It had been that way when he’d been here as well.
The teachers mostly watched in silence, but occasionally berated or mocked someone who was playing badly.
He remembered that all too well too.
There was another difference from when he’d been here. They’d all worn identical “uniforms” of Imperial red with the purple wolf-head on the left breast of the coat.
Now, though, they wore long, open robes of Imperial red with the wolf-head, but beneath the robes they wore their own clothing. And as he took in the degrees of splendor or lack of it in that clothing, he understood why this had changed. Being able to display the wealth of their families was one more way in which the hostages were divided against each other. If you were poor, the only way to escape abuse was to be big and strong, or to be quick and clever and know how to cheat. If you were rich, everyone around you would know it.
Most of the hostages did not look at him. Most of the few who did, did so with alarm, as if they suspected he was somehow heralding some new punishment. Only one or two, the youngest, would glance at him with pleading, as if begging him to take them away from this.
If only he could . . .
Not now. Not yet.
He’d finally had enough, and moved back to the Gate at the back of the room, with Star and Beltran in silent, faithful attendance. Not one teacher had asked why he was here. It took him a moment to figure out why.
They don’t know why I’ve come, and they don’t dare ask. They’re as ruled by fear as the hostages are. They’re afraid if they challenge me, I’ll bring about some sort of punishment for them.
He couldn’t take another moment. He held up his bracelet to the Gate and said, “The Copper Apartment.”
When they were back in the antechamber, he ground his teeth and carefully schooled his voice to sound neutral. “Well. A lot has certainly changed.”
Star froze a moment.
He waited.
Star unfroze. “It is safe to speak, my Lord,” the Doll said.
“I hate that place! I hate it. I absolutely despise it. It’s—it’s sabotaging their futures, all of them. I hate it,” Kordas raged. “Did you see it? The—they were making children into things. Into—into functions.”
Beltran backed away. He was pale, and he’d never seen Kordas like this before. “Maybe it isn’t—permanent,” he offered, but received only a glare from the Duke.
Kordas was stripping his jacket off, as if it was a fetter he was desperate to escape. “It has to stop,” the Duke panted. “It has to stop. It is wrong. It’s heartless. But the point of an Empire isn’t to be kind, is it? It’s to maintain itself. Did you see? By all gods great and small, the Empire is a living thing now. It’s turning everyone into its bones and belly. This is Hell. This is Hell.” He stood sweating, shaking, and then upturned a pitcher of water over his head, soaking his hair and the storm shirt, before shaking his head like a dog casting rain off. “It has to stop. It has to be stopped,” he trailed off, wiping his face and beard down with both hands.
Nobody said anything for a long few minutes, and Rose retrieved hand towels from the bathroom for Kordas to dry off.
“We need a signal for when it’s safe and not safe,” Beltran hesitantly offered, to break the tension. “To—to be—expressive.”
“Hah!” Kordas replied, immediately. “Diplomacy at its finest, right there, Beltran. The Duke of Valdemar, cursing and raging, and you call it being expressive.”
“I’m trying, my Lord. I’ve never seen you like this,” Beltran replied, rubbing his own face in sympathy.
Kordas exhaled strongly and admitted, “He’s right, though. We all need to know when it’s safe to . . . be expressive, without . . . waking the beast.”
“We three are honored that you would place us in a position of privilege, Lord, by counting us in your number. What sort of signal would you prefer, my Lord?” Star asked.
“Something nonverbal. Something subtle.” He thought about it for a moment. “Have you any good ideas?”
“I know,” Beltran spoke up. “Star, are you permitted to wear anything a human tells you to wear?”
Star nodded.
“All right, then. Wait one moment and I’ll be back.” Beltran went into his room and came back a moment later. In his hand was a small enameled pin of the crest of Valdemar. “You’re—cloth,” he said, awkwardly. “Can I pin this on you? And not hurt you?”
“Yes, Herald Beltran,” Star told him.
“All right. I’m going to pin it on the back of your right hand. When it’s safe to speak—when we’re in private, that is—leave it uncovered by your left. When it’s not, cover it up.”
“But what if this one needs both hands for a task?” Star asked logically.
“When you’re doing a task we’ll just assume it’s not safe,” Beltran replied, and looked to Kordas for confirmation.
“Sound plan to me,” said Kordas, and Star held out its right hand for Beltran to pin the crest on. Rose and Clover followed suit, and immediately displayed the badges.
“You have many questions, my Lord,” said Star.
Kordas sat on one of the uncomfortable copper chairs, cooling down. “How long have the hostages been wearing those robes instead of the old uniforms?”
“Five years, my Lord. The parents objected to the uniforms, as it ‘made them all equal, and they could not tell who was superior to whom.’ That was when the change was made.” Star paused. “The Emperor was angered at first by the objection, then suddenly became pleased. We do not know why.”
I can guess.
“Are the oldest hostages only schooled in the Three Games?” he asked next.
“Yes, my Lord. It is thought by that time this is all they need learn.”
“Are the Dolls permitted to protect hostages from other hostages?” That had been what had saved him—Hakkon’s presence. Not even a Prince wanted to chance the ire of someone who looked like Hakkon.
He was expecting a negative. But the answer surprised him. “Yes, in a sense, my Lord,” Star said. “If the aggression is merely verbal, we may do nothing. But if the aggression becomes physical, we are ordered to restrain both parties until a human teacher may be summoned. The human teacher determines the suitable punishment and administers it.”
For a moment he was absolutely astonished that such a reasonable thing was possible. But then he got suspicious.
“How often does a teacher judge in favor of a younger or lower-ranked hostage?” he asked.