He noticed the depression in the brass wall. It was as if a stiff-limbed man had detached from the wall leaving behind his impression in the metal. The concave surfaces within this mould were as ridged and whorled as finger ends. As he watched, one of the black-eyed men reached into the shoulder of the mould and running his fingers delicately round the hollow came back and transferred its designs to Carnelian's own shoulder. He squirmed at the tickle touch of the stylus. Others were reading the mould. Soon, ink was itching over every part of Carnelian's skin until only his face was left blank.
That His servants might pass you by,' one whispered.
Then Carnelian was glazed with sickly myrrh.
That His breath might not corrupt your flesh.'
Cloth bands darted through the air and spooled around his body.
That His servants might be confounded.'
The bandages stuck to the glaze, weaving into a tightening cocoon.
That they might be lost in this labyrinth.'
He grimaced as a bandage bound something hard and cold against his skin.
'Charms to shield you from their malice.'
So it went on. He was the axis of their strange dance. Round and round they went, their whispers in his ears, until he dizzied and almost swooned.
When they stopped turning he fought the tightness round his chest and shoulder to raise his arms. His hands were there at the end of his cloth wrists. He let them fall and sighed with relief at the pressure release.
A huge robe flapped over him.
That they might be blinded by the night.'
Hands flitted over the robe till it was hugging him. They shut him in behind his mask. His nostrils burned, then his lungs. His eyes watered. He did not even try to move until the burning had abated. Then he tottered out of the brass chamber by a doorway that appeared as a fuzzy glowing rectangle.
'Here you are permitted to remove your mask,' his father said.
Carnelian did so with some relief. His eyes still watered and he was sniffing.
His father put a hand on his shoulder. Its whiteness was spotted with symbols. The astringency will soon diminish, then you will bear it easily enough.'
'And the tightness?'
The bandages will stretch.'
Carnelian heard Aurum say something about an 'imminent departure'.
Carnelian grimaced through his tears. The Three Lands at last.'
His father smiled grimly. The Three Lands.'
'I must make sure our people are ready: Keal, the tyadra, the baggage. How much time is there, my Lord, before we all leave?'
His father's hand jabbed a sharp negation. 'Surely you had understood that they are not to come with us?'
'My Lord?'
They are an encumbrance we cannot risk. Their faces proclaim who we are.'
Carnelian felt sick. 'But I gave assurances.'
His father's eyes narrowed. 'Which you should not have given.'
Carnelian opened his mouth to say more.
His father's hand flew up, Enough! 'Whatever it is that you have said it is my will to overrule. You may take Tain because he does not yet bear our mark. What little state you are allowed, he will keep.'
'Will he be safe?'
His father looked at him, confused. 'What?' His hand made a vague gesture. 'As safe as you or I.'
Jaspar came towards them, his ranga and bandaged legs lending him the gait of someone wading through water. He pursed his lips. 'One fears this journey will be exceedingly tedious.'
Vennel raised his voice behind them. All four Masters turned to listen to him. 'I shall go to make sure my household have made the preparations I commanded.'
There is no time for that, my Lord,' Aurum said quickly.
Jaspar moved off towards them. 'We must hold a conclave ere we leave this tower, Vennel.'
Suth turned to join them, but Carnelian reached up to touch his arm. His father turned back. 'What is it?'
Carnelian could see the irritation in his face. 'Might I be permitted enough time to return to the household to bid them all farewell?'
His father frowned.
'And to ensure all arrangements properly made?' Carnelian added.
The other Masters were now involved in some kind of argument.
'If you must,' his father snapped. 'But do not dally. A guide will be there to bring our baggage to the gate. Let him lead you. I shall be going there immediately…' He looked over to the others.'… with the other Lords.'
Carnelian walked as quickly as his ranga shoes would allow. Each step clattered echoes round the hall. When he reached their door the banners of House Suth no longer flanked it. He was wondering if he had come to the wrong one when he heard muffled voices. He flung his weight against the door. It gave way slowly, heavily. As he squeezed through the opening he trod on something and bent to pick it up. It was an iris, crushed, its bruised purple skin dusted with its own pollen.
Running up towards him, Tain stopped to look him up and down, no doubt startled by the strange clothes and the ranga shoes. Thank the Gods you've come, Carnie.'
He cast a quick, unhappy look around him. People were wrapping vases in the blue canopies. Someone cried, The Master.' People dropped to the ground. A cloth came loose and wriggled down to the floor. Among them a single figure was left standing. It was Keal, his look so intense that Carnelian almost dropped his gaze. He felt shamed.
'You're not going,' he said in a thin voice. It was difficult to squeeze the words out; his throat seemed to have narrowed. People were looking up at him from their prostrations. Everywhere he saw their bewildered eyes. Anger surged in him. He lumbered forward and slapped a stack of boxes. They crunched to the floor. A bowl rolled and shattered. 'Why are you packing? You must all be stupid. You're not going, I tell you.'
'We're being moved into the slave pens,' said Keal. 'When the arrangements have been made we'll be setting off after you along the road.'
Carnelian noticed a man's back wearing the Legate's green. The stranger was the only one still prostrate. 'You!' he shouted. The man trembled. 'Yes, I'm talking to you.' The man looked up. The Legate's sign marred his face like a birthmark. Carnelian pointed at him. 'Get out and wait for me outside.' The man stumbled to his feet and cringed past Carnelian, who watched him slip out between the doors before turning back to his people.
Keal's eyes, Tain's eyes, so many eyes.
Carnelian removed his mask and bowed his head a little, giving in to its heaviness. 'I did what I could. I can't see what more you could expect of me.'
Keal nodded, but did not stop looking at him with pain in his face and something like an accusation of betrayal.
'Crail's gone,' said Tain.
Carnelian turned on him. 'What do you mean he's gone?'
The Master left a command that we were to hand him over to the other Master's men. The ones with the line tattoo,' said Keal, running his finger from his forehead down the bridge of his nose to his lips.
Blood drained from Carnelian's face. His father had given Crail to Aurum. 'When?'
They came for him just after you left with the Master.'
Carnelian wrung his hands, stared blindly, chewed at his lower lip. He felt snared and bleeding in a trap. 'Maybe it's not too late,' he muttered. He strode over to Keal. A pain of love passed between them. They embraced hard. 'Look after them, brother,' said Carnelian.
He felt Keal's nod against his chest. He disengaged, making sure he did not look into his face. Sniffing, he turned to the others, all standing now. 'Don't fear that I'll forget you. Take care on the road. I'll be waiting for you in our coomb in the Mountain.'
He looked at Tain and saw he was struggling to hold back tears. Carnelian made his decision. 'You're staying here.'
Tain looked appalled. 'But I'm supposed to go with you.'