And the walls were not bare and featureless either; he hadn't paid much attention before because he had been concentrating on Haraket, but now he saw that at every intersection of corridors, on the walls at the corners, there were engraved images of gods, all different. Nearest to Kashet's pen, where there was an intersection of two corridors, the gods upon the east-running corridor were the fat little dwarf god of good fortune and fertility, Khas, and on the north-running one the charming little goddess of the dawn, Noshet, with her beautifully plumed wings spread wide against the sand-colored wall. It wasn't lost on him, when he realized each corridor was marked by a god, that he could navigate among this maze of corridors by means of these carvings.
The dragons were not peering over their walls now; in fact, there was no sign of them at all, and when Haraket beckoned to him to follow into his own dragon's pen, he saw that Kashet was still drowsing in his sand wallow. "It will shortly be time for the Jousters to take their second patrols of the day, since there is not, at the moment, any actual war taking place."
Tell that to my people, Vetch thought, the anger that was always with him sullenly flaring. But Haraket was still speaking—ordering him, rather.
"Now, you come saddle Kashet again," Haraket told him, as Vetch stood gingerly on the edge of the sand wallow. Kashet was already easing himself up out of the hot sand, slowly and reluctantly, making little grunting sounds. "Go over to the saddle stand and call him. Say, 'Kashet, stand,' and make it sound like you mean it."
Vetch took his place beside the wooden rack holding the saddle and harness. He glanced at Haraket, but got no clues from the overseer's expression. Make it sound like you mean it. Well, ordering an ox around, or a goat, you had to sound firm. But it had been very, very long since he had been permitted to give orders even to an animal. He wasn't even used to raising his voice…
Finally, he tried to imagine how he would feel if he were the master, and it was one of those boys who had sneered at him back at the kitchen who was the serf. He tried to think of himself ordering the boy to fetch something. "Kashet!" he called, his voice sounding shrill in his own ears. But at least it didn't sound uncertain. "Stand!"
Kashet snorted; the snort sounded amused. But the dragon came readily enough, and stood towering above him, neck craned over, head looking curiously down at him. Again, he was struck by the heat of the dragon's body; it was as if he stood beside a clay bread oven during the baking.
Kashet looked even taller than he recalled. He couldn't have touched the dragon's shoulder even if he'd stood on tiptoe.
Now, how was he going to get the saddle on the beast when Kashet's shoulder was higher than Haraket's head?
Haraket watched him, eyes narrowed, waiting—for what? The overseer passed a hand over the top of his shaved head, and Vetch knew that he was waiting for Vetch to do something.
Was Haraket waiting for him to deduce how to handle the dragon from the clues he'd been given?
It wasn't fair—but it was a test of whether or not he could think for himself. He looked around, and couldn't see anything to climb onto in order to get the saddle onto the dragon's back. If he couldn't get the saddle up on Kashet's back, could he get Kashet to come down to him?
"Kashet!" he shouted, hearing his voice squeak a little at the end. "Down!"
And that, it seemed, was the answer.
With a grunt, the dragon knelt at the side of the sand pit, just the forequarters, putting his back just low enough for Vetch to reach. He heaved the saddle off the rack, taking care not to tangle the straps. He remembered how it had lain on the dragon's back, just in front of the wings; he thought he remembered how all of the straps buckled. He manhandled the saddle over Kashet's neck, wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, and took a quick glance at Haraket.
The overseer looked satisfied. Or at least, he wasn't frowning. So that was probably it; but Haraket wasn't going to give him any more clues. He would either manage to carry his orders out on his own, or—
—or back to Khefti.
But it couldn't be that hard; it couldn't be any more complicated than harnessing a donkey to carry a load, or an ox to the plow. It ought to be logical. There were just not that many ways that you could buckle a harness!
He didn't think Haraket expected or wanted him to fail, either, which was a refreshing change. No, he got the feeling that Haraket merely wanted to see if he could do the job, how quickly, and how much help he would need.
Maybe, whispered that angry voice, he expects that you're going to botch it because you're an Alton barbarian…
Well, if that was the case—Haraket would find out he was better and smarter than those freeborn Tians.
While Kashet was still crouched, Vetch took the opportunity to buckle the highest neck strap on the saddle, the one that carried what he thought was the breast strap fastened in the middle of it. Then he ordered, this time with more confidence, "Kashet! Up!"
The dragon stood, and Vetch puzzled out the straps that fastened the front of the saddle at the neck and throat. But the rest of the harness was not immediately clear, and he paused with a strap in his hand. There were a lot of straps.
Maybe there were a lot of different ways you could fasten a harness. Or, at least, this particular harness.
"Find the mate on the other side," Haraket prompted. "And bring them under the forelegs to that breastband that's sewn to the neckband. That's the fat strap that should follow his keelbone. After you fasten the neckband, the straps are always in pairs."
So Haraket was going to give him some hints! He wouldn't have guessed that from the Overseer's stony expression. He relaxed a little, and continued his task with more confidence.
With a few more such hints, Vetch got the harness fastened, then without further prompting, went over all the straps again, cinching them down as he recalled his father harnessing the donkey for carrying a load to market. When he glanced again at Haraket, the overseer wasn't frowning at all; in fact, there was no mistaking his look of satisfaction.
When Vetch finished, Haraket came over and double-checked the fit of each strap. Some he tightened further, but the ones across the neck, he loosened.
"Here, the neckband—it's more to carry the breastband than anything else," Haraket told him. "You want it loose enough to slip two fingers under it. But here—" he moved down to two of the straps that passed in front of Kashet's legs. " —these need to be as tight as you can pull them. This one here, too—" Vetch watched him closely, making mental notes. What he wanted was to be free of masters, but—short of a miracle—that wasn't going to happen. Failing that, this was the best place he'd ever been in, and he did not want to be sent away.
Especially not back to Khefti, for he was fairly certain that if Khefti was ever presented with the opportunity to get his hands on Vetch again, what he would contrive for the remainder of Vetch's life did not bear thinking about. It would be so bad, in fact, that Vetch's previous existence as Khefti's serf would seem pleasant in comparison.
So I will serve Kashet, and my Jouster, and they will never want another dragon boy, he vowed to himself, watching how Haraket slid two fingers between the harness and Kashet's neck to check the fit.