Smiled benevolently at Ari and Haraket—then turned the smile on Khefti. But when he did so, the smile was—less benevolent. Vetch might, if he'd been asked to describe it, call it "vindictive." And it came to him in that moment that the magistrate had taken more of a dislike to Khefti than Vetch could have ever thought possible, that he would not, would never, exceed the bounds of justice and the law, but when justice and the law handed him a means to deliver Khefti a blow, he was not above taking joy in the fact that it had done so.
"Of course we cannot allow a tala field to fail," he said, in so smooth a voice that not even the finest cream could have been smoother. "Nor can we deprive you of the investment you made to sustain you in your age. Not when there is a simple solution available to us."
He stepped back a pace, and held up his little whip. "Therefore, in the name of the Great King, I decree that there shall be a transfer of attachment. This serf is no longer bound to the house and land of his bloodline, and Khefti the brick maker now owns these properties outright, to do with as he pleases."
Khefti was not given time to react to this, for the magistrate followed this pronouncement with another.
"And since he has declared he cannot sustain his tala field without the labor of the serf, in the name of the Great King, I bind this same serf boy to the tala field formerly owned by Khefti the brick maker, and take this property into the hands of the Great King's overseers, to be administered by them on behalf of the Great King and his Jousters." The magistrate's smile widened as Khefti's cry of pleasure turned to a gasp of loss and dismay, and Vetch was reminded irresistibly of a crocodile…
A crocodile that has just swallowed a large and particularly tasty meal. "The Great King has simple serfs in plenty to tend this field, and it will be efficient for the tala to come directly into the hands of the Great King rather than through an intermediary."
Efficient? Hah! It means the tala will come to the Great King for nothing, save only the labor of a serf or slave! Vetch was dazzled by the beauty of it all; the scribe had surely told the magistrate that Khefti's tala field was—as simple property—worth less than the house and land stolen from Vetch's family. So Khefti could not even protest that he was being cheated—he now owned that house and garden, rather than merely holding them, a right which could have been revoked at any time. He could sell them at a profit, he could do anything with them that he chose. But the value of the tala that had come and would come in the future from that tiny field would far exceed that of the property now given to him, and Khefti very well knew it. There would be no more duck on Khefti's table, no more palm wine, no more little luxuries. And the Great King would have the yield of one more tala field without the need to pay for it.
"And meanwhile," the magistrate concluded, "this serf, who clearly cannot be spared, will be permanently assigned to the Jouster's Compound in the service of Jouster Ari and his dragon."
Khefti whimpered, and dropped to his knees, as the magistrate moved his whip out from his chest, until his arm was completely outstretched, in the ritual motion that signified that the judgment had been passed and there was no use in protesting it. "So let it be written," he intoned. "So let it be done."
Ari and Haraket bowed as the magistrate turned to the side and strode out of the hall, his scribe in close attendance. Khefti remained where he was, his face a study in tragedy; Ari signaled to Vetch with a sideways nod of his head, and he and Vetch turned and moved out of the hall again, with Kashet pacing happily between them. The dragon seemed to understand that something good had just happened, and that it was due to something he had done. He arched his neck, and his eyes sparkled; he earned his tail high and his wings half-furled over his shoulders.
Vetch was nearly beside himself with joy. No one could possibly have devised a more perfect revenge! Why, this could be the manifestation of Vetch's own curse! Surely Khefti's food would be as thistles in his mouth, and his belly cramp as if it were pierced with thorns on a daily basis! All of his own ploys had been turned as weapons against him! He had lost, lost the income from the tala field that kept him in luxuries, lost the services of Vetch which had cost him nothing (and now would probably have to hire a servant or buy a slave to take care of the things that Vetch used to), lost the tala field itself, and would have to look upon it every single day as the serfs or slaves of the Great King tended it in Vetch's place! And all because of the words out of his very own mouth, because of his own actions! Vetch skipped along beside Kashet, feeling as if it was he, and not the dragon, that had the wings.
"Well, are you satisfied?" Ari asked, when they were several corridors away, amusement in his voice.
"Yes!" was all that Vetch could get out around the happiness that tightened his chest.
"Good." Ari patted Kashet's shoulder. "It's nearly time for Kashet's last feeding. Get him a basket of hearts, will you?"
And with that, he left from the two of them, heading back toward his own quarters in the pouring rain. Kashet hesitated, looking after him for a moment.
"Dinner, Kashet," Vetch reminded the dragon, soothingly. That was all it took. Once again, he had to run to keep up. But it was a run that he was happy to make.
Ari did not come to the pen that night—not that Vetch blamed him, for the rain continued to come down until long after darkness fell, and it would have been a miserable journey. Vetch fell asleep on his pallet in Kashet's wallow, with the dragon an arm's length away, both of them basking in the warmth. But the next day, although the skies did not clear very much, the rain stopped, and Ari arrived in the afternoon.
The Jousters still did not fly, for it was all too possible for them to come to grief in the uncertain winds around the storms, or to be struck by lightning. So Ari arrived after Kashet's second feeding, wrapped in his woolen mantle against the cold, and sat down to bury his feet in the hot sand.
"This is better than any brazier," he said contentedly. "I always spend a lot of time here with Kashet in the rains."
He looked over to the far end of the wallow, where Vetch's pallet still lay, and nodded with approval. "Very smart. My last dragon boy was too afraid of Kashet to move his bed where it was warmer; I could never understand that. If the dignity of a Jouster permitted it, I'd sleep here every night of the winter, and not in my quarters. Every rainy season I find myself regretting that I am a Jouster, and not tending my hatchling anymore." He turned his gaze toward Vetch and smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid I have to ask you to go tidy my rooms while I'm here of an afternoon. Otherwise Te-Velethat will be angry with you for shirking your duties, and the other Jousters will be angry with me for not insisting that you do them."
Vetch read a world of implications in those few words—as he was probably meant to. The others would, of course, have heard all about Khefti and the magistrate. Initially, of course, they would have been outraged that a mere brick maker dared to set himself against a Jouster, and they would have been pleased at Khefti's thorough trouncing. But then, once they'd had a chance to mull it all over, some of them would be sure that this incident would "spoil" Vetch, or that Ari was overindulging him. Bad enough in a free Tian boy—but not to be thought of in a serf. Anyone in the compound who had their doubts about Ari's choice of dragon boy would be watching Vetch as a falcon watched a bird, and they would be just as ready to pounce on any suspicion of poor performance.