from Remigeus's writings to permit the outlawing of bed-slaves. My own view is that such beddings should be permitted only in cases where it is clear that the slave consents to the relationship."
"You do not offend me, master," said Pentheus. "If it were in my hands, I would go further than you and outlaw all bedding of slaves. Why allow it in certain cases, but not in others?"
Suddenly a smile was upon Celadon's lips. "I'm not sure that you are the best person to judge this, Pentheus. You had a choice whether to bed a slave or one who was not a slave."
Pentheus chuckled softly. "I concede your point, as would my wife. But I will put another point to you: the laws of the Dozen Landsteads do not forbid a master from bedding another master."
"Are you making me an offer?" Enos asked in the sweet voice of innocence. "Truly, Pentheus, I am flattered, but—"
The remainder of his words were lost in the clamor of laughter that followed. When Pentheus could finally be heard again, he said, "Would that be any more strange than a slave bedding a slave, which happens daily? But no, what I had in mind was a master bedding a master who is lesser in rank. Why doesn't that happen more often? Why must we turn to slaves for our enjoyment?"
"That's a good question," said Celadon. "Harmon, can you answer that? You took a bed-slave earlier this year, I believe."
Harmon spread his hands wide. "Master, what can I say? It's true that I have dozens of other lesser masters under my command, and I suspect that most of them would be willing to share my bed with me if they thought it would give me pleasure – such is their loyalty. But I doubt I would receive as much enjoyment from such an encounter as I have received from the slave I chose. Pentheus, you've said it yourself in the past – that the deepest pleasure of a true master comes from protecting and guiding those who need most to be mastered, the slaves. It's no different in the bed than outside it."
Pentheus frowned. "But surely the highest duty of a master lies in giving a slave that which he requires, not in satisfying his own desires at the expense of the slave."
"Pentheus, Harmon has just said that a master receives greatest pleasure in protecting and guiding a slave." Celadon's voice was quiet again. "He was quoting you, and you were in turn quoting Remigeus. What does Remigeus say the greatest pleasure is of a true slave?"
Pentheus emitted a long sigh. "To give service. But sexual service?"
"Why not?" said Enos, his brows creased as he concentrated on the conversation. "I must admit, Celadon, that I had not thought of the matter in that light – perhaps I have been thinking of slaves' sexuality as something separate from the rest of their lives. Yet surely if they receive pleasure from serving their masters, that pleasure would turn their sexual desires toward their masters."
"I'm n-not sure that's always the case," Sert ventured.
"No, I doubt it's always the case," Celadon agreed. "But in the cases where it is true, I think it would be cruel to the slave to deny him that which would give him such great joy."
"Of course, it's easy enough for you to decide such matters, without consulting the slaves."
The words were soft and hollow through the room. In the momentary pause as everyone turned to look at the Akbarian, no sound could be heard, for the High Master's receiving chamber was located in a tower far above the rest of the castle, and the windows were beyond the torchlight of the courtyard. It would therefore have been exceedingly dark in the room, but candles lit by the slaves shimmered from every table and shelf and wall nook, casting perpetually shifting light upon the participants in the conversation. The slaves scurried about the dark corners of the chamber, bringing out food and drink as needed by the masters.
The tall woman appeared to have spoken spontaneously; now, faced with the puzzled or hostile expressions of the masters, she centered her attention upon the High Master, who once again looked grave-faced. "I apologize," she said quietly. "I ought not to cast judgment upon the behavior of people with traditions different from my own."
"How else are we to learn from people in other lands?" Celadon responded. "My duties have never permitted me to travel beyond the Dozen Landsteads' borders, and I am not one of the High Masters who deals with foreign affairs, so I am much in need of training on the ways of other lands." There was the faintest smile at the corner of his lips as Celadon spoke this bit of exaggerated self-abasement. "Is it our custom of men loving men that you object to? I know that this is not practiced in some other lands."
Nellwyn shook her head; her hands were motionless upon her dark travelling gown. "Such love is not unknown in my land; my own brother has a male lover. What is . . . strange to me is slavery."
Enos broke the silence by saying incredulously, "You have no masters in your land?"
Nellwyn murmured something to a slave offering her candied fruit, then turned her eyes toward the master who had spoken. "We are all masters in Akbar."
"That's impossible," Ledwin said flatly. "A master cannot exist without a slave. Remigeus says so."
The other lesser masters nodded. Celadon was now leaning forward, interest written upon his face, but he made no comment.
"We are taught in my land that it is shameful to receive without giving or to give without receiving," Nellwyn replied. "To act as you have – to divide the land into those who receive and those who give – would not be accepted among my people."
It was Sert who finally said, with the brightness of a man who has figured out a puzzle, "You are all lesser masters! You serve, and you are served!"
Nellwyn shrugged. "You can phrase it that way if you like. So far in this visit, I am more inclined to identify myself with the slaves than with any of the men who have taken away their rights."
At this, Ledwin growled loudly and was heard to whisper, "Pervert." Even Pentheus looked angry. Sert looked upon Nellwyn with wonderment, as though he had not known he was bringing a dangerous creature into this chamber.
Celadon, though, did not speak or move. His gaze travelled around the chamber until it rested upon the scar-faced slave, who was consulting with one of the other slaves over the removal of the cups from the chamber. The slave's gaze was carefully cast away from the masters, as were the gazes of all the slaves, yet when Celadon gave a slight gesture, the scar-faced slave responded immediately, coming to kneel at Celadon's feet. With his gaze fixed upon the floor and his voice low, he asked, "What service do you require of me, master?"
Celadon's hand brushed lightly over the slave's cropped hair as he said, "None at the moment, Brun. Thank you."
The slave withdrew without looking up. Celadon switched his gaze to the Akbarian, who was not succeeding in hiding her expression of distaste. Then the High Master looked over at Pentheus, who immediately began to rise from his place.
Celadon shook his head, waving the older man back into his seat. "No demonstration is necessary. You need only tell me: When I call you forth at the quarterly to have you present your report before the High Masters, what will you do?"
Pentheus laid his hands one over the other, in a calm fashion. "I will kneel and ask what service you require of me, master."
Celadon looked at Nellwyn and waited. She said, her voice brittle, "I see. You are trying to tell me that everyone in this land is a slave, aside from you and the other High Masters. Is this knowledge meant to reassure me?"
Celadon's fingers tightened upon the stem of his cup, but there was no other sign of his tension as he said, "I'm trying to explain that every land has a history, and what may seem barbarity to one people will seem the heights of civilization to a people who has known far worse. In the old days of the Dozen Landsteads – centuries ago – matters were exactly as you have described them. All power was held in the hands of a dozen men who enslaved the men under their care, using the more treacherous of their slaves to control the rest. That was indeed a time of barbarity, when masters cared nothing for their slaves, and slaves invariably feared and hated their masters."
"And this . . . civilization that you speak of? Which master brought it into being?"
Celadon smiled then,
and the grip on his cup loosened. "No master invented our laws,
honored guest. The division of master and slave that you see before
you was invented by a slave."
CHAPTER TWO
Cycle forward: 1956 in the tri-year following the death of Remigeus; an excerpt from "A Concise History of the Dozen Landsteads."
His name had been Remigeus, and he had been one of the purer and more ill-used slaves in that time of barbarity. In certain ways an innocent, he had not sought to hide his views on how the world should be run. To every slave he met, he told of the better world he envisioned, a world where the true masters sought to protect and guide their slaves, and the true slaves were happy to serve their masters. It was an idyllic image, and under the power of Remigeus's words, the idea spread like uncontrollable flame amongst the slaves.
Remigeus's master heard of the vision, of course. At first he was inclined to dismiss the matter as the silly rantings of an otherwise well-behaved slave, but when he saw how the idea took hold, not only with his own slaves, but with the slaves of the other eleven masters, his fury was swift. Remigeus died a hard death, one that was designed to teach slaves their proper place in the Dozen Landsteads.
And that would have been the end of the matter except that, while Remigeus had died, his words would not. The slaves kept his sayings alive amongst themselves, passing them on from generation to generation, never daring to speak them in the presence of a master. But of course, with so many treacherous slaves at their disposal, the masters heard of the tales being passed from slave to slave, and they brought vengeance upon any slave known to harbor such notions. Yet still Remigeus's words remained alive.
What saved the slaves in the end was the fact that the masters were not immortal. They died in each generation, leaving behind more than one descendant, and the descendants who did not inherit their fathers' rank were becoming increasingly unhappy about their lack of status in a society built in such a way that only a dozen men could be masters. When one of these disenfranchised descendants learned that Remigeus's scheme permitted the extension of mastership to a middle group of men, he brought the matter forward to the master of his landstead, who happened to be his eldest brother.
The master, unhappy at seeing a man of his brother's skill left with no role in the Dozen Landsteads, listened with interest to the sayings of Remigeus that the younger man had collected. He sent his brother out to collect the remaining sayings of Remigeus; it took the brother great effort to do this, for the slaves were disinclined to offer information that they assumed would result in their deaths. But as it became clear that the master and his brother had reverence for the words of Remigeus, the slaves poured forth their bounty. The master's brother, who was clever in the ways of scholarship, sifted through the sayings with the help of some of the landstead's oldest slaves, who had been young children when Remigeus died, and in this way a canon of Remigeus's sayings was established.
And then the master set forth to bring Remigeus's vision to reality.
What followed was a bloody war amongst the masters that lasted into the next generation, but the final result was all that Remigeus could have hoped for: his sayings were accepted as the law of the Dozen Landsteads, and all disputes were henceforth decided by referring back to his words.
Aside from the defeated masters, nearly everyone in the Dozen Landsteads was satisfied with the results. Remigeus's vision extended mastership to every man born free, with all but the dozen High Masters placed in an elaborate ranking system in which they served the masters above them and were served by the masters and slaves below them. All of the masters, including the High Masters, were given clear duties which, if violated, could result in the master being stripped of his power and made a slave. Slaves were likewise given certain duties they must perform, but no longer were their obligations a matter of each master's whimsy – it was made clear that slaves could be ordered to perform certain duties and could be treated in certain manners, but that they could not be required to behave in a manner that would bring death or destruction upon them. Any slave who was ill-treated could bring his grievance before the High Masters at the quarterly, and time proved that the High Masters, unwilling to risk bringing back the bloody civil war, would act against any master who violated the law.
And so the Dozen Landsteads underwent a radical shift from a country where only one dozen men held power to a country where all men held power to some extent. This shift had only been made possible because Remigeus did not tamper with the belief – deeply held by most of the people of the Dozen Landsteads – that what had caused suffering to the previous generations was not slavery, but bad slavery.
o—o—o
Cycle back: 1317 in the tri-year following the death of Remigeus.
"Of course there remain gaps in Remigeus's sayings," Celadon said to Nellwyn as he reached the end of his explanation. "Remigeus apparently never spoke about women, so there has been dispute as to whether masters' daughters hold power in their own right and should be addressed as master, or whether they instead derive their power from their fathers and husbands and should be addressed as mastress. But for the most part, Remigeus's words have proved to be a surprisingly strong frame on which to build our law. I've asked a slave of mine what the slaves think of Remigeus – this was a slave I could trust to tell me the truth – and he says that Remigeus is still revered amongst the slaves, although the High Masters' interpretations of his words do not always receive equal reverence."
Nellwyn frowned under the dim light cast upon her by a candle that was beginning to gutter. "Were you angered to learn that?"
"Hardly. I share the slaves' opinion on this."
There was a rustling in the chamber as the lesser masters shifted in their chairs, glancing at each other. Several of the slaves looked over at Celadon and then quickly away. Nellwyn, though, seemed too absorbed in her own thoughts to pursue this matter. She said, "So the lesser masters bear a certain resemblance to the people of my country – well, that is reassuring, but it doesn't lessen my concern for the slaves. You seem to be saying that some men are born without the ability to issue commands – that they are forever condemned to a life of service."
She spoke these words in a challenging voice, but was met only by nods. Celadon said quietly, "Remigeus believed this – in his wisdom, he said that he was such a man. That did not mean he could not influence those he served – he most certainly did – but it meant that he was constructed in such a manner that it would not have been wise for him to wield power directly. Similarly, Remigeus believed that a few men are born in each generation who have the ability to command but are ill-suited to the task of being commanded. There is a range, of course – most men have some ability to serve and some ability to be served. That is why the lesser masters exist. But Remigeus said there are exceptions, and these exceptions are the slaves and the High Masters."
"And you believe this?" Nellwyn stared wide-eyed at the masters, receiving once more a round of nods. Sert's nod was vigorous.
"If I didn't believe it, I would not have spent the past eight summers serving as a High Master," Celadon replied. "I would not have upheld a system I believed to be wholly false."
Pentheus's gaze flicked over toward the High Master, but he remained silent as Nellwyn said, "Very well, suppose that Remigeus was right – though it sounds to me like the sort of explanation a slave would find to justify his continued slavery. Suppose that some men are born slaves, and other men are born masters. How can you be sure which is which? What if one of your slaves were to come to you and tell you he was truly a master?"
Pentheus's breath travelled swiftly inward. Sert's face turned a bright crimson. Harmon and Enos looked at each other, raising their eyebrows silently. The slaves turned, as if by command, and began gathering together the empty vessels.
Ledwin grumbled, "That is hardly a matter for polite discussion."
"The topic arose earlier," Celadon replied, apparently the only man in the chamber who was unfazed by Nellwyn's words, though his fingers were again gripping his empty cup. "Besides, our Akbarian visitor is not acquainted with our ways. We— No, perhaps you should explain, Pentheus."
Pentheus nodded in acknowledgment of the command before saying in a grave voice to Nellwyn, "Such a condition occasionally occurs among the men and women of our land. In some cases, it is clearly willful perverseness and is best met with punishment. In other cases, though, the perverseness is thought to be an illness of the mind that can be cured. Indeed, I have often felt that such a condition is normal in the young – true slavery or mastership comes as much through training as through birth, and when the training has only just begun, it is natural that a young person would be confused as to his or her proper role in life. I think that patience should be shown toward young people who demonstrate perverse tendencies."
Ledwin snorted. Harmon chuckled and said, "You're known for your softness in such matters, Pentheus, but I think we're all agreed that some forms of perverseness can be cured and some can't. I have great respect for any master who takes the trouble to try to cure slaves who are perverse; I think it is unwise to move too quickly to the alternative."
Enos shrugged. "In theory, perverseness may be curable, but I think the best way to prevent perverseness is to make an example of slaves who fall into it. Wouldn't you agree, Sert?"
Sert was still as red as the lowering flames of the candles. "I— It's a difficult subject to talk about—"
"It's an embarrassing topic," Celadon agreed. "Still, some subjects need to be discussed, however unpleasant they may be."
Nellwyn was now sitting rigid in her chair, her hands gripping the loose ends of her gown-belt as though she wished to transform the belt into a weapon. "And this alternative you speak of?" she said in a chill voice. "Am I to guess that the alternative does not consist of giving the slave the rank he has claimed?"
Enos was captured by a fit of giggles before catching Celadon's eye and sobering quickly. The High Master told Nellwyn, "This is a matter Remigeus dealt with in his sayings, albeit briefly. He said that in cases where a master wished to serve as a slave – such a form of perverseness has appeared throughout our history, albeit rarely – then the master should be granted his wish, once it has been determined that the condition will be permanent. Remigeus believed that it is best to humor a master whose mind-illness is permanent, just as one humors a child who is convinced that wild beasts live under his bed."
Nellwyn frowned. "A half-measure, but at least it attempts to deal with the problem. And if a slave claims to be a master?"
Celadon sighed heavily. "That is more difficult. Remigeus believed that, while no master will willingly undergo the shame of debasing himself unless he is truly unable to rid himself of perverseness, the reverse need not be true – he believed that some true slaves will claim to be masters out of mere whimsy. And so Remigeus declared that any slave who claims to be a master, and who persists in his perverseness, must be given the mercy of a quick death."
Nellwyn's hands jerked in her lap; her face had settled into a frozen mask of anger. She looked over at the slaves, as though hoping they would speak, but they remained properly silent as they finished their chores.
Pentheus said, "It is a distressing solution, we are all agreed. But there seems to be no other alternative."
"Of course there's an alterative," Nellwyn said briskly. "Rid yourselves of these ranks. Or if you must have a master/slave division, let the people determine for themselves whether they wish to be masters or slaves. This 'perverseness' you talk of is nothing more than proof that men and women aren't born into mastership or slavery – they are placed there, by your laws."
"Training has a part to play as well." Celadon seemed surprisingly unmoved by this outburst. "I've known men who would not have served as good masters if they had failed to receive training in their rank from an early age, and the same is true of some slaves I've known. If they had been forced to wait until adulthood to choose their rank, they would not have been as skilled at their work as they became."
Nellwyn glared at him. "So you're saying that the unfortunate slaves who don't fit into the model world your Remigeus envisioned will have to suffer for the crime of showing that your law system is flawed. You believe that the writings of a thirteen-centuries-dead man is more important than the pain of slaves living today."
"Hardly," said Celadon. "I told you before, I don't agree with all of the interpretations of the High Masters."
Pentheus, who had been holding his breath during Nellwyn's speech, gave out a heavy sigh. With his mouth now tightened, he gestured to the female slave, who took from Celadon the cup he had been gripping. Celadon seemed not to notice; he said to Nellwyn, as though she were the only person in the chamber, "I've been concerned for some time about the very issues you raise. I fear that overturning Remigeus's system altogether would result in greater loss than gain – alas, there are masters in the Dozen Landsteads, including High Masters I will not name, who would be quite happy to seize any opportunity they could to return to the old system in which they were free to oppress others. But I would like to see the laws modified to treat perverse slaves more humanely; the condition they suffer under is not their fault. I've proposed on several occasions that exceptions be permitted to the rule that persistently perverse slaves be executed."
"But you have not succeeded in persuading the other High Masters of this," said Harmon quickly. He had been frowning throughout Celadon's speech, and Ledwin had been emitting a low rumble like a commentary. Enos looked more amused than angered by Celadon's proposal, while Sert, still blushing, had been staring once more at Celadon's dagger.
Pentheus said carefully, "It is a radical break from the past, master, and could bring about the very destruction of the law that you fear."
Celadon nodded. "The other High Masters agree with you on this. So I have recently made another proposal, one I have greater hope of seeing accepted. Harmon, do you recall the case you brought before the High Masters at the last quarterly, of the two slaves who had been playing they were master and slave to each other when they were alone together?"
"Of course, master," Harmon replied promptly. "I had never run across such a case during my lifetime, and I wished the High Masters' advice on whether I should punish both slaves or only the perverse slave who pretended that he was a master. I am still awaiting your word on this."
Celadon, deprived of the cup he had been gripping, drummed his fingers upon his gown for a moment before saying, "Our answer has been delayed because yours is not the first case of this sort that has been brought before the High Masters. Indeed, such role-playing has become increasingly common among slaves who seek to hide their perverseness from the world. I have recommended to the other High Masters that the law on perverseness be modified to permit such play, provided that it takes place discreetly and does not interfere with the duties of the pervert and his partner."
There was a sudden sound of pottery crashing to the ground in one of the dark corners. The offending slave, white-faced, hastened to his knees to pick up the broken plate. The other slaves scrambled to help, carefully placing themselves in such a manner that their expressions were hidden from the masters.
The masters in the chamber seemed just as shocked as the slaves. For a long moment, no one broke the silence; then Pentheus coughed and said, "Surely encouraging perverseness – whether it be willfulness or illness – is no kindness on the part of a master. I should think that it would be better to try to cure the pervert, if that is possible."
Celadon hesitated before answering, his gaze suddenly shifting to the floor between himself and Pentheus. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. "If I thought all perverseness was curable, I would be tempted to take that path. But if it is not— We have been assuming throughout these centuries that perverseness can only bring evil to the Dozen Landsteads. Isn't it time to test whether it can bring good?"
At these words, Sert's face turned so crimson that it appeared for a moment as though he would melt from the heat. Ledwin opened his mouth wide, apparently ready to let loose a roar; Pentheus, seeing this, swiftly asked, "Do the other High Masters agree with you about this?"
Celadon raised his gaze from the floor finally, shaking his head. "Not as of yet. They might be persuaded, though, if some of the lesser masters spoke to them on this matter."
Now it was the lesser masters who averted their gazes, some of them turning to look toward the corner, where the slaves had finished sweeping up the broken crockery and were now returning stone-faced to their previous tasks. Again Pentheus broke the silence, and there was challenge in his voice as he said, "And if we should oppose such a revision of the law, master? Should we speak to the High Masters in that case?"
All eyes turned toward Celadon. The High Master seemed to be having trouble replying; the ball in his throat bobbed several times, and his front teeth travelled out to capture his lower lip, before quickly releasing it.
"I'm . . . not sure." Celadon's voice held a note of tentativeness that had not been present previously. "I will have to think on this. I'll give you my answer in the morning."
As though this had been a signal, the scar-faced slave moved to the doors and pulled them open. Pentheus, taking the hint, rose to his feet and said, "It is late, master, and you have much work to do tomorrow in preparation for the quarterly. I will leave you now."
The other masters
rose to their feet as well, murmuring excuses. Amidst them, Nellwyn
was silent, though the anger in her face had faded, and she gave
Celadon a last lingering look, as though in assessment.
CHAPTER THREE
Celadon took no notice of the farewells or the departure of the lesser masters. He had risen from his chair and was standing before one of the dark windows, staring at the courtyard far below. Only as the final master was leaving did he turn abruptly. The master, catching his signal, remained behind.
The slaves were departing now, bearing the empty platters and plates and cups. Again Celadon sent out a signal, and the last of the slaves remained behind, closing the doors before retiring discreetly to one of the dark corners.
Pentheus, recognizing the slave, gave the High Master a smile before saying, "I shouldn't keep you, Celadon. I know that you must be eager for rest."
"After that?" The same tentative note was in Celadon's voice again, this time mixed with something halfway between laughter and weeping. "I'd gladly rest a thousand years from a meeting like that. And it will be like that every day until the quarterly is over."
Pentheus walked over and placed his hand upon the shoulder of the younger man. "I wouldn't worry about it. Your behavior tonight was as masterly as always."
Celadon let out his breath slowly. His clenched hand had crept up to his mouth, and he was gnawing upon his knuckles. "I wish I could be sure of that," he murmured against his knuckles. "Every time there was a silence, I thought, Now Ledwin will get up and say, 'No true master would speak such words—'"
"You startled us," Pentheus admitted. "But it's hardly surprising that a High Master would startle those who serve him. Your mind runs at higher levels than ours do; that's why you were born to your role."
Celadon gave half a smile behind his knuckles, still pressed against his mouth. "That didn't stop you from disagreeing with me tonight."
"I know that you'd think less of me if I failed to advise you when I believe you've gone astray." Pentheus placed his foot upon the low seat beneath the window and laid his arm across the raised leg. "Celadon, your words tonight concerned me greatly. I meant it when I said that encouraging perverseness is no kindness to the slave who is drawn toward this condition. You of all people should understand this."
He kept his voice low so that his words would not reach the slave at the other end of the chamber, but the slave might have guessed something was amiss from Celadon's reaction. The High Master leaned against the wall of the window-crevice and bit so hard into the knuckles that a line of blood trickled down. Celadon took no notice of it; his gaze remained fixed upon the courtyard below.
"Forgive me; I know it must be unpleasant to be reminded of dark struggles of the past," Pentheus said quietly. "But you are the best example I know of a man who was saved from perverseness because of his unwillingness to allow the condition to overtake him. I must admit that, when your father died eight summers ago, I was gravely concerned as to the future of this landstead. During your first few seasons as High Master, you wavered in your decisions and seemed unable at times to issue the commands needed to keep this landstead in proper order. Yet you did not give in to your tendencies, and because of that, you have become a High Master much admired, even by those who live in other landsteads." A smile flickered onto Pentheus's face as he added, "I've heard it said that your slaves believe that you are Remigeus reborn as a master."
Celadon's voice was low when he finally spoke. "So you believe I have succeeded in curing my condition."
"I know you have." Pentheus's reply was firm. "Even at your worst, you were never a pervert, Celadon. You merely experienced an especially intense version of the struggle that all young people undergo: the process of casting aside those parts of you that would not serve you in your work. Perhaps it is true, as some slaves say, that in every slave is born a bit of master and in every master is born a bit of slave. You need not be ashamed to acknowledge that fact, since you are no longer susceptible to perverse tendencies."
Celadon pulled away from the window finally, walking slowly over to where a shelf lay in a dim corner untouched by candle-flicker. He pulled his dagger from its sheath, appeared to contemplate it for a moment, and then let it fall onto the shelf. As though this were a signal, the slave came forward and began unhooking Celadon's dagger-belt. Celadon watched him without moving.