第74节

Steve's heart sank.

Toh-Shiba gathered the reins and wheeled his horse The pain inside his

skull reached a new crescendo, causing one hand to fly to his

forehead.

An image of a goldenhaired Mute appeared before his inner eye and, as

he recalled the real reason for his visit, the stabbing pains eased a

little. With a cry of exasperation, he pulled his horse's head round

and urged it back towards the veranda.

The post-master and his senior clerks wavered uncertainly as they tried

to divine the reason for the Consul-General's sudden change of mood and

direction.

The roadrunners, who'd been on their knees since his exit from the

post-house, hurriedly got their heads down as the horse stopped with

its nose almost touching the rail.

Toh-Shiba, the pain in his head now fading fast, cast his eyes along

the line of Mutes then pointed his baton at Steve and shouted rapidly

in Japanese. 'That grass-monkey, third from the door! I want him

dismissed from the postal service! Immediately! Is that

understood?"

'H-H-H-Has his conduct d-d-displeased my nn-noble lord in any way?"

stammered the trembling postmaster.

'If so, I will p-p-per-personally ensure he is ss-severely punished."

'Not necessary,' barked Toh-Shiba. 'I just don't like the colour of

his hair. Get him out of here."

Steve didn't have a clue what was going on until he was hauled to his

feet and hustled away as the postmaster, who was now bowing at

two-second intervals, launched into a breast-beating apology for his

inexcusable carelessness in the selection of ancillary staff.

Toh-Shiba surveyed the remaining roadrunners, all of whom had dark

brown or black hair. 'That looks much better." The pain in his head

was almost gone. 'The individual you have just removed is to be sent

to the Heron Pool as house-slave to the cloud warrior. See to it and

send me written confirmation."

The post-master assured him, via his aide-de-camp, that his order would

be complied with instantly.

Toh-Shiba nodded with satisfaction and rode off towards the gate

feeling strangely elated.

The post-master and his senior clerks kept their heads down until the

last foot-soldier had disappeared, then broke ranks with sighs of

relief. No one could fathom why the Consul-General had acted in such a

bizarre fashion. A brainstorm perhaps; theirs was not to reason why.

The roadrunner unit could easily be brought back to full strength.

Meanwhile, there was a small score to be settled. The post-master

instructed a clerk to bring him a whipping-cane. The Consul-General

had dismissed his offer to punish severely the yellow-haired Mute. His

wishes would be obeyed. The Mute would only be punished moderately for

being the cause of such unwarranted anxiety.

Steve contrived to look suitably downcast as he stripped and handed in

his uniform, mailbag and roadrunner's gorget. A slave-tag was attached

to his arm and a 'yellow card' to cover his move down the road was hung

round his neck. The clothes he was given consisted of a worn, loose

grey tunic and trousers, an old pair of sandals with wafer-thin soles

and a straw hat. The jute poncho and cotton quilt issued to Mute

slaves were rolled into a bundle for him to carry under his arm. In

terms of status and appearance he had slipped back to the bottom rung

of the ladder, but it didn't matter. Clearwater had shown that her

skills as a summoner were as potent as ever. And thanks to her, he was

on his way.

What he hadn't bargained for was his going-away present from the

post-master. As Steve bowed himself out backwards through the door,

trying hard not to smile, he was seized by several pairs of hands, held

down over the rail of the veranda and given a salutary thrashing that

left him shaking and breathless but stopped short of drawing blood.

'Rocke