Madam glided a hand along Wordless' healed jaw. He stared straight up at the white ceiling, the examining table hard beneath him. Pain shot up his face.
"You're clenching. Make an effort to relax," said Madam. Her fingers massaged and tingled then stopped. "I've cured as much as I can." She smiled down at him. "The scars make you look quite roguish. Sit up and tell me how you feel."
Wordless swung his legs over the side of the table. He stared down at the floor, the big dumb slave.
"There's no physical reason for you to remain silent. Your magic was no accident. Not that kind of magic. What's your House? Very high up," said Madam. Wordless examined the tiles. She gave a sigh of frustration. "What about your mother? She must be worried sick and grieving for you. I lost a son in the hita wars. They never found his body. It's hard."
What mother? thought Wordless. And Nanny's dead.
"Are you one of the disappeared? If there's more like you . . . Enslaved wizards. It's an abomination."
Wasn't an abomination a few weeks ago, thought Wordless.
"All right. When you're ready." She pulled open a drawer and brought out a small correction rod. Wordless froze. So much for her words. She would force him to speak. He slipped off the table and onto his knees, head bowed. I hate you. Die bitch. The angry magic words burned his throat as he swallowed them back. The fear consumed him.
"No, no. Oh, Gaia. Get off your knees," said Madam in a strained voice. "I'm going to remove your chip. Sit in my chair." Wordless stumbled up and sat. She took his arm. "Hold still. There it's deactivated." Madam rubbed a topical anaesthetic over his slave bump then placed the end of the rod over it. He flinched as the chip popped out. Madam placed a bandage over the wound. "Since I don't know who's behind this, I 'm reporting the death of a male slave. No one will check a respected witch and more unreported slaves and illegal citizens exist than the authorities know -- unregistered babies, extra untaxed slaves, out back settlers." She put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry. Please. Let me help you, young sir."
Wordless stood, sent her a glance and lunged out the open door, almost running over William in the hall.
William gave him a hard look. "Do up your overall," he said and stomped off down the hall.
Wordless pulled his sleeve up over his shoulder and buttoned his front. He sighed. When Martha had announced her pregnancy, William had cooled toward him. No more lad this, lad that. Though William had given up his room for them, insisting on sleeping in the bed by the fire. Wordless had almost spoken, but Martha had gotten into an argument with Reba and the two men ended up going out to the barn and leaving them to it.
William had warmed a bit the other day. They came in from chores to find Martha sitting in her chair with a hand on her swollen stomach. She smiled up at Wordless and drew his hand to her belly. He felt a movement beneath his hand and a laugh burst out of him.
"He laughed," said Dad with a chuckle.
"Yes," said Martha.
"That's my lad," William had said with a clap to his back.
Now the freeze had returned and Wordless had no idea what he had done. Was Martha having one of those pregnant women's moods? The bed squeaking last night? Or arthritis pain, nothing to do with him at all?
Wordless wandered back to the empty kitchen, poured himself the glass of milk recommended by Madam, stole a cookie from the tin and went out to the porch. He leaned against the back stone wall, sipping the milk and nibbling the cookie as he watched the two free citizens, sons of Matthew and Sons Cleaners, loading the laundry van. It hit him. Free like him. He smiled. The truck door slammed echoes into the silent morning, then the van hovered back from the clinic, tossing dust over the courtyard. They peeped their horn as they passed. He didn't respond, better they know him as the retard.
The screen door slammed. William stamped out without a glance in his direction, heading for the barn with the dogs following. Wordless slurped the last of his milk and tucked the remains of the cookie in the top front pocket of his overall. Martha slipped out of the door and noticed him watching William storm across the yard. She took a corner of her apron and wiped away his small milk moustache then caressed the damaged side of his face, pronouncing him beautiful despite the scars.
"Why don't you talk to Dad?" she said. "Then you'll find out what's bothering him."
Wordless checked the yard then whispered, "No."
"Why can't you tell us who you are?"
"I love you. The cure for a fool is a good woman." He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her.
"You and your funny sayings. Everyone should hear them."
"No." Wordless placed his hand on her stomach and whispered into her ear, "Have a rest this afternoon. For me and the baby. Reba does it without a qualm and she's long past recovering from her abortion."
"You're barely well yet you work through. But I'm the one who should rest. You take a rest. From sneaking Madam's magic discs," she said, to his surprise. "You think I don't know? That I wouldn't get curious and listen to the portable you left on the bureau. The one you keep in the cab when you do the combining? Watch."
She opened her palm and revealed a ball of light the size of a marble. He rushed his hand to smother it.
"It's too dangerous for you to show that," he said.
Martha laughed. The light vanished. Her voice held an invitation. "Take a break. Magic can't die. Come rest with me this afternoon." Wordless smothered her enticements with a kiss.
"Well it's nice to see my morning break's waiting," Reba's sarcastic voice floated on the breeze.
She flung the door open. Her crisp grey uniform revealed a figure unaffected by her quickly ended pregnancy. Unlike Martha who swelled with unstoppable life. Martha moved to pull away from Wordless. He held her close, and nibbled on her ear, making her grin.
"Why Wordless," simpered Reba with a pat to the hair swept up under her cap. Her large breasts rose with the movement. "I understand you're a free man now."
"Is this true?" said Martha. Wordless nodded.
"There's no guests today. I look forward to seeing you when you come for tea with Madam at four," said Reba.
Reba looking forward to seeing him instead of her usual barely hidden contempt? Wordless still remembered his blank look. He let Martha go with a final kiss to her neck and shambled off.
"You come and rest later," Martha called after him. He waved her words away.
"Snack?" said Reba.
"It's ready," Martha murmured looking at Wordless grinning from the entrance to the barn. She turned to look at Reba and swallowed a laugh. The word bitch, red as a whore's fingernails, red as Reba's fingernails, floated above her sister's head then dissolved.
William tinkered with the engine of the combine. Wordless entered the barn, unhooked the pitchfork from the wall and began to clean the stalls. They worked together with uneasy habit. Suddenly, the dam broke.
"Get out of here. You don't belong," yelled William. Wordless ignored him. "And stay out of my daughter's bed. You've done your dirty work and got her pregnant. Your silence doesn't fool me," William spat the words, "young sir. By the time Madam puts the ownership chip in the baby, you'll be long gone, returned to your place as a lord. Martha sobbing like her mother. Get out of here. How dare you hide out, playing at being a transpo. You and Madam sucking me right in." William strode to the field door and stared out, shaking with anger. "No wizard ends up on a transport ship. What do you know of it? Your fancy life, then what? A few naughty practical jokes so you hide out here to avoid a drubbing by your enemies."
Wordless's silence cracked. "Rot in the Pit of Hell," he shouted. "I did."
The pitchfork whizzed through the air, imbedding itself in the boards beside William's head. The handle vibrated back and forth, almost hitting him. Wordless rushed by, down the path to the copse. He jerked the ax from the stump, grabbed a large piece of wood, centered it on the stump and drove the ax into it. Up rose the log with the ax buried in it. Bang, bang down on the stump. Hate. Hate all of them. Rejecting him, leaving him, laughing at him, mocking him, beating him, torturing him, abusing him. All of them. Bam, bam, the log split in two. He picked up another and drove in the ax, his magic burning in his angry throat.
William stood in front of him. "I was wrong."
Wordless whacked through a stubborn knot. "Go to Hell." Black jagged words hissed into life, hate to hornets. They swarmed towards William frozen to his spot. Wordless gasped. The swarm drifted into autumn smoke and was gone.
Wordless split the log in two and threw the pieces at the wood pile. The pile tumbled apart. He squatted down beside it, his body shuddering, fumbling at the logs. His magic had almost killed.
He heard William blow out his tension and looked up to see him wiping a shaking hand across his brow. The sun passed behind a cloud and William shivered, drawing his jacket closer and zipping it up. Somewhere in the bush, a kracken shouted a sawtoothed laugh.
"The Pit of Hell. My poor lad. Oh Gaia," said William. "You have to understand. I couldn't find work. The young wizard said he could change my luck. The only luck he changed was his own. I couldn't pay. He took us to court. My son and I were forfeited as payment for the debts. My Michael was just a kid, fourteen. Like you when you arrived. I noticed right away.
"The trainers caught him stealing food. He was starving, you know how it is. They used him as an example. They murdered my son with the correction rod. In front of me. All my fault. I begged the trainers to torture me instead. They laughed. I couldn't even meet his terrified eyes as they strapped him down. The words above the door to the Pit burned into my mind. Abandon hope all ye who enter here. I don't know how I lived." William stopped, overcome with grief.
Wordless pressed his face against the wood pile and whispered, "I'll destroy them all." A nest of wasps buzzed deep inside the logs.
Wordless kissed Martha's sleeping cheek then placed a hand on her belly to feel the baby. It had decided on athletics while its mother slept. Little flutters moved under his hand. "I love you, magic mouse," he whispered, all pain forgotten. The stained glass words drifted over Martha's womb until a tiny vortex formed. The baby whooshed them inside. For a minute or two, tiny moving lights glowed through Martha's skin. Wordless smiled at his little family's powerful secret.
He rolled out of bed. Martha had hoped to put him to sleep but as usual he had ended up invigorated by the sex, gentle and careful to protect the baby, and she had drifted off. Wordless pulled on his overall and set off to clean the floors.
He pulled the scrubber to one end of the quiet main floor hall then murmured, "Ownerless but not rudderless, clean the floor." The machine set off by itself.
Wordless knew everyone napped, a complicated delivery had kept Madam and Gretchen up all night. He let himself into Madam's office, settled down at her computer and called up a set of senior school mathematics lessons. He worked his way through some revisions then onto the new lessons. Wordless wrestled with the equations for awhile but the vision of the black wasps descending on William kept pushing its way into his mind. He must learn how to control his magic.
"Come book," he murmured.
An ancient leathery tome lifted from the shelf, drifted across the room, settled on the desk and rustled open. Wordless leaned over the volume and turned the pages, searching through the spells and recommendations. An advanced book for the healer. All cures, nothing about what to do if something went wrong or the magic got a life of its own.
"Not many young wizards can do that trick, Your Highness," said Madam from the door. Wordless startled and slammed the book shut. "I've only ever seen it done to show great skill and learning to a petitioner. Never as something casual and everyday." She paused and raised an eyebrow. "Not to mention the scrubber that works by itself."
He dashed past her. "Scrubber finish in the hall. Come to me or not at all," he whispered under his breath. Tiny black words surrounded the machine. It rolled up to him and Wordless returned to buffing the floor, his face blank. Madam walked up to him and flicked the off switch. The cleaner whined to a stop.
"What a lovely rich, royal voice you have. You should use it more often, Prince Dante, Weaver of Words," said Madam, pleased with herself. "That's who you are, aren't you? It took some digging and a lot of guess work. You're big and blond. Could have been House of Grendel or LeVey, even Yaga."
Wordless stared at the sparkling floor. "I beg your forgiveness for entering your study, Madam. I won't do it again."
"But your face, especially that angry sullen look you've got right now. That did it. Pure Strega. Pure Mage. Pure hushed up scandal. Maybe a bargaining chip among the rival houses. We need to talk. Come back into the study," she said. He shook his head. "If not for yourself, then for Martha and the baby. I know all about her magic. I thought she had created the words of love painted on her walls. So dangerous for her. I admit it. I punished you to stop her uncontrolled magic.
"My second son got Martha's mother pregnant just before he was killed in the hita raids. I've pretended ignorance for years. You know the female concubine must be sterilized if a wizard wishes to have her. He crossed the illegal boundaries. Wanted to marry her, of all things. The truth would have meant disaster. And death for Ann and the baby. We bought William. He came to love Ann. The secret was kept." Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "And now we slip again." She guided him to back to his seat in the study.
"Leave Martha alone," said Wordless. The jagged words jumped between them but Madam waved a hand and they disappeared.
"You're the danger, not me. All these years my goal has been her protection," said Madam. She sighed."And then I bought you. Please. Think of her safety, her future. My queries may have already alerted someone. I can't believe no one searches for you. Not with your strength. How powerful are you?"
"No idea," said Wordless with a shrug.
"Don't toy with me," snapped Elizabeth.
"Pretty powerful, I guess." He stared down at the desk and ran a finger back and forth along the edge.
"Please, Your Highness, I'm not trying to grill you," pleaded Elizabeth. "This is important. What were your strengths and weaknesses when the examiners tested you? How broad and deep is your magic? Is it only verbal?"
"Don't call me that, I'm no prince. I didn't grow up in any palace. No one tested me." The old hurt ached. "And I'm not 'prenticed either, so don't bother to ask."
"Every wizard and witch are tested at puberty," said Elizabeth, exasperated. "Wordless, there's no reason to hide it. I'm on your side. I cured you. Can't you forgive and let me help you? I'm sure you're Prince Dante, bastard son of the Mage. Even though a small report lists you dead in a fire. I know it."
Wordless spent a long minute bridling his angry magic. "The Mage's Bastard. So What?"
"Your mother?"
Wordless shrugged.
"Come on."
"I don't know," he said, though he knew. "I lived with Nanny and she's dead. Sacred Heart of Adonis! Leave me alone. " The blood red curse pinged off a lamp, burning a scorch before it dissolved.
"This is what I mean," said Madam. "You need to learn to control yourself."
"I'm sure the rod will control me."
"That's what worries me. Your power in the wrong hands. Who can be trusted with it?"
"Not me. Looks like."
"With the proper teacher, you'd make a fine wise wizard," said Madam. She snorted. "Fine and wise, something new for the royal houses. Maybe that was the problem." She gave a sudden smile. "Enough of this sadness. Shall we get ready for the tea ceremony?"
Wordless sent her a slight, crooked grin. She still liked to dress him up and admire him. He touched his scarred face. Did all Masters make you feel this way? Half enraged, half wanting to please? He hated it.
The small tea house sat in the middle of a formal garden. A branch of the jaluma tree swayed in front of the single window. Thin black trim framed the shimmering silver and red autumn leaves. The single room was sparse beige with fibre mats. On the back wall, a scroll hung above a simple vase arrangement of three yellow chrysanthemums and a green trumpet stalk. The heater and the burning incense made the room warm and close.
Reba knelt beside a low lacquer table, setting out the warmer, tea pots, plates and cups. A two tier server on a second low table held small cucumber sandwiches, square wrapped sugar biscuits and petit fours. Wordless knew she kept sending curious glances towards him as he sat on his heels in front of the scroll, meditating on a blessed saying of St. Kore. She no doubt wondered why Madam had dressed him in a dark green wizard's robe.
He tried to stop his mind from heading back to the memories Madam had stirred up: scruffy boys pretending friendship and teaching him to drink, his waking up hung over in a dingy inn room with all his things stolen. He hadn't cared, fetching more shillings from the air, more of this alcohol that took away the pain and shyness. The net was gone. He could have a beer with William now. But Martha hated when her father got into his cups. And drink loosened the tongue. The magic words. No, better not.
Dante stopped the wandering and turned to repeating the phrase over and over, focusing on each word on the banner. The leaf yellows and withers when sundered from the plant.
The warmth and the repetitions made sleep prick at the back of his eyes. His toes cramped. He wondered if he would hit a higher plane or just nod off.
Behind him, the door slid aside and he heard the rustle of Madam's gown. " Every beautiful thing in its place," she murmured. Her hand rested on his shoulder. "Meditation will help you learn to focus."
She knelt beside him and they contemplated together before moving to the tea table and kneeling down across from each other. Reba served between. Wordless and Elizabeth bowed. Reba bowed to Madam then eyes lowered, lifted the server and presented it to her.
"Please serve His Royal Highness, Dante, first," said Elizabeth.
Reba revealed her excellent training. Not a ripple of surprise disturbed her placid features as the tray drifted to Dante. He reached out and her hand brushed his as she rotated the tray. Reba looked up at him with a tiny coquettish smile as Dante removed a wrapped cookie from the plate. His eyes flicked to the swell of breasts peeping from the V of her robe.
Dante admired the stamped pattern on the biscuit paper then unfolded it, his large hands oddly skilled at the delicate operation. He examined the cookie before giving a small smile at the thought of Martha's hands touching it. Touching him. Reba's perfume cloyed. His face became solemn. He broke off a small piece and chewed it. It passed the test, as always. He placed the biscuit on his plate and nodded. Reba served Madam who found her small cucumber sandwich satisfactory. Without missing a beat, the maidservant passed the tea implements to Dante instead of Madam. He examined and admired them before whisking the green tea slurry, adding the warm water and tipping the tea into the pot. He poured a small cup and presented it to Madam. Madam scrutinized the cup then the tea. She sipped and smiled. Perfection. They carried on examining and admiring each others exact actions for quite some time.
The tea pot drained, two biscuits, two tiny sandwiches eaten; Elizabeth turned to Reba and said, "Now it's time to listen to music."
Reba leaned over and opened her guitar case, showing more of her breasts, lifted the guitar onto her lap and tuned it. Dante and Elizabeth exchanged a glance of appreciation at the delicate beauty of her actions. Reba arranged her gown, revealing a flash of milk white ankle then peered up at Dante through long dark lashes with a look that smoldered.
"What does Your Highness wish?" she asked. He flushed and she smirked. He choked back a wave of anger.
"Your voice has a melodic tone. Perhaps Your Highness knows a song to sing?" asked Elizabeth.
"Yes, sing for us, young sir. I would love to hear from you," simpered Reba.
"I haven't sung in years," he murmured. He had never noticed before how lilting his accent sounded.
"Please." Madam asked instead of ordered, surprising him.
Slightly nervous, he cleared his throat and sang an experimental scale. A deep rich baritone filled the room. The last time he had sung, his new voice broke with the occasional embarrassing squeak. Dante grinned and began to sing.
Flinging cruel words and taunting me,
She flaunted her beauty for all to see.
Surface attracts the momentary lust
But hardness of heart turns love to dust.
"Do you know the tune? It's a popular folk song. The next verse talks about the kind true love," said Dante.
"Yes," said Reba, her eyes slightly narrowed. Hypocritical bitch. Score one for him. She started her accompaniment. Elizabeth smiled as she listened.
"The enchanting prince singing to the wayward beauty. A delightful picture," she said.
Wordless irritated Martha by rattling pot lids, sniffing the steam and sneaking a peek in the oven. He grabbed her around her waist and planted a kiss on her cheek. The incense of the tea room clung to him as it had to Reba when she came for Madam's dinner. Reba, so pleased to report that she knew everything about Wordless. Martha knew nothing. Nothing at all. Reba had left triumphant, carrying Madam's dinner like a badge of prestige.
"You'll hurt the baby," Martha said, pulling away from him. "Keep your germs out of the clinic supper. Your tea's on the table. I hope black with milk will suit, Your Highness."
Wordless folded down into his wooden chair and glumly examined the empty sides of his saucer.
"You don't need a cookie. You've all ready had one from the looks of the server," said Martha.
She checked the dinner then instead of sitting across from him, thudded down in her chair. They sat in a heavy silence, Wordless' tea untouched.
Martha exploded. "You sang. All this time pretending that you only talked to me. You sang to Reba and you told her and Madam who you were. I'm not important enough to know your big secret. I'm only some girl you knocked up. Dad's right. Nobles don't care about slaves except to use us."
She huddled into the chair. Wordless stood up and walked to the door. He raised his arm against the door jam and bowed his head into it. Martha crossed her arms. She wouldn't feel any sympathy.
"What are you going to do? Buy Reba as your concubine? Me making the cookies while the two of you play?" She knew as soon as it popped from her mouth, that it was cruel and unfair. His knuckles turned white against the wood. No, he wouldn't squeeze an apology from her. " I just don't understand why. I thought you loved me and Magic Mouse. But then you tell Madam and Reba, people I thought you didn't like, something so important. And I hear nothing from you. Not even that you were free this morning. I had to hear that from Reba, too."
Wordless rose and walked over to the sink, pulled out the bowl from underneath, filled it with warm water, stirred in the salts and set a bar of her lavender soap in the bottom. He placed the bowl in front of her chair then stripped to the waist.
"Don't," said Martha.
She pushed her feet under the chair. Wordless knelt in front of her. Martha stared down at the bare back bending over the bowl. Two fiery scar trees protested his innocence. Martha bit her lip and gently touched the branches. Wordless grabbed a reluctant foot, pulled off her slipper, and began to wash.
"My name is Dante," he said in a voice so soft that she had to strain to hear. "I'm the Mage's Bastard. I didn't live in a palace or anything like that. I grew up in a little cottage with Nanny. Isolated in the middle of nowhere." He paused. "She's dead. They said suicide. I don't who was my mother. I've always hoped Nanny was. Like The Bodhisattva Mo, him floating to the Queen in a basket but his real mother being his nanny. Or like you . . ." The back door banged and Dad came in. "I mean. Madam guessed who I was. I didn't tell her or Reba. I was going to tell you I was free." He started on her other foot. Wordless dried her feet and began to massage. He looked up at her with big, sad, gray eyes.
"I love you, Martha," he said. She burst into tears.
Perfumed roses and lavender fell from the air, filling her lap and scattering petals across his curls as he worked. She picked them out and stroked his hair.
"I love you too, Wordless," she whispered.
"It's Dante."
"I love you Dante."
"I love you Martha."
Illuminated letters and flowers swirled down like a first blanket of snow. Martha jumped up, almost spilling the water.
"You'll smother me with your love," she shrieked. Dad laughed.
Dante stood up and hugged her. They kissed in the midst of a petal storm.