The Wind Singer (28 page)

This year, he told himself as he surveyed the faces of his candidates, this year, surely, there really was a chance. Never before had he known such high morale. Never before had he reached this stage in the Study Course without a single nervous breakdown. This year, surely, at long last, he would have his winner.

‘Candidates,’ he began, beaming at them to infuse them with vital confidence. ‘Candidates, tomorrow you sit the High Examination. You are nervous. That is natural. All candidates are nervous. You are not at a disadvantage because you are nervous. In fact, your nervousness will help you. Your nervousness is your friend.’

He beamed at them again. He believed this to be one of the transforming insights of his day-before talk. In his secret dream, the successful candidate would say to him, ‘When you told us, “Your nervousness is your friend”, I saw everything differently. It was as if a blindfold was removed from my eyes, and everything became clear.’

‘An athlete is nervous before the start of the race,’ he went on, warming to his theme. ‘That nervousness brings him to the highest pitch of readiness. The starting signal is given, and off he goes! His nervousness has become his power, his speed, his victory!’

He had hoped at this point to see an answering glow of excitement in their eyes. Instead, they seemed to be smiling. This was unusual. By this stage in the Study Course, in all former years, the candidates wore a sullen defeated look, and avoided meeting his eyes. This year they were positively cheerful, and somehow he had the feeling that they weren’t really listening to him.

He decided to break off from his day-before talk, if only briefly, to check their responses.

‘Candidate Hath,’ he said, picking out the one on whom his highest hopes rested. ‘Do you feel well prepared for tomorrow?’

‘Oh, yes, I think so,’ said Hanno Hath. ‘I shall give my best.’

‘Good, good,’ said Principal Pillish. However, there was something about Candidate Hath’s reply that didn’t feel quite right.

‘Candidate Mimilith. How are you feeling?’

‘Not so bad, sir, thank you,’ said Miko Mimilith.

There it is again, thought Principal Pillish. Something isn’t right here. Instinctively he turned to the weakest candidate on the course.

‘Candidate Scooch. One day left. Raring to go, I trust?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Scooch cheerfully.

This was downright odd. What is it that’s wrong here? Principal Pillish asked himself. Back came the answer: they’re not nervous.

At once he was overcome with a sensation of outrage. Not nervous! What right did they have not to be nervous? What use was his day-before talk if they weren’t nervous? It was disrespectful. It was insolent. It was – yes – it was ungrateful. And worst of all – yes, this was undoubtedly true – if they were not nervous, they would perform poorly in the High Examination, and that would damage their family ratings. Nervousness was their friend. It was his duty, as their teacher and guide, to reintroduce nervousness to this inappropriately confident group. He must do it for their sakes, and for the sake of their families.

‘Candidate Scooch,’ he said, no longer smiling. ‘I’m delighted that you feel so eager for the fray. Why don’t we sharpen our mental swords for battle by trying a few questions here and now?’

He reached for one of the study books and opened it at random.

‘What is the chemical composition of common salt?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Scooch.

Principal Pillish turned pages at random.

‘Describe the life-cycle of the newt.’

‘I can’t,’ said Scooch.

‘If sixty-four cube-shaped boxes are stacked in a cube-shaped pile, how many boxes high is the pile?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Scooch.

Principal Pillish closed the book with a sharp snap.

‘Three typical questions from the High Examination, Candidate Scooch, and you can’t answer any of them. Does that make you feel just the smallest bit nervous about tomorrow?’

‘No, sir,’ said Scooch.

‘And why is that?’

‘Well, sir,’ said Scooch, unaware that Hanno Hath was trying desperately to catch his eye, ‘I won’t be answering those sorts of questions, sir.’

‘What then, Candidate Scooch, will you be writing about on your examination paper?’

‘Tea-breaks,’ said Scooch.

A faint pink mist seemed to form before Principal Pillish’s eyes. He felt for the edge of the table beside him.

‘Tea-breaks?’ he repeated faintly.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Scooch, all unaware of the effect he was producing. ‘I think I may be a bit of an expert on tea-breaks. Not everybody has them, it turns out. I’ve been talking it over with the other fellows on the course. How can mortal man last from breakfast until lunch, sir, without a little something that’s both restful and stimulating? For the first part of the morning you can look forward to it, sir, and for the second part of the morning you can remember it – ’

‘Be quiet,’ said Principal Pillish.

He glowered at the assembled candidates. His secret dream, that had seemed so close, lay shattered at his feet. His heart was filled with bitterness.

‘Does anyone else propose to write about tea-breaks?’

No one answered.

‘Will someone please tell me what’s going on?’

Hanno Hath raised his hand.

Principal Pillish listened to Hanno Hath’s explanation in the privacy of his office. Hanno delivered a passionate defence of his novel system, but none of it made any sense. When Hanno said, ‘You might as well test fish for flying’, Principal Pillish passed a hand over his brow and said, ‘The candidates on my course are not fish.’ When Hanno was done, the Principal sat in silence for a while. He felt betrayed. He had not understood the flow of eager words, but he had heard, loud and clear, the underlying note of rebellion. This was not a case of laziness, or exam nerves. This was mutiny. Under the circumstances, his duty was clear. He must inform the Chief Examiner.

* * *

Maslo Inch listened to the whole unhappy tale, and then shook his head slowly from side to side, and said,

‘I blame myself. The man’s a rotten apple, and now he’s infected the whole barrel.’

‘But what should I do, Chief Examiner?’

‘Nothing. I will deal with him myself.’

‘The difficulty is, he’s not sorry. He thinks he’s right.’

‘I’ll make him sorry.’

The Chief Examiner spoke these words with such forceful conviction that Principal Pillish’swounded pride was soothed somewhat. He wanted to see Hanno Hath’s smile crumple into an expression of fear and need. He wanted to see him humbled. For his own good, of course.

This new development decided the matter for Maslo Inch. He sent for the captain of the marshals, and gave him his orders. That night, two hours after sundown, a troop of ten specially picked men moved quietly into the arena and surrounded the wind singer, where Ira Hath was sleeping with Pinpin in her arms.

They achieved complete surprise. Ira Hath knew nothing until she felt her arms gripped tight, and awoke to find the warm weight of her child being lifted away from her. She started to cry out, but a strong hand clamped over her mouth, and a blindfold was pulled tight round her eyes. She could hear Pinpin calling pitifully, ‘Mama! Mama!’, and she kicked and struggled with all her might, but the men who held her knew what they were doing, and she could not free herself.

Then Pinpin’s cries faded out of hearing, and, exhausted and gagging for breath, she fell still. A voice close to her ear said,

‘Are you done?’

She nodded.

‘Do you come with us, or do we drag you?’

She nodded again, meaning she would come. The rough hand was removed from her mouth. She drew a long gasping breath.

‘Where’s my daughter?’

‘Safe enough. If you want to see her again, you do as you’re told.’

After that Ira Hath knew she had no choice. Still blindfolded, she let them lead her down from the wind singer, and out of the great arena. They went across the plaza, and into a building, through doors and down corridors, into one room and then another, until she and her escort at last came to a stop.

‘Let her go,’ said a voice she recognised. ‘Take off the blindfold.’

There in front of her, seated at a long table, was Maslo Inch. And on her right, not quite close enough to reach out and touch, stood her husband.

‘Hanno!’

‘Silence!’ barked the Chief Examiner. ‘Neither of you will speak until I’ve said what I have to say.’

Ira Hath was silent. But her eyes met Hanno’s, and they spoke to each other in looks, saying,
We’ll get through this together somehow
.

A warden entered the room carrying a small pile of neatly-folded grey clothes.

‘Put them on the table,’ said Maslo Inch.

The warden did as he was told, and left.

‘Now,’ said Maslo Inch, looking up at them with steady eyes. ‘This is what you will do. Tomorrow is the day of the High Examination. You, Hanno Hath, will sit that examination, as is your duty to your family, and you will acquit yourself as best as you can. You, Ira Hath, will attend the High Examination, as a dutiful wife and mother, to show support for the head of your family. You will of course be wearing your designated clothing.’

He nodded at the pile on the table before him.

‘When the examination is over, and before the people leave the arena, I will call upon each of you to make a short public statement. Your statements are written here. You will learn them by heart over night.’

He held out two sheets of paper, and the captain of the marshals passed them on to Hanno and Ira.

‘You will be spending tonight in detention. You will not be disturbed.’

‘Where’s my daughter?’ broke in Ira Hath, unable to stop herself.

‘Your child is in safe hands. The good woman who has charge of her will bring her to the arena tomorrow, where she will watch the progress of the High Examination from the infants’ enclosure. If you demonstrate to me by your behaviour tomorrow that you are fit guardians for an impressionable child, she will be returned to you. If you do not, she will be made a ward of the city, and you will never see her again.’

Ira Hath felt hot tears rise to her eyes.

‘Oh, monster, monster,’ she said in a low voice.

‘If that is your attitude, ma’am – ’

‘No,’ said Hanno. ‘We understand. We’ll do as you say.’

‘We shall see,’ said Maslo Inch evenly. ‘Tomorrow will tell.’

Left alone in their detention room, Ira and Hanno Hath fell into each other’s arms and broke into bitter sobs. Then after a while Hanno wiped away his wife’s tears and his own, and said,

‘Come, now. We must do what we can.’

‘I want Pinpin! Oh, my baby, where are you?’

‘No, no. No more of that. Just one night, that’s all.’

‘I hate them, I hate them, I hate them.’

‘Of course, of course. But for the moment, we must do as they say.’

He unfolded his sheet of paper and read the statement he was to learn and repeat in public:

My fellow citizens, I make this public confession of my own free will. For some years now I have not striven to do my best. As a result, I have failed my family and myself. To my shame, I have sought to blame others for my failure. I now see that this was childish and self-centred. We are each of us responsible for our own destiny. I am proud to be a citizen of Aramanth. I promise today to do all in my power, from now on, to make myself worthy of that honour.

‘I suppose it could be worse,’ said Hanno with a sigh, after he had finished reading it.

Ira Hath’s statement ran:

My fellow citizens, you may know that recently I have lost two of my children. The strain of this loss led to a mental breakdown, in the course of which I acted in ways of which I am now ashamed. I ask for your forgiveness and understanding. I promise in future to behave with the modesty and decency that befits a wife and mother.

She threw the paper to the floor.

‘I won’t say it!’

Hanno picked it up.

‘It’s only words.’

‘Oh, my babies, my babies,’ cried Ira Hath, starting to weep again. ‘When will I hold you all in my arms again?’

23

The Scourge of the Plains

W
hen the light of dawn woke the three children, the first sound they heard was the music of the band, and looking across the great gorge they saw the Zars still marching, and still falling. Horrified, they went to the edge of the gorge and looked down. There far below, the river-bed was white, as if with a drift of snow, except that in the white there glittered points of gold. Into this whiteness fell the beautiful young Zars, and little by little the whiteness was reaching further and climbing higher. There would come a time, who knew how soon, when the Zars would walk across a mountain of their own dead, to the other side.

Without further words, the three friends turned and rejoined the Great Way, and strode off in the cool of the morning towards Aramanth.

The silver voice of the wind singer hung round Kestrel’s neck, inside her shirt, tied by a gold thread she had unplaited from her hair. It lay against her bony chest, made warm by her own warmth, and as they walked she felt it tickling her skin. Already, because they were on the homeward journey, her thoughts were reaching ahead to Aramanth, and her father and mother and little sister. This gave needed strength to her legs, for Bowman was keeping up a relentless pace.

‘We must get to Aramanth first,’ he said.

The Zars were no longer pursuing them, but as they hurried on down the Great Way, they faced a different problem, about which none of them spoke. It was a sign of the great change that had taken place in Mumpo that he too said nothing, though the ache in his stomach was growing stronger with every hour. They were hungry. They had eaten nothing for a day and a night, and now half another day. Their food bags were empty, and the trees they were passing bore no fruit. Here and there a wayside stream provided water, but even this refreshment would end, they knew, when they reached the great desert plains. How far did they then have to go? They couldn’t tell, because they had been carried across the plains by the thousand sails of Ombaraka. They guessed three days, maybe more. How could they make the long crossing without food?