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

that. Maybe they felt they couldn’t change, but knew that, in choosing me, they’d selected someone who wouldn’t put up with it, and that I’d do what I have.

I hope they thought that. For their sakes.

The slaves filed in, and we all stood religiously in proper awe.

And the Dice chugged and spun. And stopped.

Now was the moment.

I walked over and examined the Dice with care. Then I hesitated in thought. Then I went to the three old books. I rustled about in them, peering, shaking my head. I frowned. Pompously I spoke.

The slaves wrote everything down.

There was one difference. I gave them the numbers and the names, so they didn’t have to look them up in the boxes. I’d chosen these numbers and names earlier. The slaves didn’t argue.

Now I can’t even recall all the things I said. Or can I? Claidi’s Law …

One man had to go and buy all the badly made pots some woman had been making, and tell her they were fantastic. And another man had to go and light all the candles in his house, and then ask all his friends to dinner. And then they had to ask him back.

I told a woman she must fall in love, I remember that. And six separate families I told to dress their children in loose clothes, and then play with them.

I told two men to leave the City and buy plants, and some animals, and bring them back and let people see and look after them. And another couple to get organized a way of making gardens and orchards.

Two or three were ordered to find something really funny and laugh at it.

Not that brilliant, I admit. But the Law that sunset was no more stupid than it had been before. And it might not do so much harm.

No one challenged me. The slaves went sloping off with the orders, and when they were gone, I shut the door of the Room, again, and finished my work.

Seems to me, I’ll often dream about it. Carrying all those black boxes to the braziers and tipping in all the cards with names and numbers, and watching them burn so brightly, and then vanish for ever.

Or maybe I’ll dream more about all the pages I tore, every single one, from the precious books, the only ones in the City – as Ironel had kept on telling me. Page after page of tough parchment, which sometimes burned with a weird brown flame.

Sparks flew up to the ceiling, like Argul’s magic, or the Peshambans’ CLOCK.

My arms and back ached. My throat was sore and my eyes smarting from smoke.

I was hungry too. Although not very.

Finally, it was finished. And then I did the very last thing.

I took a burning wick in its holder out of one of the lamps, and carried it over to the Dice. And carefully and thoroughly, I burned off every number painted on them. Until each of the sixteen sides was just a smudge. They could spin all they liked. It wouldn’t mean a thing.

Then I burned a message in the black wall, burned it so it went white, and was easy to see and hard to get rid of.

It said:

This is the Law of the Wolf Tower: There is to be no MORE Law.

Under which I wrote my name: Claidissa Star.

Then I thought, WHAT HAVE I DONE???

But it was too late. So I picked up my gold bag with this book in it, and ten ink pencils and pen-things I’d stolen from the Tower, left the Room, and the other room, and walked down the corridor. My slaves were at the end as always, and the guard in white with the rifle. I had the feeling they’d all been asleep.

It was full night. The windows were black. But I could see stars over the City.

I knew the way to the nearest lifter. The slaves and guard padded with me. Actually, there were seven slaves now. Increased, no doubt, because I’d read the Dice.

‘I think I’ll take a quick walk, before the midnight Law,’ I chattily told them. So we all piled in the lifter and down we jumbled to the ground floor.

When we got to the quite small door by which I usually went out, some odd sounds were ringing over the City.

The slaves didn’t do anything, but the guard took firm hold of his rifle.

‘It’s all right,’ I said to him. ‘It’s only music. And someone singing.’

Had I told someone to sing? Probably.

Elsewhere – barking – dogs? I’d never known there were dogs here. And then laughter, quite a lot of it.

Many windows seemed alight. Or brighter, warmer. Something.

I said loudly to the seven slaves, ‘You stay there, please. Sit down. You should relax.’ And they sat in a row on a bench by the door. Then I said to the guard, ‘I’ve always so admired that rifle. May I look at it?’ And the fool gawped at me, and then handed the rifle to me. I was WP, wasn’t I. I could have what I wanted.

The rifle wasn’t with me for long, though. I turned and gave it to Argul, who was now standing there just beyond the doorway, as arranged.

‘You took your time, Claidibaabaa.’

‘I warned you. It took ages.’

‘You’re ready now?’

‘Yes.’

Argul’s disguise was gone. He looked – there wasn’t time to look.

Argul pushed the guard quite gently back into the Wolf Tower. The guard seemed convinced he’d wake up in a minute.

Until Argul shut the door on him.

Ro and Mehmed were already dragging me on to a horse – difficult in the armoured City dress – but I made it. (And the dress split.) ‘Sirree?’ I whispered, ‘Sirree, you are Sirreee—’ And Sirree blew down her velvet nose at me.

Then Argul was also up on his horse, and we were riding, so fast, like the night itself, all made of black horses, racing.

I looked back once. The Tower door was still shut. Nothing seemed to be happening there.

And as we galloped, I glimpsed those