He had sent for his Slavemaster to come to one of the most ominous
places, the head of the wide, hand-hewn stone steps leading up the
broad entrance of the House proper. It was where Master Rababull
frequently met with those in whom he had found reason for some
particularly odious displeasure, and the significance of this was not
lost on Habrunt, who was at pains to look oblivious.
"Slavemaster," said Master Rababull deliberately, "did I not command
you to punish my servant Si'Wren for her reckless abuse of one of
Sorpiala's noble slave-cohorts? What is this mad talk I hear about
'miracles'?"
Habrunt kept his head bowed, eyes locked on the stone steps as he
replied in a low, and what he hoped would be a genuinely confused tone
of voice, "I know not, Master Rababull. I only know that I fulfilled my
Master's wish to punish the servant; ten lashes of the whip, which I
laid upon her as commanded."
"Interesting," ruminated Master Rababull.
Not looking up, Habrunt found insufficient reason to respond to the
informal remark of his Master.
"Look at me!" said Master Rababull, his voice sounding tighter.
Habrunt lifted his head without expression and regarded Master Rababull.
Behind Master Rababull was a blood-encrusted bull whip coiled on the
flat top of a waist-high stone pedestal which stood beside the House
entrance proper.
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