The towels were also warm and Neptarik dried himself quickly. He wrapped the towel around his middle and the others copied his example.
"Follow me, please." Siaba left the washroom and climbed one flight of stone steps. She pushed her way through a door, where she ushered the newcomers into what was clearly a store. A man leaned nonchalantly against the counter and eyed the sylphs with bored disinterest.
"Twenty more for the Mametain?" A smile twisted his mouth as he spoke to Siaba. "Infertiles first. You, drop that towel and step forward."
Each sylph was given two pairs of breeches, two tunics and one of those odd capes Neptarik had seen on some of the sylphs outside. He rubbed the strange material of the tunic and breeches, something he had never felt before. Pleasantly comfortable to touch, but also thin and very light in weight. Everybody also received a comb and facecloth. None of the tunics or capes had the red crown sewn into the breast.
"Right," said the man, briskly. "My name is Kurgan. Not Kurgan-ya or donenya, just Kurgan. There are regular kit inspections and trouble if you fail. To keep out of trouble, you bring anything with tears, rips or whatever's wrong, straight to me. It's not the end of the world; we'll swop the gear and you'll be spick and span again. But cleaning... cleaning's up to your good selves. Keep your kit clean and it won't let you down. Next."
Neptarik revised his opinion of Kurgan upwards several notches.
Once everybody was dressed, Siaba led them up another couple of flights of steps and outside.
"Farrier next," she threw over her shoulder.
Neptarik stiffened and his heart beat a little harder.
A farrier meant collaring. As they entered a small lean-to at one side of the stable, Neptarik knew. The smithy fires were cold, but a selection of the dull metal collars had already been laid out, locking pins in a box to one side, the hammer to knock them into place atop that.
As expected, the farrier was a blocky man, if shorter than the smiths Neptarik knew in the Vintner Army. Gentle hands with deft fingers fitted each collar, ensuring it was neither too loose nor too tight. Neptarik admitted that he barely felt the collar pin knocked in. For the first time, he wore something he could not remove himself.
He must remember that these people were enemies, but he liked those he had met so far. Except for Tektu. He could not get the measure of her; she made him uneasy.
Collaring done, Siaba led the newcomers back to the sylphs' tower, where a guide was assigned to each. The human scribe who had detailed guides had not expected so many new starters at once. More and more "volunteers" appeared at a run to take a new sylph in hand.
Siaba made all introductions, asking each new sylph her name. The other male newcomer was given a male guide, but Neptarik was introduced to a sad-eyed breeder.
"Mya, this is Neptarik." Siaba needed no prompt to remember his name. "If you will show him around please."
Mya glanced neutrally at Siaba, then nodded. She gave Neptarik an equally empty-eyed look.
"I am all yours," he said. He glanced quickly at the red crown sewn onto the breast of her tunic. Was it something to do with rank?
Mya smiled.
Pretty, thought Neptarik.
"Best offer so far this year," she replied. The smile disappeared and she was all seriousness again. "We will start on the walls."
Neptarik obediently followed Mya up the sylphs' tower. She showed him the kitchens and laundries. He learned that the rope lines from the gatehouse towers to the sylphs' tower were for sending heavy canvas bags directly to the laundry, instead of dragging them across the courtyard.
"The last Mametain thought of that one," she explained. "He saved a small fortune in laundry bags. Four sylphs had to drag bags across, and now it only needs one to hook bags to the line."
"Clever old Mametain," muttered Neptarik. "Is the hot water his invention, too?"
Mya smiled. "Not the water, that comes from springs, but he made sure it was piped everywhere for all to use instead of hauling buckets."
They continued up and Mya showed him the sylphs' dormitories. Neptarik relaxed as the familiar sinabra washed over him. Humans could never decide whether the sylphs' own smell was unpleasant or not – a fine opinion given the stink they emanated – but to Neptarik it at least felt homely.
Stood on the central curtain wall, the entire fortress was laid out to their view. Neptarik looked into the cobbled inner courtyard. A covered well was in the middle, beside a strange contraption that resembled a capstan. He pointed to it.
"For hauling cold water. Turning that, it takes an hour to pump water where it is needed. Beats carrying buckets all day. Last Mametain thought of that."
"Last Mametain thought of a lot."
Mya gave him a neutral look, unsure whether or not he mocked her.
Neptarik looked down at the slated roofs of the inner buildings. Workshops, storerooms, living quarters for the Mametain's personal guard, a smaller feasting hall for important visitors.
"The Mametain lives in the northeast tower," explained Mya, drawing it to his attention.
They then looked across the outer bailey.
"Great feasting hall is to the right, where we work most," said Mya. "The other big building is the stable, and the farrier is next to it."
There were more workshops, two armories and the gatehouse towers that housed the soldiers' barracks.
Neptarik noted everything.
"Mucking out the stables is easy," Mya was saying, "one corner has a chute that leads out of the castle for the old straw and stuff. The last Mametain thought of that one."
"Did you know the last Mametain?"
Mya shook her head. "Only been here less than a year."
Neptarik followed her into one of the towers and from there they followed the curtain wall around the castle. They walked above the inner bailey, which was as large as the outer bailey. The far curtain wall was higher than the others, so they had to climb a spiral stair after entering the next tower.
"This is the northeast tower." Mya spoke in a hushed whisper. "The Mametain lives here. We only go above this floor when tasked. Or invited."
They moved through the tower and onto the far curtain wall. Neptarik looked across to Taura and the opposite headland. Looking down, he could see the inflated bladders marking the channel that was the only safe way for ships. It passed almost directly alongside the castle.
Entering another tower they leaned against a wooden barrier. The stair beside them led down to the normal level of the curtain wall.
"Southeast tower," explained Mya. She nodded past the barrier. "This is the old Mametain's secret place."
Neptarik leaned against the barrier and looked down. The room covered the entire tower floor. Workbenches and desks were dotted all over; glass tubes and containers covered every one. Books and rolls of parchment were stuffed everywhere and shelves sagged under their weight. Two stained glass windows in the outer wall let in light and a doorway opposite showed the obvious way in. Another door was beneath him and he guessed the spiral stair led to that as well as the next wall walk.
His eyes flickered everywhere. He was vaguely minded of another man named Aylos, in another city, who would love to work in a place like this. Two shining golden-colored shields glistened on one wall.
"A laboratory," he murmured to himself.
Mya nodded. "Yes. The last Mametain was a very clever man. We must go down, as the next wall is lower."
Neptarik obediently followed. The corridor narrowed and curved here, as it followed the line of the laboratory. Just before they stepped out onto the seaward curtain wall, Mya indicated another door.
"You should see this."
The small room was bare, with only three rope pulls. Neptarik stared, quickly read the signs attached to each, and waited for his guide to explain what he had already read for himself. Difficult to remember that he was supposed to be illiterate.
"These connect to bells, all different. It uses buckets of water to sound the bell and when it is heard,
the guards on the other towers repeat it. This one is pulled for fire, this one when under attack. And this one can only be pulled if the castle must be evacuated."
"Evacuated?" echoed Neptarik.
Mya nodded. "The last Mametain tried some dangerous chemicks I am told, so these alarms were set up in case anything went badly wrong. They are tested once a week. At noon, on the second day. The bells sound different for fire, attack and get out. You will hear them soon."
"Interesting." Neptarik had never heard of such a system before.
Back on the curtain wall, Mya indicated the wheeled catapult beside her. "All refuse comes here and once a day, it is thrown to sea."
Neptarik inspected the trebuchet carefully, looking at the large bucket that swung free. He had never seen a war machines like this before and welcomed the opportunity to have a closer look at one. He glanced at the ocean, wrinkled by waves far below.
"Next is the south tower. It has dungeons at the bottom," said Mya. "They were for misbehaving servants, but they use them to hold other prisoners now, sometimes. If the evacuation alarm is sounded, even they are released."
"How humane."
"Do you take anything seriously?" Mya's eyes held his own.
"I take everything seriously," replied Neptarik. "But not too seriously."
Mya sniffed.
Neptarik's tour continued, with the outer bailey shown to him in some detail. The main business of Castle Beren was conducted here. The rooms beside the gate towers were the busiest: two workshops and two armories. The stables were populated with stableboys and the Masters-of-Horse, who between them cared for the carts and animals. Mucking out and polishing tack were duties that fell to sylphs.
More sylphs filled the great feasting hall, cleaning and polishing everything.
"A lot of work here," remarked Neptarik.
"A lot of sylphs to do it," replied Mya. "So long as it gets done, we are allowed free time."
"What can we do with free time?"
Mya smiled. "On free days we are allowed into the city. We can go anywhere in the outer bailey, we can rest in our dormitories, we can play games." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "The Mametain does not like it, but some of us join the card schools."
This sounded more like his thing. "You gamble?" asked Neptarik.
Mya gave a quick grin. "Sometimes," she admitted.
Neptarik looked around and saw some sylphs with the red crown. He gestured towards his own plain tunic. "Why do some have the crown and some not?"
Mya glanced at her own tunic. "You get the crown when no longer on probation," she replied.
"How do I get the brown fox instead?"
Mya went very still and she stared into the other sylph's eyes for a long time. He wondered what she was looking for.
She snorted. "Only the Mametain's personal sylph wears that," she replied.
That meant Tektu.
"Not even Siaba has that privilege," she continued.
"But Siaba is privileged?" he pressed.
Another sniff from his guide. "She is always polite," said Mya carefully, "but she is literate, and has many privileges. Tektu's favorite, too."
"I would like to learn more about Tektu," said Neptarik. "She –"
"Shall we continue?" Mya bared her teeth in a mirthless smile. "This way."
As he was shown the armories, where sylphs were expected to help keep weapons and armor clean, he wondered more and more why he was here. Might there be an innocent reason for the Mametain's large army? But those ships were in the harbor for a reason and obviously intended to carry the army somewhere. Besides, nobody built a huge army just for bluff.
But everything at the castle seemed normal. People were friendly and easy going and, more importantly, sylphs were allowed more freedom than he had supposed.
Even the collars on human slaves were probably down to tradition and foreign ways, rather than anything sinister.
Then he remembered the strange sylph, the only one he had seen wearing the brown fox. The one Mya seemed so reluctant to talk about.
"What is Tektu?" he asked.
Mya's eyes widened and her earpoints wilted. "It is best," she replied, "not to ask that question and pretend that she is one of us. She wears the brown fox, so she is very powerful. Let me show you where you are to sleep..."
Neptarik stopped listening. Despite outward appearances of normality, something here was definitely very wrong.
***
Verdin wandered around the city. He peered into shops, narrowly avoiding unnecessary expense several times, and stopped for alovak a good half dozen times. Towards noon, he enjoyed a meal at an inn he had not visited before. He did not want to stand out too much, or arrive at his destination too soon.
People packed the streets and he heard many accents foreign to Re Taura. There were even some he heard from home and he began to fear recognition. People looked content. Even beggars looked happy. As in every city, beggars knew more about what went on than anyone else. If they were content, there could be little wrong.
Yet something here jarred.
Another parade passed and he shook his head. These were paid for from tax money? Just entertainment, or a diversion?
Off-duty soldiers mixed with the crowds. But very few men Verdin's age wore civilian clothes. He was not unique, but certainly rare enough for people to stare. Men without uniforms either had completely gray hair or were too young to shave. Come to that, many of those in uniform were yet to see a razor.
Why were there were so many men under arms here, when Re Taura was quite obviously not at war?
At the fish market, sinabra hanging in the still air almost overwhelmed the smell of fish. A large number of salivating sylphs waited there and not all beggars, hoping for spare fish or the bits thrown away by wasteful humans.
Verdin went to the harbor, where he saw the ships and soldiers for himself. Neptarik had not exaggerated the numbers. It was not that he doubted the scout's word, but he would never get unused to sylphs doing tasks that should be left to humans.
He moved on before anybody questioned his presence and walked until he reached part of the harbor that was not built up. A gang of sylphs scoured the beach, scavenging for flotsam and jetsam, anything they might be able to sell or pass on. Others gathered huge armfuls of kelp, presumably for food, though Verdin doubted even hardy sylph stomachs enjoyed that bitter taste.
"Stuff's better dried out and used for arse-wiping," he muttered to himself. That might be the reason why they collected the kelp. Or for physicians. Wrinkling his nose, he moved back into the city.
Neptarik had reported he heard very little of interest from others' conversations and Verdin confirmed this for himself. Stares apart, he was all but ignored, and felt very alone.
After stopping for alovak again, the realization dawned that it was not easy to spend a whole day here. He should have brought Balnus for company and someone to talk to.
Even sitting in parks brought problems. Beggars came directly to him there. Humans demanded money or food, some of them quite intimidating. Verdin made to draw his dagger more than once to drive them away. He began to wish he had brought a sword, but that would stand out.
Sylph beggars sat on their heels and watched. Not so easily frightened away, aware that humans did not attack sylphs with daggers, they demanded nothing, but their patient stares were no less troubling for that, and Verdin gave up on the parks.
His frustration grew. From what he had seen, there was nothing to justify Marka or her allies attacking Re Taura. Also as Neptarik had intimated. Verdin wanted to find something – anything! – that the sylph had missed.
A suspicion that Re Taura worked with Marka's enemies, acting as part of a large pincer movement, was not proof. A large army did not always mean there was any intention to use it, if certainly indicative.
But he had come here to find the truth.
Re Taura might feel threatened by a resurgent Markan Empire. Its larger neighbor had used caj
olery and even threats in the past, but had never consumed it. The army might exist to deter the claimants from snaring Re Taura in their schemes and, if any claimant decided to take more direct action, it was ready to throw any invader back into the sea.
Perhaps the Mametain needed to counter residual instability after the old Mametain's overthrow. The new man's grip on power might not be as firm as it seemed. What better way to bring a people behind a Throne than to invent an enemy? Or pay for entertainment, or provide employment through public service?
And yet, and yet... Neptarik had sensed something was going on. He had overheard men discussing how many soldiers would fit into the ships. This army existed for one reason only; Fynn was right.
While thinking, he walked and reached the wealthy quarter of the city. People were still out, and sylphs scurried about their chores, but everybody looked better dressed and sylphs' collars were more likely to be silver than base metal. Buildings were larger here, better painted – if no less brightly – and well tended. Grass even grew along the center of the street, fenced off so no cart would mar its smooth surface, nor a hungry horse graze. Verdin was pleased to be not too shabbily clothed. Then, surely he would be shown back to the scruffier parts of town. Here, children played rather than worked.
Time dragged until, several hours later, Verdin stood outside The Green Knight, just as the spring day faded to dusk. Trap or not, he would order food once inside; it was always better to face whatever came with a full stomach. Forcing down tension, he pushed the door open and went inside.
***
Balnus held the borrowed spyglass (Verdin had no need for it in the city) to one eye and resisted the urge to hum as he swept it from one side to the other. Again, he marveled at the quality of the lens, something he grudgingly admitted Sandester could make well.
The soldiers were nearly finished for the day, and most had already left the training field, but he guessed two or three thousand still exercised. A sizeable army by any standard, and this was only one city. Neptarik had reported more troops in the city and on the ships at the quays.
He had watched the cart carrying his sylph to Castle Beren, and noted how the set of Neptarik's earpoints betrayed barely suppressed excitement. He hoped the lad would keep out of trouble. Perfectly capable of looking after himself, Balnus put his sylph out of mind and returned his attention to the scene before him.