Old saddles, actually, with the leather cracking and going dry; evidently he wasn’t to be trusted yet with saddles that weren’t all but ruined.
“No one is using these at the moment,” Shobek said, as he piled four of them beside Vetch’s mat. “Clean and get these fit to repair, and then I’ll put you on Kashet’s spare harnesses.”
As Shobek instructed him, he was relieved to find that there was not much that was going to be difficult about this job. His first job was to clean the saddles, using some concoction in a pottery jar, his second, to oil, and try and revive the elderly leather by rubbing in a compound of wax and tallow, with precious myrrh added to give it fragrance.
And it was myrrh that his nose had detected, though he hadn’t recognized what it was at first, for its signature aroma had been mingled with the honey scent of wax and the heavy scent of the oil.
It wasn’t the hardest task he had ever had, by any stretch of the imagination. And although at this point, the hottest part of the day, anyone who wasn’t a servant was lying down in a cool room or trying to cool off by bathing in a pool, this wasn’t a
bad
job. He was sitting down; he was in a cool, dim room. The thick mud-brick walls kept the heat out, and the stone floor cooled things further. There was a certain sensuous pleasure in working with the leather, watching it slowly revive under his attentions, the fragrant myrrh soothing his senses. He knew what myrrh was, of course; on feast days even Khefti would get a cone of perfume scented with it or some other fragrance and wear it all day on top of his coarse, braided horsehair wig. The Tians loved perfumes and unguents, and someone who did not bathe at least twice daily and who smelled of grease and sweat as Khefti did was regarded with unconcealed disdain. So on festival days, in the hopes of mingling with his betters, Khefti would bathe like a concubine and lavish as much myrrh on himself as he could afford. Not that it did much good. Not all the perfume cones in the world could cover up the rancid scent of Khefti-the-Fat. . . .
There were other spices in the wax as well, though none as strong as the myrrh. Perhaps this was what gave the dragons their pleasant scent.
The saddles were not large or heavy, as Vetch already knew; nothing like the kind of bulky chair he would have envisioned for riding a dragon. Instead, they were a kind of thick pad of kapok-stuffed leather molded by time and use to the shape of a particular dragon’s shoulders, with straps and braces, handholds, carry pads and harness straps firmly sewn onto them. The ones in his charge were very old and much abused; stiff and dried out, the pale brown leather cut up here and there, the harnesses snapped, the sinew stitching torn loose, the stuffing coming out in places. The other boys were doing the skilled work, that of replacing harness straps and restitching and patching. All he had to do was to untangle straps, which were generally stiff and dried hard, then remove as many of the broken ones as he could, and get the leather clean and supple again.
It wasn’t easy work, cleaning these filthy saddles and harnesses, but compared to hauling water in the full sun and the
kamiseen
wind to nourish the
tala,
it was practically like having a holiday. For once, he wasn’t concentrating on the curse on Khefti, nor on not spilling a bucket. He found himself half entranced while he worked, thinking of nothing at all, merely listening to the other dragon boys chatter softly to one another. Evidently, so long as they got their quota of mending done and didn’t talk too loudly, their Overseer didn’t care if they gabbled away.
But then, they were all freeborn. Freeborn boys obviously had fewer constraints on their behavior, even when working at a task, than serfs. There were limits on how much they could be punished, and for what infractions; freeborn boys could leave an apprenticeship if their parents agreed, so a Master had better not beat them more often than their fathers did if he wanted to keep them. The more difficult the job they were apprenticed to, the more freedom they tended to have, so given how difficult the dragons were to work with, the dragon boys probably got away with a great deal.
Of Khefti’s apprentices, two were learning the skilled trade of the potter, the other four, the far-less-skilled task of the brick maker. The pottery apprentices lorded it over the other four, who got no relief even when Khefti took his daily nap. They had a canopy to work under; Khefti deemed that sufficient for their needs.
Vetch wondered, though, whether
dragon boy
counted as being an apprentice, or being a real job. Or were there degrees within the task—that you were the equivalent of an apprentice until you became an Overseer, or even a Jouster? There certainly weren’t any dragon boys over the age of fifteen or sixteen, not if he was any judge of ages.
This lot ignored his presence altogether, which suited him. They spoke of other boys, of their families, of what they planned to do this evening when the dragons slept and their duties were over. It astonished him, a little, to hear how very much they were allowed to do in their free time, for Khefti’s apprentices were permitted to leave their Master’s home only to go straight back to their own.
But the dragons didn’t fly by night. Perhaps they couldn’t. When the sun-god descended, and it grew cold, perhaps they slept. That would mean that there wasn’t much in the way of duties for a dragon-boy after sundown.
Certainly all of them had plans to enjoy themselves. Some of them planned to bathe in certain pools in the complex, some to fish by moonlight, and a favored few, older, and who actually had real money to spend, intended to visit a wine house outside the complex.
Then some of the talk turned to certain dragons and Jousters, and the nobles of the King’s court who had an interest in them.
“The next time Lord Seftu invites Kest-eman for a feast, I’m to come along,” boasted one, to the apparent envy of his peers.
“Lord Seftu!” exclaimed a boy with who should not have adopted the shaved-head style, for it made his exceedingly round head look like a grape on a slender stem. “They say he has acrobats
and
dancers
and
musicians at all of his feasts! And river horse, and bustard and sturgeon and honeyed dates stuffed with nuts—”
“And boating on his pleasure lake by moonlight,” chimed in another, enviously. “And every guest has a serving maid of his own.”
“He’s been to every practice,” the first boy said smugly. “And he’s won a great deal of money on Besere, thanks to what
I
told him. He told Besere that he wants to reward both of us.”
“On top of what he’s given you already?” exclaimed the round-headed boy. “Shekabis, when we’re done, can I touch you? Maybe some of that luck will rub off!”
Vetch learned massive amounts about the Jousters and their lives just by listening. The nobles, it seemed—some of them, anyway—found it entertaining to watch the jousting practices. They would wager on the Jousters as they practiced the skills that made them what they were, sometimes tipping the dragon boys for information on the health and temper of dragons and their riders. Now Vetch had at least one minor question answered. So that was where the boys were getting their money!
And—as he stretched his ears shamelessly to listen—he soon found that wasn’t the only way they got money to spend.
“Lady Heetah’s getting desperate. She gave me a whole silver piece to carry a message to Ari this morning,” one of the older boys said, with a sly grin for the others. Even Vetch knew what that meant. Ladies didn’t ask boys to carry messages to men unless they were in the midst of (or wanted to instigate) a love affair. It sounded as if this Lady Heetah was in the latter position.
“And did you?” asked the round-headed boy, with a lift of his lip that suggested that Lady Heetah was throwing away good money on a hopeless cause.
“I left it in his rooms, when I went to clean Abatnam’s.” The first boy shrugged. “Who’s to say if he even looked at it? Or cared, if he saw it. She should have learned better by now; she sent me on a fool’s errand, that one. But she pays well.”
“Besotted.” The second shook his head. “Stupid women. As well court the image of Ta-Roketh in the Temple of Kernak as Ari. Actually, you’d be better off courting the statue. You might get a miracle and the image might fill with the god and respond to your invitation.”
“That’s what Lesoth says,” another of the older boys nodded wisely. “Ari’s never paid attention to court ladies. Oh, he likes his women, well enough—he’s never even looked at a pretty boy—but the court ladies haven’t a chance with him. Paid night blossoms, yes; Ari is like any other man with them.”
One who had been silent until then rolled his eyes. “Like any other man? Like a Bull of Hamun, you mean! Lesoth says that Ari’s got a mighty reputation in Seles-teri’s wine shop! The dancing girls there all know
him
well!”
The others laughed knowingly, and Vetch gathered from that comment that “Seles-teri’s wine shop” was one of those where the dancing girls performed horizontally as well as vertically.
“But ladies,” the boy continued, shaking his head. “Ladies might as well throw their silver down a well as waste it on paying us to take love poems to Ari. Married or not, it doesn’t matter. He won’t so much as look at them, no matter how they fling themselves at him.”
“So they might as well give their silver to us as not,” a third put in, impudently. “It doesn’t hurt Ari, and a foolish woman can’t hold onto money anyway.
I’ll
carry love poems for them, aye, and even put them in his bed!”
A fourth snorted. “No more chance of that with the new boy around. It’s
him
who’ll get the silver now.”
But the second shook his head. “Na, na, the silver will stay in their purses, worse luck. You know they won’t trouble to bribe a serf, they’ll just order him to do what they want. Not that it’ll make any difference. Four years I’ve served Jouster Kelandek, and
he
says that Ari’s the smartest of the whole pack of Jousters. That Ari prefers paid women, because he can send them off when his pleasures are over, and no jealousies and weeping, after, and that if
he
had any sense, he’d follow Ari’s example, instead of getting entangled with spoiled cats.”
They seemed to have forgotten Vetch’s presence entirely—or else, because he was a serf, they paid no more heed to him than if he’d been a piece of furniture. Which was fine by Vetch. The more he could overhear about his new master, the better.
And the boys continued on in that vein, each one with another tidbit or two, about the ladies who had tried to attract Ari’s attentions, about the dancing girls and pleasure women (the higher-class ones, called “night blossoms”) that Ari had brought back to his rooms after an evening spent outside the compound or when a troupe was sent in by the Great King or the Vizier to entertain the Jousters as a reward. It was very soon apparent to Vetch, though, that despite all the innuendoes and sly hints, the other dragon boys knew little more about what happened in Ari’s quarters then than did the ladies who sought in vain for the Jouster’s favors. There was much speculation and very little substance in what they said.
It was also quite clear that this—the carrying of messages from ladies who sought the company of a Jouster—was the easiest source of some, if not all, of the dragon boys’ ready money. The messages were clandestine, of course. Those ladies that were married needed to take care that their lords and husbands didn’t find out that they fancied a Jouster. Those that were concubines needed to be nearly as careful, for though they might not have the position of wife, their lords would take it very much amiss to discover they were offering those favors to another which should have been reserved to their lord and master. Only the unmarried and unmated ladies could distribute their favors freely, and even then, care had to be taken that a jealous suitor or wrathful father did not get wind of a romance. The Jousters were a class apart, but that didn’t mean that parents of rank wanted a love affair going on with one. Jousters had no real wealth of their own unless it came to them from their fathers, no land, no property, nothing of substance to offer a wife and her family in the way of an alliance. Everything they enjoyed was provided by the King, and came back to the King if they died. They might, if they were notable fighters, survive long enough to get the Gold of Favor as well as the Gold of Honor, and perhaps be ennobled and be given a house and land. But given the nature of the way that they fought, defeat was usually fatal, and few lived to retire with honor.
All this, Vetch had already known; the Jousters were famous across the length and breadth of Tia, and if they weren’t individually public heroes, lionized and lauded whenever they set foot outside the compound, it was because the Great King wished them to be thought of as his personal force, much like the King’s Regiment, not as individuals. In the rigid hierarchy of Tian society, the Jousters were unique and occupied a niche that was only just short of ennobilization, had many of the material privileges of being noble, yet were utterly dependent on the King for those privileges.
It slowly dawned on Vetch that the Jousters were, in their way, no freer than he was. If he was tied to a piece of land,
they
were tied to the dragons. They could serve only the Great King, and all that they had, they owed to him. They actually owned very little, for most of what they had was also the Great King’s. And if they lived in great luxury, well, they paid for that in the risking of their lives every day.
As the others nattered on, Vetch gleaned some idea of just what that meant.
A lucky shot from below, or a particularly skilled marksman could bring a rider down. When dragons ventured too near the ground, they could be hurt, and when injured, not all the
tala
in the world would control them—and usually the first thing to go was the saddle and rider. Riders simply fell from the backs of their dragons all the time; sometimes in combat with the Jousters of Alta, but just as often in simple practice. The dragons did not always cooperate with their riders; sometimes riders were thrown, and sometimes there were midair collisions, in the course of which a Jouster could be thrown from his saddle.