Read Online Slaves of the Mastery by William Nicholson - Free Book Online Page A

something that makes them fat.’
    ‘Ah, well, my pet, it’s not so much what they do, as what they don’t do. You see what a lot of trouble it takes to keep you beautiful. Well, once you’re married, you
won’t need to be beautiful any more, will you?’
    ‘I suppose not.’
    ‘So naturally you’ll stop taking trouble. Then before you know it, you’re as fat as a badger.’
    ‘What’s it like being fat, Lunki?’
    ‘Oh, it’s not so bad, once you get used to it. You don’t feel the cold so much. And you’d be surprised how much extra time it gives you in the day.’
    When the elaborate morning toilet was done, and Sisi’s long hair was braided and coiled, both she and Lunki took one last look at their joint creation, sighed with admiration, and lowered
the veil. All this time the carriage, in common with the rest of the caravan, had been in steady motion. But now the Johdila was dressed, Lunki pulled on the bell-rope, and the long line of
carriages heaved and rattled to a halt once more. It was time for Sisi’s dancing lesson.
    The dancing tent was erected by the roadside, and the dancing master, Lazarim, approached the Johdila’s carriage and tapped respectfully on the door. The Johdila then emerged, swathed from
top to toe in layers of blue and silver silk, so fine that they floated about her mysterious form like smoke. Kestrel went with her, in her role as servant and unofficial friend. Lazarim escorted
them to the dancing tent, which though windowless was open to the noonday sky. And there, to the music of a blindfolded piper and drummer, he taught the Johdila the dance called the tantaraza.
    Kestrel could see at once that Sisi was not a natural dancer. The tantaraza was a difficult dance. It required concentrated attention to memorise the intricate sequences of steps; and then
conscientious practice, to turn the mechanical copying of the step-sequences into the fluid rhythms of the dance. Sisi had never been required to give concentrated attention to anything in her
life; and as for practice, if she found she couldn’t do something the first time, she became bored and gave up.
    Lazarim longed with a fierce and terrible longing to smack her bottom. He longed to pinch her until she screamed, or wept, or made any sound at all, other than that languid monotonous whine.
    ‘Do I ha-ave to? I feel so-o tired this morning. Be a darling pixie, and don’t bore me too-oo much.’
    ‘But you must learn the dance, radiance. It is your father’s wish that you marry, and to be married, you must dance.’
    ‘Yes, I know, darling. Don’t bully me. But I don’t have to dance much, surely? Just the once is enough, isn’t it?’
    ‘Just the once is enough, my lady, but that once must be perfect. The lords and ladies of the Mastery must say, nowhere in the world is there beauty and grace to match the Johdila of
Gang.’
    ‘But that would be true, darling Lazarim, whether I danced or not.’
    ‘If it is your wish not to dance, my lady, I say no more. But if you wish to dance, you must dance well.’
    ‘Oh, well. I suppose we could go over a few steps. But you’re not to muddle me.’
    While Kestrel sat quietly and watched with growing interest, Lazarim took the Johdila through the opening sequence again: the sidesteps, the salute, the three spins away, the arrest, the
heel-toe drumbeat of the re-join, the clasp, and the swirl. The tantaraza was a sublime dance, the dance of dances, to Lazarim it was art and passion, love and religion, life and death. This tiny
but exquisite man was a true master of its mysteries, and with all his being he longed to be released from the torture of teaching, and to fly away into the ecstasy of the dance. Instead, here he
was, hobbling through the steps like a cripple.
    ‘No, radiance, no! The spins are fast, very fast, like a spinning top, remember? Then the arrest is sudden! Like this! See how my skirts fly away without me?’
    ‘Your skirts, Lazarim?’ She tinkled