Joust Read Online Free Page B

that made him gasp with pain.
    Once. Twice. Vetch squeezed his eyes shut, ducked his head further, stuffed both hands in his mouth and bit his knuckles, strangling his cries with his hands. Khefti never delivered fewer than a dozen blows even at the best of times, but sooner or later he had to see the Jouster, and then he would stop, if only to gape in shock. If Vetch could just hold on without fainting until his master realized they were not alone—
    But the third blow never came.
    Vetch risked a glance backward over his shoulder, and saw, with astonishment, that the Jouster had caught the wrist of Khefti’s whip hand and was holding it effortlessly at shoulder height. Never quick-witted, Khefti’s expression was frozen between the moment of rage when his hand had been caught and the dawning realization of just who and what had stopped him from beating his property.
    The Jouster’s helmet concealed most of his face. Vetch could not see enough to read his expression.
    But why had he stopped Khefti from striking?
    “The boy is not at fault,” the Jouster said, in a mild voice, “I took his bucket to quench my thirst. He could hardly take it away from me.”
    Vetch’s mouth dropped open with astonishment so great that the pain of his two stripes seemed to fade. The most he had hoped for was that Khefti would be too embarrassed to beat him in front of the Jouster, which would give Vetch a chance to explain himself. He had hardly thought the Jouster would take his part!
    Khefti went red-faced and spluttering, but what could he say? Nothing, of course; the Jousters were a kind of nobility, and certainly outranked a mere tala farmer, potter, and brick maker. Nor would he dare do anything further to Vetch while the Jouster was there, since the Jouster had so forcibly expressed his disapproval.
    Once he was gone, however, he would certainly extract a double dose of punishment out of Vetch, for having looked a fool in front of a Jouster. Unless—
    Unless the Jouster continued to speak with his master. Then, perhaps Vetch could slip away, get the bucket, and go back to his task again while Khefti was talking to the Jouster. If Khefti saw that Vetch had run back to his appointed labors at the very first moment possible, he might feel the beating he’d already given Vetch was enough. Vetch kept one eye on them both, and eased one foot down the stair.
    The dragon snorted again, and the Jouster looked up at it, then down at Khefti. “From the look of things,” he continued, in that same mild voice, “you’ve been abusing and neglecting the Great King’s property. This boy looks half starved, half beaten, and treated like a masterless cur. You do remember, don’t you, that serfs are the Great King’s property, and not yours? Or is it possible you had forgotten that little detail?”
    Khefti went from red to white, all the blood draining from his skin until he looked like an enormous damp, white grub.
    The Jouster turned his gaze from Khefti to Vetch. “I need a boy,” he said casually, as if it were no great importance to him. “And if you’re getting any amount of work from one that starved, he must be remarkable. I’ll have him.”
    Khefti’s jaw dropped. “But!” he protested. “But—but—”
    “ As you know, a Jouster can requisition any of the Great King’s property within reason, if it is to serve him and his dragon.” The Jouster shrugged. “One small boy—three-quarters starved—is certainly within reason. You will speak to the King’s assessor when he comes to see if the King will permit you to continue holding the land to which the boy was tied. Or, of course, you could see if there is some other member of his family available—but if there is, I suggest that you treat the new acquisition better than this one. The assessor’s eye will certainly be on you now.”
    He let go of Khefti’s wrist, and Khefti dropped to the ground, to lie there like a quivering, misshapen, unbaked loaf. “But—”