Murkmere (26 page)

But then the music slowed almost to silence, the lines steadied, and down between them danced the very last pair: a girl in
a shining dress gripped in the talons of an Eagle.

The bird head was so realistic that it seemed the Almighty Himself had come to furious life straight out of one of the tapestries
in the Great Hall and flown into the ballroom. Then I saw the thickness of Lord Grouted’s fingers on Leah’s fragile shoulders,
the golden glint of a signet ring.

But I couldn’t control a gasp, and Dog clutched me in real terror. Together we almost fell over the urn.

“An impressive sight, isn’t it?” said Silas’s voice.

I tried to pull myself together, while Dog cowered back against the pillar, looking as if she didn’t know which was more frightening:
the Eagle dancer or the sudden, unnerving presence of the steward in all his sinister, black-silk elegance.

But he didn’t bother to glance at her; his eyes took in my taffeta skirts, beaded sash, and lace shawl.

“You plan to dance, Miss Agnes? Perhaps I can tempt you to the next one? It will be open to everyone.”

“Oh, n-no, Sir,” I stammered, trying to hide my horror. “I don’t know any grand dances.”

“I’ll teach you then. We’ll take it slowly in a corner by ourselves before we join the other pairs.”

I felt my cheeks burn. I didn’t know how I could refuse without crossing him, and if I did, he might prevent me from attending
the dinner where Leah needed my support.

“Sir, you must understand — the bird masks — I’d not have the courage to step out among them. It would be blasphemous.”

He was diverted; he frowned. “Blasphemous?”

“Isn’t it what the avia dared to do?”

His eyes narrowed, and I moistened my lips. “Sir, they desired to fly like the gods.”

“You have the audacity to accuse these Ministers of blaspheming because they wear their ceremonial masks?”

“No, indeed not, Sir. But if I danced with such company myself I’d blaspheme, for the Ministration is the mouthpiece of the
gods on Earth and the Lord Protector the Eagle’s own anointed. Who am I to dance among them?”

Silas still frowned. The musicians struck up a different air; the new dance began. “Are you saying that I too blaspheme if
I take part in the dance, since I’m not a Minister myself?”

I thought quickly. “How could I say such a thing, Sir, when you look after all our souls in this household? I’m sure the Almighty
favors you for doing His work. It’s right that you should take part, whereas I …” I spread my hands modestly, eyes cast down,
“I’m only a maid from the village, Sir, and you’ve said yourself that my soul’s in danger.”

He scrutinized me, but I didn’t look up. “I’m glad you’re so concerned for your salvation, Agnes,” he said levelly at last.
“I respect your feelings.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I murmured.

He gave me a curt bow. “I’ll see you at dinner, then.” The faintest scent of flower water was left behind him.

Dog turned to me. “What did you say to make him go?” she breathed.

“He didn’t realize I mocked him.”

“How did you dare? You spoke of the avia to him, those terrible creatures.”

“We shouldn’t be afraid of them, Dog. The Almighty created their form too.”

“As a punishment for their sins!” said Dog.

I thought of what the fool had said. “Not a punishment but a blessing,” I whispered to myself. But I still couldn’t fathom
it.

I was alone now by the pillar. Dog had disappeared to her duties. Silas was sitting on the dais with the Master; I could
see him bending close, solicitously, as they talked. And all the while the dancers wove their stately lines together, the
rich darkness of their silks and satins catching the candlelight, the monstrous bird heads bobbing and turning.

And trapped among them somewhere, a slight, silver girl.

Why has the Almighty never punished the Ministration for daring to mimic the gods?
I thought. Surely the sin of the avia was no worse?

The dancers were bowing to each other, carefully, so their heads shouldn’t fall off. I felt hysterical laughter well up inside
me.

But the dancing was over. Now the banquet would begin.

F
irst, the Ministers had to repair to their chambers to remove their masks and replace their wigs. The entry into the Great
Hall that followed was almost as elaborate as the Calvacade.

I was disconcerted to find myself placed at the top table, a seat away from Leah, with a portly, elderly gentleman between
us, and on my left a severe-looking stick of middle years. Lord Grouted was seated on Leah’s right, the Master on the Lord
Protector’s other side. Before me on the table I had a glittering forest of knives and forks to find my way through, and glasses
of every shape.

As I sat down, I saw to my dismay that the fool, Gobchick, had been recaptured. A footman was dragging him along on his chain,
and as he scurried past me, bent to his knees, he made mournful little cheeping noises.

At first I tried to listen to Leah’s conversation with Lord Grouted, but could hear little; my stout neighbor made so much
noise chewing his food. Once or twice he spluttered out a question, which I answered, but he must have decided that as a mere
companion I’d have no interesting conversation, for after that he spoke with the lady opposite and ignored me.

As for the stick on my left, he sucked in his sagging cheeks and pecked at his food so cautiously he must have been expecting
to find maggots in it. Certainly he had no attention for the insignificant chit next to him.

It was a painful, fraught meal, and the magnificent food, which Gossop and the kitchen servants had so labored over, stuck
in my throat as much as my neighbors’ treatment of me. Gobchick fared even worse; he was forced to kneel behind the Lord Protector’s
chair like a dog. As I looked, he sat up and begged, and was thrown a piece of bread.

Each course ended with a toast proposed by one of the guests. Glasses were raised to “the long session,” “short council,”
“the messengers” — all mysteries to me — and sometimes to the names of individuals. As the glasses clinked, I looked around
at the faces masked by white makeup, the wine-stained mouths, the glittering eyes.

These weren’t good people, I could feel it. After a few toasts I only pretended to drink the wine. It made me feel queasy.

“Quaint,” said the bony woman in puffed black satin opposite the portly gentleman, and she gestured at the silver bowls of
flowers. “Quaint, yet pretty. But wildflowers don’t last, do they?” She put a lace handkerchief to her nostrils and sniffed
delicately.

We were waiting for the footmen to bring in the roasted oxen from the stable yard. I could hear Lord Grouted and the Master
talking in low voices beneath the babble. Leah was as silent as I was; I knew she was listening too.

“This is a good turnout, Gilbert. I’m pleasantly surprised. I’d thought things might be a struggle for you, up here in the
Eastern Edge — shortages and so on.”

The Master smiled. “We don’t think of ourselves as quite the back of beyond, you know — the front of the back, perhaps.”

“Aye, but the villagers? Do they produce for you? Where do you get the stuff?” Grouted waved his thick fingers at the spread
before him.

“We’ve had a good harvest. We produce most of our food here on the estate, thanks to Silas’s management. I don’t like to demand
much from the villagers. They have themselves to feed.”

“You always were soft, Gilbert.”

“Perhaps.”

“Hah! You’d live on your dreams if you could.” Lord Grouted prised a knot of gristle from between his teeth, looked at it
critically, then dropped it onto his plate. “The
project you were working on when we last met, that contraption, you’re finished with all that, ain’t you?”

“Oh, I look at it from time to time, Porter,” said the Master lightly

“I don’t like to hear that. We allowed you to keep your books. That was a big concession.”

“And I’m more than grateful for it.”

“But that contraption of yours could be conceived of as a greater blasphemy than the words your books contain.”

“Hardly, I think.” The Master’s tone was weary. He wasn’t looking well tonight, nor eating. His high color was drained, and
he rubbed his arm as if it pained him.

“It’s what I think that matters. Others too. Why, damn it, you’ve as good as made a pair of wings!”

“I hide it well enough. Only my most trusted servants have seen it.”

“Do more than that, Gilbert. Get rid of the thing. Take this as advice from a friend. I’m thinking of your own good and the
future of your estate, man.” He leaned closer. “Do I speak plainly?”

“Thank you, My Lord,” said the Master. “I’ll bear your advice in mind.”

When at last the steamed sponges, the jewel-colored jellies and milk blancmanges, the meringues piled with cream, the bursting
summer puddings, the honey ices and fruit sorbets, and the foamy syllabubs had been consumed, it was time for the final toast.

A wheat-colored wine was poured into tiny glasses, delicate squares of sweetmeats passed around. The thin woman in black satin
stood up and raised her glass. “To Lord Grouted.”

Everyone in the hall rose to his feet.

Each guest had to cross hands and glasses, and drink from the glass put into his right hand by the neighbor on his left. I
had no idea what to do, and had to be shown by Leah. After a great muddle on my part, the fat gentleman accepted my glass
with some disdain.

When the toast was over, everyone sat down. By now, the guests’ makeup had melted into greasy channels with the heat of wine
and candlelight, and their wigs were uncurling. As the grotesque faces turned to the Master for the banquet speech, I felt
a sudden chill.

He wasn’t among friends.

“Help me stand,” he said to Jukes behind him, and he placed his hands on the arms of the wheelchair and tried to heave himself
up.

“Sir!” began Leah in alarm, leaping to her feet so quickly her chair fell over. A murmur swelled among the guests.

Like a shadow, Silas came swiftly from his place. “Let me, Sir,” he said smoothly, and took the Master’s weight on his left
side. Together he and Jukes managed to support the Master, who shook with strain as if he had the ague.

Leah’s eyes filled with tears. “There’s no need for this, Sir.”

“I must,” he growled, through clenched teeth.

The murmuring died. The guests looked at one another meaningfully, a feral gleam in their eyes, and waited for the kill.

With a visible effort, the Master collected himself and began to speak. He began by thanking the guests for coming so far
and for their presents to his ward. “We’re both deeply honored that so many of you have managed to attend tonight, not least,
of course, the Lord Protector himself.”

Lord Grouted bowed from the waist, and his lizard eyes flicked around.

“It’s good to see so many of my old colleagues again after my years of absence from the sessions,” said the Master.

The lady opposite waved the white hand that held her liqueur glass, and bracelets clacked down her scrawny arm like manacles.
“So good to see you, dear Gilbert.” Her red mouth smiled at him treacherously.

The Master spoke fluently and from time to time made a little jest for his audience. Behind the Lord Protector, Gob-chick
cackled and clapped his hands together. In the whole gathering, I think he was the only one whose laughter was genuine.

For a moment the Master drooped between the two men who supported him. But then he lifted his head, spoke louder. “As you
all will realize, this is a great occasion for me, as well as for Leah. My ward has reached her sixteenth birthday. She has
come of age. The state considers her a child no longer, but an adult, owed the respect and with the responsibilities that
being an adult brings.

“For Leah, the respect given her will go hand in hand with how she carries out her responsibilities, as one day she will inherit
Murkmere.”

People knew about the old feud. All eyes turned expectantly to Lord Grouted, waiting for his reaction. He was tapping his
fingers on the table; his nails were trimmed square, like spades. Leah knelt by the Master’s chair, a flush tingeing her pale
cheeks.

“A long time ago the Lord Protector and I quarreled over this.” The Master nodded at his guests. “I make no secret of it.
Lord Grouted thought that unknown blood would defile the Ministration. We quarreled violently, and I am sorry for it and have
borne my own self-inflicted punishment for many years. But now I’ve an announcement to make that will set things right. The
time is ripe for the truth, since now Leah is sixteen she is the legal age to inherit Murkmere on my death, which may be any
time.”

Several guests shook their heads and protested at that. The Master smiled. “One must be realistic.”

Lord Grouted examined his nails. “What is this truth you speak of, Gilbert?”

The Master lifted his head. He looked triumphant. He stared straight at Porter Grouted as if challenging him. “The truth is
this, and now you’ll need be concerned no longer. For Leah is indeed one of us. She has the blood of the Ministration in her
veins. She is my daughter.”