“And Pyrrhus is obviously a man who will not be taken for a fool,” Julia observed. “Your reasoning was sound; there was no way to guess he had been a Reader.”
“Had been.” Wicket shook his head. “No-won’t think about that. It’s your turn. Tell me about Portia.”
“She was Master of Masters among Readers for many years,” Julia said. “Master Clement says that for a long time she did her job well and honestly, but in the last years of her life she became corrupt. Perhaps we’ll never know why-we’re still finding out what she did.”
“What she did to Pyrrhus,” said Wicket. “Did she do that to any other Readers who found out about her?”
“Not that I’ve ever heard of-and I think I would have, Wicket. I’ve been pretty much in the center of verything here in Zendi, and I was in Tiberium when it fell. Portia usually arranged to have her enemies killed, but it didn’t always work. She exiled my father to the Savage Lands, figuring he couldn’t help revealing himself as a Reader, and he’d get killed.”
“Your father?”
“Lenardo-Lord Reader of the Savage Empire. Aradia is his wife.”
“But she’s not your mother.”
“She’s getting to feel like my mother a lot of the time,” Julia admitted.
“Go on about Portia.”
“From her position as Master of Masters, she used Readers to spy on people, influence political decisions, business transactions. At the peak of her power, she had far more influence over what happened in the Aventine Empire than the Emperor.
“You probably know that a few Adepts survived inside the Aventine Empire, even when it was death to be discovered. Portia had at least one under her control, and there may have been more. As she grew older she acquired more and more power. But the Master of Masters isn’t supposed to have that kind of power, so she had to cover up even more. That meant getting rid of Readers who found out.
“Her favorite method for putting such Readers where they could not harm her was what she originally planned for Pyrrhus: rig tests so that they failed, and then put them on the Path of the Dark Moon. That meant marrying them off to other failed Readers-but the ceremonial wine was drugged with a derivative of white lotus.”
“The dream drug?” Wicket shuddered. “Yes-Pyrrhus said they were going to use it on him. No wonder he ran away. That stuff is worse than poison.”
“Yes-but they didn’t use the addictive part. It was an extract that destroyed the will and allowed the Readers present at the marriage to mold the minds of the bride and groom. Back when they failed only real Dark Moon Readers, who honestly didn’t have the ability to reach the upper ranks, the drug was intended as a kindness, to make them fall in love with one another. But when Portia and the Council of Masters were failing Magisters and even Masters, they also used the drug to reduce their powers.”
“Then why-?”
“What was done to Pyrrhus? Even with reduced powers, a Reader is a Reader. Wicket, I’m telling you what facts we know, but all the people who can explain why are dead.”
“I’m glad Pyrrhus had a hand in killing Portia,” said Wicket.
“I’m glad I did, too,” Julia agreed.
They parted then, Wicket to the bathhouse, Julia to tell Aradia what she had learned, and then take her daily lesson with Master Clement. She found him in his study, reading scrolls brought from Portia’s Academy in Tiberium.
“Read with me, Julia,” he instructed. He meant the way he was reading-by Reading.
The scrolls remained in their racks, while Master Clement scanned through the writing on them in search of any reference to Pyrrhus. It was much faster than lifting each one down, unrolling it, and scanning the pages by eye.
But Master Clement had been at it all morning, and had not found what he was looking for.
“Would Portia write down such a terrible thing?” Julia asked.
“Perhaps not,” Master Clement agreed. “But I have to search. I have to know-”
— if there are others,” Julia completed the thought. “If there are, I doubt that they’re alive. I think I would kill myself if it happened to me.”
“Julia!” exclaimed the Master of Masters. “You must not think such a thing. Pyrrhus was right to salvage what he could of his life. Child, I have seen Readers lose their powers before.”
“What?’ She was horrified.
“It is rare, but it can happen from a head injury, a disease, or an apoplexy, if it damages that area of the brain. Thus Portia knew exactly which nerves she could destroy, and leave Pyrrhus otherwise undamaged. With the help of Adept Healers,” he added, “we can now heal such injuries when they come from natural causes. Nature does not burn out an entire section of nervous tissue.”
They returned to Portia’s many years of records, which had never been placed in proper order after transport to Zendi. After the earthquake that had literally toppled the Aventine Empire, the scrolls had been plucked from the shambles, brought here, and left until the day someone would have the time to catalogue them. So far, no one had. They found records from forty years ago next to records from the last days of Portia’s tenure, her personal commentaries on her students beside technical studies of Reading techniques.
Suddenly Master Clement plucked an old, yellowed scroll from the rack and handed it to Julia. “Read that.”
She held it, feeling in its faded, dusty contours the keen excitement of a young woman, enthusiastic, idealistic, proud of her accomplishments, and eager to use her newly acquired power for good.
“Portia?” Julia asked incredulously. It was unrecognizable as the evil old woman Julia had known.
“Portia as I first knew her, when I was just testing for the rank of Magister. Take that one with you, Julia; Read it at your leisure. Perhaps we can trace how the fine young woman who became the youngest Master of Masters in all our history turned into a manipulative, power-mad woman capable of crippling Readers to cover her corruption.”
When Julia met Galerio and his friends at noon, she did not really have the horse market on her mind.
She kept her promise, however, and the group of young people left Zendi by Southgate, walking toward the large open area set aside for fairs and celebrations, and the horse market once each month.
It had turned into a lovely sunny day, the ground just damp enough to keep the dust down, the air just cool enough to be pleasant. Dilys and Piccolo never got as far as the market; holding hands, they wandered off the road toward a small woodland.
When they reached the market, Giorgio headed straight for the food vendors, while Blanche and Diana went off toward the booths where trinkets were sold to bored wives, daughters, and children with no interest in the horses. That left Mosca and Antonius with Julia and Galerio, drifting through the crowds to examine the horses in the various roped-off areas.
They passed straight by the young colts and heavy draft animals, and went on to where riding horses were being shown.
Galerio gravitated toward a large ring displaying five magnificent animals, sleek and slender, so built for speed that they almost appeared to be running when they were standing still.
Julia also admired them, but when Galerio asked, “What would a horse like that cost?” she was amazed to Read that he truly wanted one.
“Those are racing horses,” she said. “Galerio, you can’t afford one of those, and if you could it’s not the kind of horse you need.”
“What makes you an expert on what I need?” he demanded.
“You need a reliable riding horse,” Julia replied. “One that can carry you for many miles at a reasonable pace. A horse with enough spirit to be fun to ride, but not too much for an inexperienced rider.”
“Inexperienced-!”
“Galerio, you’re a city boy. Have you ever been on a horse?” she suddenly asked.
“Of course I have!” he replied indignantly. “If this is the way you’re going to help, I’m sorry I brought you along!”