Selot confirmed it. “We wanted to see if your illustrious citizens would have pleasure in our show. Considering the warm welcome we received, we have decided to request a small space to entice both big and small. We know that market day requires payment to occupy space in the square.” The official grimaced as he weighed him up. He cited an exorbitant sum.
“That will be fifty coins.”
Selot raised an eyebrow. “We saw the market regulations on the bulletin board,” he attempted. “With permission, sir, for the space we require, eight coins ought to be enough.”
This wretch knew how to read, the man thought. In a kingdom where most of its very large population were illiterate, it was just his luck to find one who could read.
“That’s not for new arrivals. I do not know you. There are others who might ask me and would be willing to pay much more. It’s fifty coins.” And forty-five goes into my pocket he thought as he finished up. It was as if he had spoken out loud to the two Vetems.
“Excuse me, sir. The regulation seems very clear and does not make any mention of price that can be varied based on one or more requests. The first to ask pays the fixed price unless there is a pre-emptive right, but that does not seem to be the case for the space we have requested.” The official was getting nervous. It didn’t go down well at all that this boy was putting his authority to the test and above all, his illicit gains, of which he felt he had every right to enjoy as a man in his position of power. To hear those damned rules being declared by a clown without any fixed abode was intolerable.
“You are making me lose my patience. That’s the way it is and if you don’t like it, move along. And swiftly, or else I’ll start thinking you’re violating civil authority and you’ll be in the clink by tonight.” Selot was elaborating a plan that would resolve the problem diplomatically. Marrhit on the other hand had lost his patience a long time ago. He pushed Selot aside with a gesture of annoyance and stood squarely in front of the man. The dignitary seemed to be spellbound.
“Yes...of course,” he stuttered. “As I said, there will be no cost for the space. Yes, of course. No fee. The space is yours.” The man went away lost in thought, not even wondering why he had conceded free market space without making any extra money. There was sure to be a good reason, only now he couldn’t quite remember what it was.
“That’s not right,” Selot protested.
“What he did was not right either,” Marrhit responded in a whisper, so as not to be overheard.
“That’s not a good excuse for having privileged treatment.”
Marrhit repeated the statement by mimicking Selot’s voice in a childlike manner. “Aren’t you happy? I didn’t kill him!”
Selot opened his eyes wide and let it go.
“Come on, let’s get a move on,” Marrhit ended.
They prepared a very respectable stage and at the first sign of a good crowd, they began their show.
“Remember,” Marrhit warned him, “bring the officials, the academics, guards, potentates, high ranking clergy, to the front row. The show began.
Within a short time, everyone had been drawn in by the performances of the artists. Marrhit juggled nine flaming torches in the air, creating dynamic and complex shapes above him. He moved to the center of the stage, almost dancing, carrying out dizzying acts of acrobatics. Selot was just as gob smacked as the rest. It was a formidable show and fatally attractive. Selot moved through the crowds to find the type of person they were searching for. After supplying his brother with swords and knives for the next act, he approached a few army recruits who had been charmed along with the rest of the crowd, and who were by now very rapt in the spectacle. Marrhit’s act left everyone breathless: he walked on a tightrope suspended higher than the height of two men, threw the blades up into the air, and let them to fall towards him pointed ends first. The weapons fell in the cases he had tied around his waist, with graceful, precise movements. The slightest distraction would have been enough to wound him, but the artist never lost his laughing expression. Selot invited those with their military badges to come forward, and anyone else that might be dressed or might hold themselves like civil or military potentates. He made sweeping, ceremonious movements to let them pass through the crowd. None of them refused, feeling it was their right to receive privileged treatment. Some of them recognized and greeted one another in affected manner, all the while commenting on the exceptional skill of the artist. The show was almost at its end. Selot got ready for the last act. Now it was his turn. As his brother jumped down from the tightrope with an acrobatic turn, he went to center stage. He did a handstand on a chair that was about as tall as a man; he grabbed hold of a table that was a span in width, and balanced it on his feet. He tried to assume a perfectly vertical position, as they had rehearsed the day before. This part of the show required precision timing, as Marrhit had just launched six knives in the air as high as he could. Selot had positioned himself just in time: the first knife was already on its descending parabola, followed shortly after by another five, at close intervals. The moment left everyone breathless, their eyes glued to Selot and the knives falling upon him. At that moment, Marrhit was standing in front of the first row of spectators. He was but a step away from them. He was the only one present who had his back to the artist on the chair. No one realized that a falcon was a short distance from its prey. In the spellbound pupils of the spectators, he read memories, acquaintances, emotions, weaknesses and unspeakable secrets. He cataloged each one, from each of them. In that brief moment, when the blades were raining down on the table that Selot had balanced on his feet, it was enough time for him to do it. When he had finished, Selot stayed balanced on one hand and with the other, grabbed the table with the knives embedded in it and leaped down from the chair. Marrhit came back into the center, taking front stage alongside his brother. They both bowed low to the clapping public, who were delirious for the excellent exhibition they had just witnessed. Selot never thought his brother would bow before anyone, but receiving praise for his brilliance didn’t seem to bother him at all, and besides it was all part of the act.
Marrhit turned his head towards Selot and quietly whispered:
“You weren’t still during the handstand. You’re lucky I had you use such a big table. This exercise would normally have a board only one inch wide. You would be dead. You’re useless.”
“You spoke about two knives, I counted six. I bet you really did want to kill me,” Selot murmured. In the meantime, he took another couple of bows in front of that never-ending applause.
“I needed more time. While you were doing your inane act, I was doing the work of a Vetem. But I can’t expect you to understand that. You’re the worst kind of stupid.”
Selot breathed in and stuck to the most important topic.
“Did you get what we need?”
“No. We haven’t got enough information. They were low level officials and knew nothing essential or meaningful.”
Selot was impressed by his brother’s capabilities. It was unimaginable to him that he might be able to dig into the souls of so many people. And in that ridiculously short amount of time it took while objects fell from a few meters high. He took up the bowl to collect the offers. Marrhit grabbed him by the wrist.
“Street artists never look at how much their spectators have given in donation. Do not even glance down at the bowl, nor the hands that hold the coins; not the bags from which they draw up their purses, nor the gestures made. So keep your eyes up, over the heads of the people. Smile. Thank them. Never give them the impression you are counting the money they hand over,” whispered Marrhit in the Uicic language so no one would hear them. Selot was speechless. Marrhit had no sense of ethics and he did not care for his own species, let alone that of mankind. It was completely illogical that he might have such elegant delicacy about something so simple. And yet, he had said it with such consideration, it almost bordered on emotional.
Selot saw he was somewhat tired. While he was collectin
g the offers, his brother went and threw his head under the refreshing fountain water. Then he sat down in a corner to rest. The exercises were exhausting for a man, but the physical challenge couldn’t possibly have anything to do with this slight fatigue of Marrhit’s. Selot had already seen him at training , and with respect to these circus shows, there really was no comparison. It must have to do with the intensity of using his Vetem powers. There had been too little time and too many minds to scan.
About an hour later, they started their second show, hoping this time their net would round up bigger fish.
Marrhit had a thick black blindfold and he invited a man from the public by way of gesturing to verify it was sufficiently dark. He then indicated that he should fit it to his eyes. Then he signaled to the man to see that it was tight around his head. Finally, he pointed to the audience to make him understand it was his job to ensure he couldn’t see a thing. The man checked there were no cracks though which he could peek, tightened just a little more, then guaranteed the public that the artist couldn’t see anything. Selot didn’t know this number; they hadn’t talked about it the afternoon before.
Marrhit took out four knives and he made as if to throw them up in the air. Selot gave him the sign to go ahead. The two of them began throwing the four knives between them, the most Selot had been able to manage the day before during practice. The audience was held rapt by the act because one of the artists was blindfolded. Many of those who had watched the first show had gathered round to be amazed once again. The crowd was so big by now that the rest of the square was empty and other stallholders could sell no wares. People climbed over one another on the stairs and on the walls to get a better view. Emotions and astonishment ran high, as the huge excitement grew.
Selot was observing Marrhit in order to receive instructions, because he didn’t know how to go on. His brother signaled to him to go to the wooden backdrop. Selot backed up until he was pressed against the boards of the set design, all the while exchanging knives with him.
“Now be perfectly still or this won’t work. Keep your eyes open. The audience won’t appreciate it if your eyes are closed,” Marrhit restricted himself to say under his breath, so that his words rested beneath the noise of the crowd. They made a few more simple throws with the knives. Selot had the distinct feeling that this banal exchange was only necessary for a blinded Marrhit to localize his precise position against the backdrop. That inkling made his skin crawl. At a certain point, Marrhit threw the blades into the air as high as the tower of the Palace, instead of passing them back to him. While the four knives were in flight, he picked another eight which he’d placed nearby, throwing those in the air too with perfect timing. There was an enthusiastic response from the public. Selot clenched his teeth. The knives began to fall. Marrhit caught them, and threw them one by one with impressive force directly at Selot, outlining the shape of his head on the wall it leaned against, with hardly any perceptible distance between the knives and his hair. A surreal silence fell on the square. The cracks which followed each knife throw were very violent and made the members of the public repeatedly jump. Many of them covered their eyes with their hands as they watched through their fingers. Many ladies turned the other way so they wouldn’t see; others closed their eyes shut tight. There were others who kept their eyes wide open, without breathing, almost certain they were witnessing some sort of bizarre execution.
Selot kept his eyes open, fixing on a point in the distance and staying absolutely motionless. He heard every terrible whistle and violent thud of the knives enter his brain and vibrate in his chest. It felt like it went on for an eternity. The blades slammed into the wood missing him by precious little. They were so close to his skin that it sizzled with friction. Marrhit was at his fifth knife when Selot’s teeth started chattering. The other seven darts were a tremendous agony of waiting. He fought hard to not jump. It was as if he were dying twelve times over.
At the end he remained immobile. He had to command his teeth and muscles to stop trembling, he couldn’t show himself to be visibly shocked; the audience wouldn’t like that. A silence loaded with amazement and horror gave him the time needed to get his breath back which he’d lost; he didn’t know when. When everybody realized he was alive and unharmed, there was a burst of excitement and relief. A thunderous applause rose up, and exaltation for an absolutely incredible performance. Selot finally closed his eyes, to regain his strength. He wriggled his way out of the metal outline that had framed his head perfectly. In doing so, he left a few strands of hair wedged between the knives and wood. The red lines along his cheeks, his ears, his temples and his neck, showed the visible outline of the precision with which the darts had been launched. There was a second round of exultant applause. He had yet to finish the act. He took out the twelve knives and handed them over to Marrhit with a semblance of a smile.
“Tell me you saw a little through the blindfold,” he asked, once he was near.
“Nothing at all,” Marrhit replied bemusedly. “I would never trick my public,” the brother whispered in return. It was very clear he had found a sadistic pleasure in making him suffer that way. Selot didn’t waste a moment to ask him why he hadn’t warned him of what would take place in the number. “We will never do this act again,” he said decisively, as Marrhit was laughing with evident satisfaction.
“Collect the donations,” he ordered, to put an end to the discussion, “and remember what I told you about how to receive it.”
“You are crazy, aren’t you?” Selot asked him. The only response Marrhit gave was an unsettling, radiant smile.
The audience was in ecstasy, and Marrhit was weighing up what they should do. Everyone was talking among themselves in the noble square of the city. He approached a great lady, escorted by two ladies in waiting and a substantial unit of body guards. Marrhit exchanged glances with her for only a second.
“The governor’s wife,” he whispered to Selot. He smiled persuasively. “She watched the first show too. She wants me in her bed,” he chirped excitedly. Selot looked at him, trying to bring rationality to the situation because his brother could not. Marrhit’s lucidity seemed to have temporarily gone on leave in light of this beautiful woman.
“Get her to invite us to court,” Selot suggested. “We will be very much at an advantage in our search for information there,” he concluded, trying to get a practical hold on the situation.
“That is the first good thing I’ve heard you say,” Marrhit agreed, who was only thinking of how to put into effect this amorous meeting.
The noblewoman gave a word to one of her ladies in waiting, who then referred it to the captain of her guards. It was he who approached Marrhit. The soldier hadn’t seen the exhibition, couldn’t stand gypsies or circus folk, festivities or public gatherings.
“The illustrious wife of the governor asks if you are staying in the city for the next few days.” Marrhit nodded, but said nothing. There was a moment of intense embarrassment, as the street artist had showed no sign of reverence in front of the nobility who stood before him. And furthermore, he held the glance of the wife of the governor! What impudence demonstrated by this nomadic scoundrel. The captain of the guards was about to intervene amid those scandalized exchanges between the ladies in waiting and the false offense of the noblewoman.
Selot stepped forward immediately with a deep bow to bring some semblance of normality to the scene. “Ladies, forgive my companion. He is a deaf mute. He has not understood your question and the lineage of your ladyship,” shooting a warning to his brother, begging him not to ruin it all. Marrhit raised in eyebrow and reluctantly took his eyes off the features of the wife of the governor. He acknowledged it with a movement of his head. It was thanks to the will of the others that turned it into a reverence more than a true sign of respect.
“This city has shown us such a benevolent welcome that we would like very much to enjoy it longer,” Selot went on to draw the attention upon himself. “We can offer our services of entertainme
nt at the palace privately. In this case, we would be able to exhibit special performances which are not possible on the disruptive and chaotic streets of a city. We work for a modest price and we satisfy...” There was no need to go on. Marrhit had delved into the minds of all present. Selot stopped talking. He let arms fall to his side and he turned his eyes upwards with a sigh of surrender. One of the ladies in waiting, with her absent stare, said:
“As my lady has ordered, please present yourselves at the eighth hour this night to entertain at the governor’s dinner and to bring cheer to his illustrious guests.”
The captain of the guards, freed at that moment from the spell, took up his authoritative role once more:
“Did you hear that clowns? I’ll call for you when it is opportune. Find yourselves ready at the front of the main door of the palace. Dare not be late.” At that point, Marrhit bowed theatrically. Selot saw that he was looking forward to what would come after the show. The noblewoman and her entourage went away.
“Did you force her or was it her own choice?” Selot asked.
“I enchanted her with my circus skills, and maybe I influenced her just a little, but she wanted it, she was dreaming of it. Perhaps her head may have refrained her desire and that would have been a shame; I only helped her decide what she already wanted...it’s a combination, it happens. What do you care? It coincides with the aims of the mission. Better than that!” Selot let it go without commenting. They packed up their little circus act and loaded everything swiftly onto the cart. They had managed to get what they were looking for. Selot resolved to tell his brother of a fear he had.
“Do you not suppose that conditioning the minds of so many people repeatedly could in some way render us traceable?” Marrhit exhaled. He hated the pertinence with which Selot brought forward his observations.
“Yes,” he admitted, irritated, “it is a possibility that after our visit too many people might talk and we don’t even want them thinking they made decisions for reasons unknown. It could be an evident trace for the Xàmvetems already alerted by the Congregation – but in this case, it will be worth it.” His tone did not allow for contradiction. The conversation was finished.
The Creed Page 15
