hall. The ornate floor was a stone mosaic with the Masterâs eagle at its centre. The hall itself was circular with gilded arches running round it like coronal summits. Each keystone glistened red.
âYou should go and see Captain Belaal,â Ladomer told him. âHeâs been looking for you this morning.â
Eamon nodded, remembering all too well the stern, dark eyes that had commanded him the night before. âIs he in his office?â
âI imagine so; heâs just finished inspecting some of the new recruits. They always come in in droves just after a swearing. Like bees to a hive. And what a hive!â Ladomer turned his grinning face upwards and Eamon saw it illuminated by the glow of the hall. Following his gaze Eamon noticed for the first time the shadowy spaces between the arches of the crown.
âIâll see you later, Ladomer,â he said.
His friend smiled. âOf course. I look forward to hearing all about your posting, Ensign Goodman!â Ladomer added, and waved as he departed.
Left alone in the middle of the hall, Eamon tried to compose himself. With all the talk of Hands and wearing black and Dunthruik and lieutenantships, he found that he wasnât thinking straight. He had only just become an ensign; it was far too soon to be thinking about anything else.
Besides which, he would need all of his wits when it came to dealing with Captain Belaal.
With Belaalâs lieutenant nowhere to be found, Eamon decided to venture on to the captainâs office. As he passed down the corridor he tried to smarten himself up.
The door to the office stood open and he could hear voices inside. A young-faced cadet was leaving so swiftly as Eamon approached that they collided in the doorway. The young man was pale and seemed shaken; he tripped and fell over Eamonâs foot with a yell. There was a thud as the young man â whom Eamon recognized as the one who had wished him luck before the swearing the previous day â hit the floor and narrowly escaped driving his head into the wall as he rolled to a stop.
Filled with sympathy, Eamon went to help him up.
âIâm sorry, sir,â the boy managed.
âItâs my fault â I tripped you! Iâm sorry,â Eamon added, helping him to his feet. The boy â for it was a boy and not really a man at all â turned his face away in shame as Eamon steadied him.
Suddenly Belaalâs voice barked from the office: âFor Crownâs sake donât apologize to him, and donât help him, either! A whingeing maggot like him doesnât deserve the place he has been given here, whoeverâs blood he has. Kick him down the corridor, Goodman, and get in here.â
The cadet tore away and disappeared down the hallway. Eamon watched him go for a few moments before stepping inside. A curt gesture of Belaalâs hand indicated that he should shut the door.
âSir,â Eamon began.
âItâs none of your business,â Belaal answered. âYour salute, man! Is all decorum to go out the window?â The captain gestured irately to the large pane of glass behind him; it obligingly cast his formidable shadow forward. As Eamon drew his hand flat over his heart in the Gauntletâs swordless salute, he suspected that the whole room had been designed with the sole function of casting formidable shadows.
âThatâs better,â Belaal told him, laying aside a quill. He drew a breath and seemed to put whatever the cadet had done behind him. âVery fine work at the pyre last night, Goodman; showed your determination in service. I appreciate that the circumstance was not an easy one for you.â
Eamon wasnât sure what to say. There was an odd glint to the manâs eyes. âThank you, sir.â
âIt is in recognition of that service that Iâve called you here this morning.â
A thread of lightning anticipation ran through him. He watched as Belaal
1802-1870 Alexandre Dumas