Читать книгу First Test - Tamora Pierce, Tamora Pierce - Страница 10

The next morning Kel heard the chatter of birds. She crept over to her open window and peered outside. It was nearly dawn, with the barest touch of light colouring the sky. Before her was a small courtyard with a single bedraggled tree growing at its centre. On it perched house sparrows, drab in their russet brown and tan feathers, the males with stern black collars. Several birds pecked at the circle of earth around the tree. Kel watched them as the pearly air brightened. Poor things, she thought, they’re hungry.

In her clothespress she had stowed the last of the fruit-bread Mindelan’s cook had given her for the journey south. Kel retrieved it and broke it up into crumbs, then dumped it on the courtyard stones. She was watching the sparrows devour it when the first bell rang and someone rapped on her door. She opened it and said a cheerful good morning to the servant who stood there with a pitcher of hot water.

‘Good is as good does, Page Keladry,’ he said, his long face glum. He placed his burden on her desk. ‘I’m Gower. I’m to look after you.’ He began to sweep out the hearth as Kel took the water into her dressing room.

A new fire was laid when she returned to the main room, her face washed and her teeth clean. ‘If you’ve anything special you require, soap or cloths or such, tell me,’ Gower said sorrowfully. ‘Within reason, of course.’

Kel blinked at him. She’d never met anyone this gloomy. ‘Thank you, Gower,’ she replied, intimidated. ‘I don’t need anything just yet.’

‘Very good, miss,’ he said, then shook his head. ‘I mean, Page Keladry.’

She sighed with relief when he left, and hurried to dress.

Undiscouraged by Gower, she wished Neal a good morning when she found him in the mess hall. He looked at her through bleary eyes and mumbled, ‘There’s nothing good about it.’ Kel shook her head and ate breakfast in silence.

The day flew by. It began underground, where the palace stores were kept. A tailor took Kel’s measurements. Then his assistant dumped a load of garments into her arms. She got three sets of practice clothes, sturdy tan cotton and wool garments to be worn during the morning. She also received three changes of the pages’ formal uniform – red shirt and hose, gold tunic – to be worn in the afternoon and at royal gatherings. Shoes to match her formal gear were added; her family had supplied boots for riding and combat practice. Neal took the cloaks and coats she was given for cold weather.

Once she had stowed her things, Neal took her for another tour. They spent the morning inside, visiting the classrooms, libraries, indoor practice courts, and supply rooms like the pages’ armoury on the first level underground. After lunch, Neal took her to the outdoor practice courts and stables; the gardens, where she might wait on guests; and last of all, the royal menagerie. That night she dreamed the hooting calls of the howler monkeys from the Copper Isles and the chittering of brightly coloured finches.

The next day she woke not to the gaudy finches’ calls or the songs of Yamani birds, but to the friendly gossip of the courtyard sparrows. In hopes of seeing them again, she’d swiped a couple of rolls from the mess hall. Now she tore the rolls up and put the scraps outside the window for the birds.

As she finished, the bell rang. Gower rapped on her door as he’d done the day before, bringing hot water. Once he had cleaned the hearth and gone, Kel got dressed and ran to the mess hall. Her first day as a page had begun.

After breakfast, the pages flocked to one of the practice yards. Kel would take her first steps on the path to knighthood in these wood-fenced bare-earth rectangles and their adjoining equipment sheds. I’ll work hard, she promised herself. I’ll show everyone what girls can do.

Two Shang warriors, masters of unarmed combat, awaited the pages in the first yard. One of them sat on the fence, looking them over with pale, intelligent eyes. Her short-cropped tight grey curls framed a face that was dainty but weathered. She was clothed in undyed breeches and a draped, baggy jacket.

The other Shang warrior stood at the centre of the yard, his big hands braced on his hips. He was a tall Yamani, golden-skinned, with plump lips and a small nose. His black eyes were lively, particularly for a Yamani. His black hair was cropped short on the sides and longer on top. His shoulders were heavy under his undyed jacket. Both he and the woman wore soft, flexible cloth shoes.

‘For those who are new,’ he said, no trace of accent in his clear, mellow voice, ‘I am Hakuin Seastone, the Shang Horse. My colleague, who joined me this summer, is Eda Bell, the Shang Wildcat.’

‘Don’t go thinking you can bounce me all over the ground just because I look like somebody’s grandmother,’ the woman said dryly. ‘Some grandchildren need more raising than others, and I supply it.’ She grinned, showing very white teeth.

Kel saw the redheaded Merric swallow. She agreed: the Wildcat looked tough.

‘You older lads, pair up and go through the first drill,’ ordered Hakuin. ‘Grandmother here will keep an eye on you. As for you new ones …’ He beckoned them over to a corner of the yard. Once they stood before him, the man continued, ‘Your first and most important lesson is, learn how to fall. Slap the ground as you hit, and roll. Like this.’ He fell forward, using his arms to break his fall. The boys jumped; the sound and the puff of dust he raised made the fall appear more serious than it was.

The Horse got to his feet and held a hand out to blond Quinden. When the boy took it, he found himself soaring gently over Hakuin’s hip. Only after he landed did the boy remember to slap the ground.

‘You have to do that earlier, as you hit,’ said Hakuin gently, helping Quinden up. ‘Now.’ He beckoned to Kel and offered a hand.

She took it, meaning to let him throw her as he had Quinden, but the moment she felt his tug, six years of Yamani training took over. She turned, letting her back slide into the curve of his pulling arm as she gripped him with both hands and drew him over her right hip. He faltered, then steadied, and swept Kel’s feet from under her. She released his arm, then tucked and rolled forward as she hit the ground. She surged back up again and turned to face him, setting herself for the next attack.

He stood where she had left him, smiling wryly. Horrified, Kel laid her hands flat on her thighs and bowed. She expected a swat on the head or a bellow in her ear – Nariko, the emperor’s training master, had had no patience with people who didn’t complete a throw or counter a sweeping foot.

When no one swatted or bellowed, she looked up through her fringe. Everyone was staring at her.

Kel looked down again, wishing she could disappear.

‘See what happens when you get too comfortable, Hakuin?’ drawled the Wildcat. ‘Someone hands you a surprise. If you’d been a hair slower, she’d’ve tossed you.’

‘Isn’t it bad enough I am humbled, without you adding your copper to the sum, Eda?’ the Horse enquired. ‘Look at me, youngster,’ he ordered. When Kel obeyed, she saw Hakuin’s black eyes were dancing. ‘Someone has studied in the Yamani Islands.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she whispered.

‘Your teacher was old Nariko, the emperor’s training master, am I right? She always did like that throw. She drilled me in it so many times I wanted to toss her into a tree and leave her there.’

Kel nodded, hiding a smile.

Hakuin looked at the older pages. ‘I believe you were practising the first drill for the Wildcat?’ he asked mildly. Instantly there was a flurry of activity, patterns of kicks, throws, and punches. Hakuin turned back to Kel. ‘Come and show the other new ones how to fall. While they practise, we can see what else you know.’

‘Just what they taught the court ladies,’ Kel said. ‘Mostly counters to being grabbed or struck.’

‘You were with the embassy?’ he asked.

Kel nodded.

‘That explains everything.’ To the other new pages he said, ‘Watch how Keladry falls.’

They all stared at her with a combination of confusion and dislike. It occurred to her that she had done the very thing her brother had warned her against. The other pages thought she was showing off. She couldn’t help that now. The damage was done. She would just have to make sure that she didn’t repeat her mistake.

With a sigh, she toppled forward, as she had so often in the Islands, and smacked the ground.

When the next bell of the morning rang, they moved to another practice yard. A short black man in the maroon and beige uniform of the palace guard waited for them beside a barrel filled with long wooden staffs. Each of the pages selected one as he passed by.

‘I am Sergeant Obafem Ezeko,’ announced the uniformed black man in unaccented Common. ‘Formerly weapons instructor to the Imperial Guard of Carthak, now serving the crown of Tortall. Lord Wyldon and I will instruct you in the use of various weapons. Pair up. You new ones at this end of the line. Cleon of Kennan and Vinson of Genlith, come up here to demonstrate.’

Cleon was the big, redheaded boy who was Esmond of Nicoline’s sponsor. He went to stand beside the sergeant, spinning his staff idly in his hands. Vinson faced off with him. He was a bony, tall youth. Kel had seen him eating with the handsome Joren at supper and breakfast.

‘Show them a high block,’ instructed the sergeant. ‘Vinson defending, Cleon striking.’

Cleon pulled his staff back and swung it first up, then down. The blow he’d aimed would have struck Vinson on the head or collarbone if it had landed. Instead Vinson gripped his staff, his hands spread wide apart, and raised the weapon a few inches over his head. Cleon’s staff met his with a loud clack.

‘Observe the strike,’ the sergeant told them. ‘Again, Cleon.’ The big youth repeated the strike, moving slowly. Kel nodded, watching the way his hands shifted on the smooth wood as he lowered it to tap Vinson’s skull. From the way Vinson scowled at the bigger youth, Cleon’s tap was a little harder than necessary.

‘Your turn,’ barked Ezeko. He watched as the assembled pages did the strike. The newest boys were clumsy, although they should have had staff practice from their family men-at-arms. Kel was comfortable with the move. The only difference between this and the strike of a Yamani glaive, the weapon she knew best, was that she had no razor-sharp eighteen inches of steel at the end of her staff.

‘Repeat the high block, Vinson,’ ordered the sergeant. Everyone watched as Vinson moved his hands apart on the staff and thrust it hard into the air, stopping just three inches over his head. He angled the staff down on the right to shield his face as well as his head. The sergeant made everyone do the same movement. He then had Cleon and Vinson demonstrate the middle strike and block, which centred on the chest and belly, and the low combination, to attack and defend the legs. Each time he made the pages try the moves.

Once they had practised each movement, Ezeko had them stand in two lines. The newest pages were paired together. Neal, who was still new despite having been there during the spring and early summer, was partnered with Seaver of Tasride, the dark-haired, dark-eyed boy who looked as if he had a Bazhir ancestor. Kel was paired with redheaded Merric of Hollyrose. He was short, compact, and intent on their exercise. Kel licked her lips and settled the weapon in her hands.

‘Left line strikes; right line blocks,’ the sergeant told them. He walked along the double line of pages, checking everyone’s hold on the staffs. After he’d changed some boys’ grips and nodded approval for others, he stepped back. ‘To my count,’ he bellowed. ‘High! Middle! Low!’ Staffs clacked as the exercise began and wood met wood. ‘High! Middle! Low!’