“They’re ready,” he said. “Can you remember what you have to do?”

“Yes.”

“Good luck.”

I discovered that I was trembling, and the palms of my hands were moist. The administrator, who had brought me from the crèche that morning, grinned at me in sympathy. He thought he understood the ordeal I was suffering, but he knew, literally, only half of it.

After the guild ceremony there was more in store for me. My father had told me that he had arranged a marriage for me. I had taken the news calmly because I knew that guildsmen were expected to marry early, and I already knew the chosen girl. She was Victoria Lerouex, and she and I had grown up together in the crèche. I had not had much to do with her — there were not many girls in the crèche, and they tended to keep together in a tight-knit group — but we were less than strangers. Even so, the notion of being married was a new one and I had not had much time to prepare myself mentally for it.

The administrator glanced up at the clock.

“O.K., Helward. It’s time.”

We shook hands briefly, and he opened the door. He walked into the hall, leaving the door open. Through it I could see several of the guildsmen standing on the main floor. The ceiling lights were on.

The administrator stopped just beyond the door and turned to address the platform.

“My Lord Navigator. I seek audience.”

“Identify yourself.” A distant voice, and from where I was standing in the ante-room I could not see the speaker.

“I am Domestic Administrator Bruch. At the command of my chief administrator I have summoned one Helward Mann, who seeks ‘apprenticeship in a guild of the first order.”

“I recognize you, Bruch. You may admit the apprentice.”

Bruch turned and faced me, and as he had earlier rehearsed me I stepped forward into the hall. In the centre of the floor a small podium had been placed, and I walked over and took up position behind it.

I faced the platform.

Here in the concentrated brilliance of the spotlights sat an elderly man in a high-backed chair. He was wearing a black cloak decorated with a circle of white stitched on the breast. On each side of him stood three men, all wearing cloaks, but each one of these was decorated with a sash of a different colour. Gathered on the main floor of the hall, in front of the platform, were several other men and a few women. My father was among them.

Everyone was looking at me, and I felt my nervousness increase. My mind went blank, and all Bruch’s careful rehearsals were forgotten.

In the silence that followed my entrance, I stared straight ahead at the man sitting at the center of the platform. This was the first time I had even seen — let alone been in the company of — a Navigator. In my immediate background of the crèche such men had sometimes been spoken of in a deferential way, sometimes — by the more disrespectful — in a derisory way, but always with undertones of awe for the almost legendary figures. That one was here at all only underlined the importance of this ceremony. My immediate thought was what a story this would be to tell the others… and then I remembered that from this day nothing would be the same again.

Bruch had stepped forward to face me.

“Are you Helward Mann, sir?”

“Yes, I am.”

“What age have you attained, sir?”

“Six hundred and fifty miles.”

“Are you aware of the significance of this age?”

“I assume the responsibilities of an adult.”

“How best can you assume those responsibilities, sir?”

“I wish to enter apprenticeship with a first-order guild of my choice.”

“Have you made that choice, sir?”

“Yes, I have.”

Bruch turned and addressed the platform. He repeated the content of my answers to the men assembled there, though it seemed to me that they must have been able to hear my answers as I gave them.

“Does anyone wish to question the apprentice?” said the Navigator to the other men on the platform.

No one replied.

“Very well.” The Navigator stood up. “Come forward, Helward Mann, and stand where I can see you.”

Bruch stepped to one side. I left the podium, and walked forward to where a small white plastic circle had been inlaid into the carpet. I stopped with my feet in the centre of it. For several seconds I was regarded in silence.

The Navigator turned to one of the men at his side.

“Do we have the proposers here?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Very well. As this is a guild matter we must exclude all others.”

The Navigator sat down, and the man immediately to his right stepped forward.

“Is there any man here who does not rank with the first order? If so, he will grace us with his absence.”

Slightly behind me, and to one side of me, I noticed Bruch make a slight bow towards the platform, and then he left the hall. He was not alone. Of the group of people on the main floor of the hall, about half left the room by one or other of the exits. Those left turned to face me.

“Do we recognize strangers?” said the man on the platform. There was silence. “Apprentice Helward Mann, you are now in the exclusive company of first-order guildsmen. A gathering such as this is not common in the city, and you should treat it with appropriate solemnity. It is in your honour. When you have passed through your apprenticeship these people will be your peers, and you will be bound, just as they are, by guild rules. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have selected the guild you wish to enter. Please name it for all to hear.”

“I wish to become a Future Surveyor,” I said.

“Very well, that is acceptable. I am Future Surveyor Clausewitz, and I am your chief guildsman. Standing around you are other Future Surveyors, as well as representatives from other first-order guilds. Here on the platform are the other chief guildsmen of the first order. In the centre, we are honoured by the presence of Lord Navigator Olsson.”

As Bruch had earlier rehearsed me I made a deep bow towards the Navigator. The bow was all I now remembered of his instructions: he had told me that he knew nothing of the details of this part of the ceremony, only that I should display appropriate respect towards the Navigator when formally introduced to him.

“Do we have a proposer for the apprentice?”

“Sir, I wish to propose him.” It was my father who spoke.

“Future Surveyor Mann has proposed. Do we have a seconder?”

“Sir, I will second the proposal.”

“Bridge-Builder Lerouex has seconded. Do we hear any dissent?”

There was a long silence. Twice more, Clausewitz called for dissent, but no one raised any objection to me.

“That is as it should be,” said Clausewitz. “Helward Mann, I now offer you the oath of a first-order guild. You may — even at this late stage — decline to take it. If, however, you do swear to the oath you will be bound to it for the whole of the rest of your life in the city. The penalty for breaching the oath is summary execution. Is that absolutely clear in your mind?”

I was stunned by this. Nothing anyone had said, my father, Jase, or even Bruch, had said anything to warn me of this. Perhaps Bruch had not known… but surely my father would have told me?

“Well?”

“Do I have to decide now, sir?”

“Yes.”

It was quite clear that I would not be allowed a sight of the oath before deciding. Its content was probably instrumental in the secrecy. I felt that I had very little alternative. I had come this far, and already I could feel the pressures of the system about me. To proceed as far as this — proposal and acceptance — and then to decline the oath was impossible, or so it seemed to me at that moment.

“I will take the oath, sir.”

Clausewitz stepped down from the platform, walked over to me, and handed me a piece of white card.

“Read this through, clearly and loudly,” he told me. “You may read it through to yourself before, if you wish, but if you do so you will be immediately bound by it.”