They rode into a broad square surrounded on all sides by canvas booths dyed in various hues of red, green, blue, and yellow. The square teemed with merchants and citizens, all dressed in varicolored, loose-fitting robes that hung to their heels.
“Where do the common citizens live if the whole city’s divided up into sections based on military rank?” Durnik asked.
Brador, the bald, chubby Chief of the Bureau of Internal Affairs, who happened to be riding beside the smith, looked around with a smile. “They all have their ranks, Goodman,” he replied, “each according to his individual accomplishments. It’s all very rigidly controlled by the Bureau of Promotions. Housing, places of business, suitable marriages—they’re all determined by rank.”
“Isn’t that sort of over-regimented?” Durnik asked pointedly.
“Malloreans love to be regimented, Goodman Durnik.” Brador laughed. “Angaraks bow automatically to authority; Melcenes have a deep inner need to compartmentalize things; Karands are too stupid to take control of their own destinies; and the Dals—well, nobody knows what the Dals want.”
“We aren’t really all that different from the people in the West, Durnik,” ’Zakath said back over his shoulder. “In Tolnedra and Sendaria, such matters are determined by economics. People gravitate to the houses and shops and marriages they can afford. We’ve just formalized it, that’s all.”
“Tell me, your Majesty.” Sadi said, “how is it that your people are so undemonstrative?”
“I don’t quite follow you.”
“Shouldn’t they at least salute as you ride by? You are the Emperor, after all.”
“They don’t recognize me.” ’Zakath shrugged. “The Emperor is a man in crimson robes who rides in a golden carriage, wears a terribly heavy jeweled crown, and is accompanied by at least a regiment of imperial guards all blowing trumpets. I’m just a man in white linen riding through town with a few friends.”
Garion thought about that, still mindful of Silk’s half-whispered warning. The almost total lack of any kind of self-aggrandizement implicit in ’Zakath’s statement revealed yet another facet of the man’s complex personality. He was quite sure that not even King Fulrach of Sendaria, the most modest of all the monarchs of the West, could be quite so self-effacing.
The streets beyond the square were lined with somewhat larger houses than those they had passed near the city gates, and there had been some attempt at ornamentation here. It appeared, however, that Mallorean sculptors had limited talent, and the mortar-cast filigree surmounting the front of each house was heavy and graceless.
“The sergeant’s district,” ’Zakath said laconically.
The city seemed to go on forever. At regular intervals there were squares and marketplaces and bazaars, all filled with people wearing the bright, loose-fitting robes that appeared to be the standard Mallorean garb. When they passed the last of the rigidly similar houses of the sergeants and of those civilians of equal rank, they entered a broad belt of trees and lawns where fountains splashed and sparkled in the sunlight and where broad promenades were lined with carefully sculptured green hedges interspersed with cherry trees laden with pink blossoms shimmering in the light breeze.
“How lovely,” Ce’Nedra exclaimed.
“We do have some beauty here in Mal Zeth,” ’Zakath told her. “No one—not even an army architect—could make a city this big uniformly ugly.”
“The officers’ districts aren’t quite so severe,” Silk told the little Queen.
“You’re familiar with Mal Zeth, then, your Highness?” Brador asked.
Silk nodded. “My partner and I have a facility here,” he replied. “It’s more in the nature of a centralized collection point than an actual business. It’s cumbersome doing business in Mal Zeth—too many regulations.”
“Might one inquire as to the rank you were assigned?” the moon-faced bureaucrat asked delicately.
“We’re generals,” Silk said in a rather grandly offhand manner. “Yarblek wanted to be a field marshal, but I didn’t think the expense of buying that much rank was really justified.”
“Is rank for sale?” Sadi asked.
“In Mal Zeth, everything’s for sale,” Silk replied. “In most respects it’s almost exactly like Tol Honeth.”
“Not entirely, Silk,” Ce’Nedra said primly.
“Only in the broadest terms, your Imperial Highness,” he agreed quickly. “Mal Zeth has never been graced by the presence of a divinely beautiful Imperial Princess, glowing like a precious jewel and shooting beams of her fire back at the sun.”
She gave him a hard look, then turned her back on him.
“What did I say?” the little man asked Garion in an injured tone.
“People always suspect you, Silk,” Garion told him. “They can never quite be sure that you’re not making fun of them. I thought you knew that.”
Silk sighed tragically. “Nobody understands me,” he complained.
“Oh, I think they do.”
The plazas and boulevards beyond the belt of parks and gardens were more grand, and the houses larger and set apart from each other. There was still, however, a stiff similarity about them, a kind of stern sameness that insured that men of equal rank would be assigned to rigidly equal quarters.
Another broad strip of lawns and trees lay beyond the mansions of the generals and their mercantile equivalents, and within that encircling green there arose a fair-sized marble city with its own walls and burnished gates.
“The imperial palace,” ’Zakath said indifferently. He frowned. “What have you done over there?” he asked Brador, pointing at a long row of tall buildings rising near the south wall of the enclosed compound.
Brador coughed delicately. “Those are the bureaucratic offices, your Majesty,” he replied in a neutral tone. “You’ll recall that you authorized their construction just before the battle of Thull Mardu.”
’Zakath pursed his lips. “I hadn’t expected something on quite such a grand scale,” he said.
“There are quite a lot of us, your Majesty,” Brador explained, “and we felt that things might be more harmonious if each bureau had its own building.” He looked a bit apologetic. “We really did need the space,” he explained defensively to Sadi. “We were all jumbled together with the military, and very often men from different bureaus had to share the same office. It’s really much more efficient this way, wouldn’t you say?”
“I think I’d prefer it if you didn’t involve me in this discussion, your Excellency,” Sadi answered.
“I was merely attempting to draw upon your Excellency’s expertise in managing affairs of state.”
“Salmissra’s palace is somewhat unique,” Sadi told him. “We like being jumbled together. It gives us greater opportunities for spying and murder and intrigue and the other normal functions of government.”
As they approached the gates to the imperial complex, Garion noticed with some surprise that the thick bronze gates had been overlaid with beaten gold, and his thrifty Sendarian heritage recoiled from the thought of such wanton lavishness. Ce’Nedra, however, looked at the priceless gates with undisguised acquisitiveness.
“You wouldn’t be able to move them,” Silk advised her.
“What?” she said inattentively.
“The gates. They’re much too heavy to steal.”
“Shut up, Silk,” she said absently, her eyes still appraising the gates.
He began to laugh uproariously, and she looked at him, her green eyes narrowing dangerously.
“I think I’ll ride back to see what’s keeping Belgarath,” the little man said.