"That is entirely true, my lord," Haraket said, not at all dismayed. "It is also true that all serfs are the Great King's, and that a Jouster may requisition anything belonging to the Great King within reason."
"Within reason! But this was not within reason!" Khefti shrilled, his voice awakening unpleasant echoes in the hall. "I have no other serf of that bloodline, nor can I obtain one! The assessor has said that I may no longer hold that house and land as a result, a house and land which I got lawfully, and which I have much improved! I have spent every groat of my savings improving it! Am I to lose the price of it and all of my investment as well? It is not reasonable to take this serf from me!"
The magistrate raised one eyebrow slowly. "It is the Great King's to say what is reasonable and what is not," he said in a cold voice. "And I am his voice in this matter."
Khefti did not take warning from that tone. "Then I call upon you, Magistrate, to judge accordingly!" Khefti demanded. "Every grain of barley, every groat in my possession, I have invested in this house and land to which the serf is bloodbound. I, who am the sole support of my aged and infirm mother! And I depend upon the labor of this serf, feeble-minded as he is, to tend to the work of my home, for I have not the means to hire servants or purchase slaves, with all my spare income bound up in that house. No one else would take him so stupid and clumsy that he is—
Vetch shook inwardly, certain that Khefti would outmaneuver Ari and Haraket. He'd have laughed, if he had not been so full of dread that a black weight hung over his heart. Aged and infirm mother, indeed—aged, yes, Khefti's mother was certainly that, but not infirm, and possessed of property of her own which she would not let Khefti "manage" for her. As for being the obedient son, had he not, in Vetch's hearing, referred to her as "the withered old bat" and prayed to the gods to take her before she drove him mad?
As for the rest of Khefti's lies and half truths, once they would have awakened a fire of rage in his heart. But not now. Now, he had something to lose, and there was room in him for nothing but terror.
"I swear upon my honor, that this serf was being badly neglected, Magistrate," Ari said, with a little bow of deference. "The proof of that lies in the scars upon his back—and the simple fact that in the short time that he has been with us, he has near-doubled his weight. All the serfs are, as you have rightly reminded us, the property of the Great King and as such may not be abused."
"Turn about, boy," the magistrate ordered distantly. Vetch dropped his mantle at his feet, and did so, turning away from Khefti. He dared not meet his former master's eyes, or he would not be able to stop his trembling. "It appears, from the number of scars upon this boy's back, that he has been punished far in excess of what I would deem reasonable. Also, I have no doubt that Jouster Ari is speaking the truth about his starved condition, which is also not reasonable. Have you anything to say about this, Potter Khefti?"
"The boy is a fool, Magistrate!" Khefti protested. "Almost an idiot! He would spoil good food rather than eat it, and the only way to correct him was to beat him! I tell you, no one else would take him when the time came to apportion the serfs to the land! He is as ignorant as a desert rat, and as stupid as a stone! He scarcely understands the simplest of orders!"
That—lying beast! Vetch's indignation almost overcame his fear as Khefti painted him to be utterly worthless, naturally brutish, wantonly foul, unfit to be in the company of anyone civilized. He made up an entire litany of things Vetch had supposedly done: objects broken, items spoiled, the trail of mischief and malicious ruin he supposedly left behind him. He wove his lies cunningly—
And above all, he had the advantage of being Tian, free, and a craftsman.
And as a serf, Vetch could not even speak for himself, in his own defense.
"Why, how very interesting that is—since he has become one of the most competent dragon boys in the Courts in the short time that he has been with us," Haraket exclaimed, when Khefti ran out of vile things to accuse Vetch of. Haraket's voice was even a little higher than usual, as if he was shocked by Khefti's statements.
"Furthermore, my dragon Kashet will not do without him, Magistrate," Ari added. "My dragon has never been so well tended. In fact, thanks to this one, I have been able to take over the full patrol of any ailing or incapacitated Jouster we might have, as well as my own, so well-tended Kashet is."
"Oh?" Vetch turned round about again at Haraket's prodding; the magistrate seemed interested now. "The skill of this dragon boy with his charge has relevance to this case. We must see this."
Ari smiled. "Vetch," he said, with calm confidence, "Please go and bring Kashet back to the Dragon Hall."
Vetch made an awkward little bow and scuttled off. But not before he overheard the magistrate say to Ari, "If that boy can budge a dragon in this weather, he must be the most remarkable dragon boy in the compound."
Vetch ran out into the rain, and wondered as he passed through the doors just how he was expected to get Kashet into the building, but at the moment, that hardly mattered. As long as he could get the dragon here, that was all he needed to do. His problem was going to be getting Kashet out of his hot wallow and into the cold rain. Kashet liked the rain as little as Vetch did, and if Kashet didn't care to budge, there wasn't going to be a great deal that Vetch could do about it.
If he couldn't manage to get Kashet to obey, would the case be lost? Would he have to go back to Khefti? He'd never had to ask Kashet to do something that the dragon really didn't want to do—until now.
His feet slapped on the wet floor of the corridor, splashing through little puddles standing here and there. The rain was not going to quit, and Kashet had made it very plain this morning that the dragon did not like the rain, at all. If Vetch's stomach had hurt before, it felt as if there was a cold rock in it now. His shoulders were so tight that he was afraid to turn his head too quickly, lest his neck lock in place. And when he reached Kashet's pen, the rain was still coming down as hard and as cold as ever, maybe harder, and the dragon had not moved since he'd left.
That was not a good sign. What if Kashet had gone torpid? What if he was so deeply asleep that nothing would wake him?
Sprinting to the front of the wallow where Kashet's head rested, he saw with relief that at least the dragon's eyes were open. So he wasn't asleep, and he wasn't torpid.
"Kashet!" he shouted, hearing his own voice going shrill with nervousness in his ears. "Kashet, up!"
Kashet raised his head and swiveled it down to stare at him, his huge eyes focused and wide. Vetch thought that the dragon looked incredulous, as if he could not believe that Vetch was ordering him out of his wallow. And he showed no signs of intending to obey the order.
"Kashet, up!" he repeated, feeling desperation eat at him. This could go badly so easily! What if he couldn't get the dragon to his feet? What would he do then? He felt his throat tighten and his stomach began knotting even more. "Please, Kashet!" he begged shamelessly, feeling his eyes sting as he tried not to blubber. "Please, Kashet! Stand!" He got an idea—if ever there was a time to see whether the dragon understood more than simple commands, now was the moment to test that hypotheses. "Ari, Kashet!" he cried, "We need to go to Ari! Up!"
Whether Kashet understood him, understood the desperation in his voice, or just elected to be obedient, Vetch couldn't tell. All that mattered was that after a moment that seemed to last a year, the dragon sighed, heaved himself out of the wallow with a groan, ducking his head to avoid the canvas awning, and stepped up onto the stone verge. He gave Vetch a sorrowful, long-suffering look as the first drop of rain hit his nose, and he tucked his wings in close to his body, the first sign, so Ari had said, of an unhappy dragon.