Law of the Wolf Tower: The Claidi Journals Book 1 by Tanith Lee (black authors fiction txt) 📕

There were long tables laid with such pretty food, wonderful colours and designs, and fruits I’d never seen before. And there were glass jugs in ice of wine or juice or mixtures of both, shining like rubies and topaz and jade.

Dagger slipped through the crowd. She wore green and a Peshamban mask shaped like a dragonfly.

‘It’s all free,’ she breathed. ‘Cos of the festival.’

She grabbed a plate and piled it with food, far more than I’ve ever seen her eat, and darted off.

But by then the centre of the square was clearing. There was to be dancing. Apparently all this tonight was done in the square, to honour the CLOCK.

One of the bandit girls, Toy, pulled me.

‘Come on, Claidi.’

‘But I can’t dance.’

‘Haven’t we spent hours teaching you, Claidibaa?’

‘But that was Hulta dances—’ I feebly protested.

‘There’ll be Hulta dances. They play all dances for all the visitors. And we showed you three Peshamban dances too.’ ‘But—’ ‘Hulta have come here before, in the past, remember?’

I was sure now I wouldn’t remember a step, would make a fool of myself.

But somewhere a band was tuning up, and I recognized for a second a phrase from a tune the girls had sung that afternoon in the Travellers’ Rest.

I found myself in the square’s centre in a line of laughing girls and women, between Teil and Toy.

A glance along the line made me feel happy, because everyone was shining and glittering and laughing. Peshamban girls with glass or real jewels sewn all over their clothes, and masks of cats and butterflies. Bandit girls clinking with coins. Women from all sorts of places I didn’t know, hadn’t ever known existed. At least I had Nemian to thank for this. For this freedom, this finding out. (Incidentally where was …?)

You’ve guessed, haven’t you. I was avoiding looking at the line of men opposite. It wasn’t going to matter too much, this time. You changed partners three times in this particular dance.

Even so.

The band was over there, under that fringed awning. Stringed instruments and flutes, what looked like a cello, and two drums. And two silver sheets that were suddenly clashed together, and the dance had begun.

I looked up into the amused and rather (already) drunk face of Ro.

A surge of relief and disappointment.

Too late to think of anything else.

We were off.

Ro and I swept round each other, joined hands, and galloped sideways, just as everyone else did.

Then we swung in a circle with hands still joined.

Whoops and shouts.

We parted, stamped and, hands on hips, raised our heads like proud horses.

Now all the women joined hands, and we did light tapping steps on the spot, while the men looked on haughtily.

Then we stood back and clapped to the rhythm of the dance, and the men pretend-fought, in pairs.

On Ro’s right was Badger, who now accidentally hit Ro on the nose. (This is not meant to happen.)

Ro dropped back, spluttering, and crashed into the man on his left – Mehmed – and Mehmed’s pretend foe.

‘Hey – you tronker—’

Stumbling, Mehmed trod on another man’s foot. This man wasn’t bandit or Peshamban. His head was shaved except where hair, tied in a horse’s tail, flared from the back. And he gave a roar and smacked his fist, painted blue, into Mehmed’s face.

Next second three or four men were rolling on the ground, swearing and kicking, with two bandit women, and a girl, also shaven and horse-tailed, trying to separate and/or hit-them-with-a-nasty-looking metal-studded sash.

The Hulta girls, used to brawls, started laughing. But some of the Peshambans down the line looked upset. The dance had come all undone, though the band was still playing.

Next moment a space opened in the crowd, just the way the wind had blown on the plain through all the flowers.

I’d seen more of the watching crystals that turned, up on buildings. They did watch, for now through the parting of people and orange trees, came marching six of the clockwork doll-guards from the gates.

‘Oops,’ said Teil.

Toy said, gloomily, ‘Now we’re for it.’

To my horror I noted two of the doll-guards had rifles pointed right at us all.

Then another voice shouted loudly as a trumpet. I didn’t recognize it, I’d never heard it before. It sounded made of brass.

But instantly somehow Ro and Mehmed scrambled up out of the muddle, leaving the horsetail man and another one flailing on the ground.

The doll-guards had reached us.

From out of a clockwork chest, a harsh unhuman voice ordered:

‘Cease fighting.’

‘I have,’ said Ro, annoyed.

‘Shut up,’ muttered Mehmed, who had a blue smear on his cheek from the horsetail man’s fist.

However, the horsetail man, and the other one, rolled apart, and sprang to their feet. They stared in alarm at the guards.

A silence settled, as the band gave up.

The deadly doll now demanded something – the same something, I think, over and over, in what seemed many different languages. Which sounded very frightening. Finally ‘Are you at peace now?’ demanded the deadly doll.

‘Sure, yes, completely. Love everybody, eh Mehm?’

‘Love ’em, yeah.’

The horsetail man, and the other one, had already mumbled something at other points in the language performance. Doubtless also saying how they loved everyone.

Then a man in scarlet and gold moved in between us and the rifles. He was breathing fast from running down the line of dancers. And from shouting.

‘A misunderstanding,’ he said to the dolls with rifles and axes. ‘I sincerely apologize. It won’t happen again.’

I hadn’t recognized his voice in the battle-bellow which stopped Ro and Mehmed as nothing else could. Now too it was different – like poured cream.

And the rifles were being lowered.

‘Do no harm in Peshamba,’ said the doll. ‘Peshamba does no harm to you.’

The weirdest thing. Some of the oranges on the orange trees flew open, and little coloured clockwork birds flew out of them, and up into the lamplight, to circle round and round. Just a coincidence, possibly.

I was taken aback anyway. But the guards had turned around and were marching neatly away again.

The horsetail girl fetched the horsetail