“Siddhartha!” cried the Shan. “Who is this one you dare address with the name of your master? I am Siddhartha, Binder of—” With that he threw his head back and his words gurgled in his throat.
Then the fit hit the Shan. He stiffened, lost his seating and fell from the saddle. Siddhartha ran to his side. There were little flecks of foam at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were rolled upward.
“Epileptic!” cried the prince. “They meant me to have a brain which had been damaged.”
The others gathered around and helped the prince minister to the Shan until the seizure passed and his wits had returned to his body.
“Wh-what happened?” he asked.
“Treachery,” said Siddhartha. “Treachery, oh Shan of Irabek! One of my men will convey you now to my personal physician, for an examination. After you have rested, I suggest you lodge a protest at Brahma’s reading room. My physician will treat you at Hawkana’s, and then you will be released. I am sorry this thing happened. It will probably be set aright. But if not, remember the last siege of Kapil and consider us even on all scores. Good afternoon, brother prince.” He bowed to the other, and his men helped the Shan to mount Hawkana’s bay, which Siddhartha had borrowed earlier.
Mounting the mare, the prince observed their departure, then turned to the men who stood about him, and he spoke in a voice sufficiently loud to be heard by those who waited off the road:
“The nine of us will enter. Two blasts upon the horn, and you others follow. If they resist, make them wish they had been more prudent, for three more blasts upon the horn will bring the fifty lancers down from the hills, if they be needed. It is a palace of ease, and not a fort where battles would be fought. Take the Masters prisoner. Do not harm their machineries or allow others to do so. If they do not resist us, all well and good. If they do, we shall walk through the Palace and Hall of the Masters of Karma like a small boy across an extensive and excessively elaborate ant hill. Good luck. No gods be with you!”
And turning his horse, he headed on up the road, the eight lancers singing softly at his back.
The prince rode through the wide double gate, which stood open and unguarded. He set immediately to wondering concerning secret defenses that Strake might have missed.
The courtyard was landscaped and partly paved. In a large garden area, servants were at work pruning, trimming and cultivating. The prince sought after weapon emplacements and saw none. The servants glanced up as he entered, but did not halt their labors.
At the far end of the courtyard was the black stone Hall. He advanced in that direction, his horsemen following, until he was hailed from the steps of the palace itself, which lay to his right.
He drew rein and turned to look in that direction. The man wore black livery, a yellow circle on his breast, and he carried an ebony staff. He was tall, heavy and muffled to the eyes. He did not repeat his salutation, but stood waiting.
The prince guided his mount to the foot of the wide stairway. “I must speak to the Masters of Karma,” he stated.
“Have you an appointment?” inquired the man.
“No,” said the prince, “but it is a matter of importance.”
“Then I regret that you have made this trip for nothing,” replied the other. “An appointment is necessary. You may make arrangements at any Temple in Mahartha.”
He then struck upon the stair with his staff, turned his back and began to move away.
“Uproot that garden,” said the prince to his men, “cut down yonder trees, heap everything together and set a torch to it.”
The man in black halted, turned again.
Only the prince waited at the foot of the stair. His men were already moving off in the direction of the garden.
“You can’t do that,” said the man.
The prince smiled.
His men dismounted and began hacking at the shrubbery, kicking they way through the flower beds.