Sepik ordered the Koluwaians and the six young Yatsill to gather in a group. While they were doing so, I stepped over to him and said, “Mr. Sepik, my companion and I were transported here from Koluwai. Do you come from that island?”
“No. I am from a neighbouring island,” he replied. “I was sailing to Koluwai to trade when a storm appeared over my boat. I was sucked into it and awoke here.”
“How long ago was that?”
“I was just a boy.”
He ushered the group away, back in the direction we’d come, and I returned to Clarissa’s side.
The prime minister transferred his attention to the three new Aristocrats. “Hallo, chaps, what’re your names?”
“Lord Prosper Possibly, Prime Minister,” the first replied.
“Baroness Bellslant Jangle,” said the second.
“Earl Nesting Beardgrow, sir,” the third responded.
“Bloody excellent!” Brittleback exclaimed. “You go off with Colonel Spearjab and he’ll sort out estates for you.”
He received three nods of acquiescence.
Spearjab waved at me and said, “Cheery-bye, old thing!” then, “Toodle-pip, Miss Clarissa! Humph! Harrumph! What!” before leading his wards away.
The prime minister shouted after him, “Stop off at a tailor shop, Colonel! Have yourself and the nippers kitted out!”
He next addressed the remaining Aristocrats. “That goes for the rest of you, too. Clothes, please! Clothes! Can’t have you running around with bare shell on display! By the Saviour’s Eyes, it’s positively indecent!” He gestured toward the Ptall’kor. “And take this bloody thing back to its pasture, would you?”
The Yatsill named Sir Gracious Whipstripes stepped forward and said, “I regret to inform you, sir, that Tokula Pathamay was killed by an Amu’utu. He declared his name. We brought his remains back with us.”
“Blast it!” Brittleback exclaimed. “We can ill-afford the loss. Very well, make a detour, would you, and cast his remains into Phenadoor with all due ceremony. At least he’s gained that which is denied the rest of us, Saviour be praised!”
Whipstripes nodded and, with his colleagues, reboarded the Ptall’kor.
As the living vessel departed, Mademoiselle Clattersmash said, “If there’s nothing else, sir, I shall depart. I feel a wee bit out of sorts. Perhaps a Dar’sayn meditation will help. I shall go to the Temple of Magicians.”
“Out of sorts, old fruit? Probably exhaustion. The journey to the Shrouded Mountains is a bloody demanding one. Off you pop, then, Mademoiselle.”
She gave an awkward bob and went on her way. Lord Brittleback clapped his hands in satisfaction. He then spoke to Clarissa and me. “Well now! Your physical structure is a mite different from the other Servants’. Taller. Paler. Why is that?”
Clarissa found her voice and answered. “Because we aren’t Koluwaians, sir. Our origins lie elsewhere.”
“Humph! How odd! Well, let us not tarry here, hey? Parliament awaits! Don’t be concerned—they’ll ask you a lot of bloody questions, for certain, but I won’t allow the session to trundle on forever. You’ll be clothed, fed, watered, and housed in good measure. Come along! Come along! In we bloody well go!”
He ushered us up the steps. As I ascended, I again became aware of the heavier gravity. Clarissa felt it, too. “Phew!” she gasped as we reached the top. She stopped, turned, and surveyed the city that was fast growing around us. “I feel like I’m dreaming. It looks as if a crazed architect is re-creating London.”
“I can understand why Kata is feeling uneasy,” I noted. “It must be very unsettling for someone who’s only ever lived in the Koluwaian fashion.”
We walked behind him, past a Yatsill in the uniform of a concierge—though with the addition of a brightly decorated hedgehog-faced mask—through tall doors and into a high vaulted hallway. Its floor was inset with a colourful mosaic of irregularly shaped ceramic tiles. Wooden scaffolding had been erected against its walls, and far overhead, platforms stretched from one side of the space to the other, close to the ceiling. A Yatsill was up there, painting a bewildering mural.
Oil lamps cast a complex web of shadows around us as we proceeded along the corridor. The click-clack of Lord Brittleback’s feet echoed loudly, as did those of the various other Yatsill we saw hurrying back and forth between arched doorways that gave access to rooms to the right and left of us.
“There’s so much to bloody organise!” the prime minister declared. “Social and economic policies, regulations and mandates, infrastructure and administration, industry and leisure, this and that, one thing and another, whatchamacallits and thingamajigs.”
We stopped in front of another set of doors, lofty and narrow.