"You're sure?" Ari persisted. "You're certain that you're happy here, even though the boys aren't being friendly with you."
"Serfs," Vetch said, with so much unexpected bitterness that it surprised even him when it came out, "are not supposed to be happy."
"Serfs are not supposed to be treated like chattel," Ari said, with surprising gentleness. "They are involuntary war captives, by no fault of their own. And to me, that means that, within the limit of what I can do, any serfs under my orders are supposed to be happy."
Vetch bit back the things he might have said, because Ari deserved none of them. "I haven't been happier than I am here since my father died," he said instead.
"That is not precisely a recommendation," the Jouster replied dryly.
"Well, then—I'm not likelier to get happier," Vetch said firmly. But in a sudden burst of inspiration, he added, "And all I have to do is think about Khefti on his knees, wailing like a baby over a stolen honey cake, to make me very happy."
As he hoped, Ari laughed, and threw up his hands, acknowledging that Vetch had the right of it. "Well enough. It's no bad thing to have true justice delivered to you by a magistrate with no interest in seeing you get it. If you are content, then I suppose I must keep my own opinions to myself."
Then he left Vetch alone with his thoughts, which was a great relief to Vetch.
Over the past weeks, Ari had somehow managed to coax all of Vetch's life story from him—what there was of it, that is. It hadn't all come out at once; more in bits and pieces, the story of the day that the Tian soldiers came and the death of Kiron coming out last of all.
Perhaps it was easier because when Ari put questions to Vetch, instead of the other way around, it was in the evenings, when Ari came to bask in the heat of the sand wallow before going back to his rooms to sleep. It was always dark, there was usually rain coming down on the canvas awnings, drowning out the sounds from beyond the immediate vicinity of the pen. He would pet Kashet, who was like a great cat in the way he liked being scratched and caressed when he was feeling sleepy. There, in the darkness, Ari was hardly more than a shadow, and halfway across the pen; he never offered to approach Vetch or his sleeping pallet. It was Vetch who would come to sit next to the Jouster, if he chose. It was unreal, as if Vetch was talking to a ghost, or as if he was asleep and talking in a dream.
It was at those moments when Ari would say things that would leave Vetch wondering and thinking long after he had left. Sometimes it was news. Ari preferred to tell Vetch things that were bad news for any Altans before Vetch heard about them in a taunt from one of the other boys. That a tax collector had been murdered in some occupied village, and Altan men and boys had been crippled or even killed outright as the soldiers tried to find out who did it. That another village had been taken, had resisted, and been razed to the ground. That a well had been poisoned, and all of the villagers made to drink the water afterward, to ferret out the one who had done it by seeing who was too afraid to drink…
The Tian response to revolt was to try to make it too expensive for Altans under occupation to be willing to hazard it again. That the ploy wasn't working seemed to have escaped them utterly.
"No one seems to have worked out that your people have nothing left to lose," Ari had said, only last night, "And that is a position you never want to put someone in. When you've nothing left to lose, there's no reason not to try whatever you can to win something back. The Heyksin learned that lesson from us, to their cost. I find it difficult to understand why we have not made the connection for ourselves."
Vetch thought about that all during his chores, and wondered just what he might have tried out of desperation, if he'd still been under Khefti, and was older. Probably just about anything, for nothing short of death could have been worse than the conditions he'd been living under.
Maybe that was why the other boys would have nothing to do with him. Under their taunts, they were afraid. They didn't know what he might do; they didn't realize that there wasn't a chance that he would jeopardize what he had here. He was worse than a wild dragon to them, unpredictable and possibly dangerous.
In a way, that cheered him up a little, and yet, for some reason he could not understand, it also made him—sad.
"I've been doing some reading in the law scrolls," Ari said that night, with the great delicacy he always used when he was going to talk about Vetch's past, "Perhaps a bit dry, but it seemed to me that I ought to make certain what protections the law provides you, given what your former master attempted to try. It seems that there are laws about the Altan farmers—that there are treaties, that we can't just come in and confiscate land unless there's proof that the landowner in question fought against us or harbors and gives protection to enemy fighters."
"Those laws didn't protect my father," Vetch replied bitterly.
"And it doesn't sound as if they are protecting anyone else either."
"Well, you know, if I were someone unscrupulous and I wanted a rich farm in a recently-annexed territory," Ari said, after a long silence. "I believe that I would bribe the Commander of Hundreds to send out some Captain that was a friend of mine to investigate farms and farmers on newly-won lands. And I believe I'd tell that friend that it would be to his advantage if, on one particular farm, there happened to be an incident. After all, if a farmer flies into a rage and attacks the Captain of Ten in full view of his own men, well… at that point the law doesn't protect him, and his lands are clearly going to be legally confiscated."
"I suppose," was all Vetch replied, feeling the all-too-familiar knot in his stomach. Then Kashet gave him a reason to change the subject to a more comfortable one, by making a peculiar, hollow whistle in his throat, a mournful sound that made both of them jump. "Why does he do that?" Vetch asked.
"I think," Ari replied, as an answering whistle came from the next occupied pen, "it's so that they all know where each of the dragons in the flock are, even at night when they're asleep. Ah, Vetch, speaking of knowing where someone is, I won't be coming tomorrow afternoon, but I'd like you to come clean my quarters anyway. I'm going into the Mefis markets to get a few things. It won't be long before the rains stop, the Flood comes and goes, and we have to go back on full duty."
Ari didn't said anything more on the subject of the laws regarding farms in conquered land, but that had left Vetch wide awake and staring at the stars of Nofret's Robe long into the night. It made sense; it made hideous sense. And, in a curious way, it settled his mind, for if this was the true answer, it wouldn't have mattered how hard Kiron tried to keep his temper when the soldiers came. No matter what happened, the whole scene had been scripted beforehand. No matter how reasonable he had tried to be, it was fore-ordained that Vetch's father would be forced into a position where he would have to attack the officer. The provocation would have gone on until the desired result was achieved.