Colours in the Steel

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

‘Right,’ said Loredan, wiping talc from his hands, ‘that’ll do. Get the rest of that stuff back to the stores, and for gods’ sakes be careful with it. You two, casualty lists. You and you, inventory of engines still operational or capable of being repaired. You, organise clean-up and get these dead people out of here. Garantzes-’ He paused. ‘Anybody seen Garantzes? Last time I saw him-’

Someone made a gesture, a finger across his throat. Loredan scowled.

‘Oh,’ he said. No time now to ask how it’d happened, whether he died bravely in defence of his city or just lost his balance and fell off the wall; the engineer would still be dead later on, and he could deal with it then. ‘In that case, where’s Faneron Boutzes? Still alive? Good, because you’re now Chief Engineer. I want a report of structural damage to the walls and how soon it can be patched up. If anyone wants me, I’ll be in Council.’

Miraculously, someone had found time to clear the head of the stairs, and he managed to get down them without falling over. If he could somehow persuade his feet to carry him up the hill and through the second-city gate to the chapter house, he’d reward them by sitting down. It had been one of those days.

We came close, but we’re still here. Didn’t make fools of ourselves. And tomorrow is another day.

It was a very strange feeling to walk through the city in the middle of the afternoon and see nobody in the streets. Where were they all? There were lots of houses in the lower city of Perimadeia, but somehow Loredan had always suspected that there weren’t enough of them to accommodate all the thousands of people he was used to seeing in the streets. Subconsciously he’d somehow assumed that they worked it by shifts; the day people came home about the time the night people went out, and somehow they shared living quarters.

A few courageous souls were starting to poke their noses through the shutters. A solitary wheelwright had opened the top door of his shop, and was ostentatiously planing a spoke held in a wooden vice. As he passed through the silversmiths’ quarter he heard voices from behind the closed door of a tavern he’d been to a few times. A few dogs wagged tails and sniffed here and there; a horse trailed its reins slowly through the overflow of a blocked gutter.

He passed another tavern, a favourite. They served good cider, not cheap but not too expensive, and a wicked half-distilled sweet wine that left you asking complete strangers who you were and where you lived. Probably just as well it was shut. Am I allowed to go into taverns? he wondered. Is it in order for the Commander-in-Chief to pop in to a boozer for a quick one on his way home from the war? Probably not.

Ah, well. There’d be something to drink when he got to the chapter house (mustn’t start thinking of it as home). And possibly even food, maybe a place he could lie down and get some sleep. All of those things would be nice, except that tomorrow was another day.

When he arrived at the chapter house, he found the place almost deserted. There were a few clerks, people who had specific jobs to do and no time to stop and chat. He asked where everybody had got to; the Prefect, the Lord Lieutenant, the heads of department. The clerk looked up, shrugged and said he didn’t know; some of them may have gone down to the harbour early so as to avoid the mad rush for a place on a ship, some had hurried away when word came through that the rafts had been dealt with – gone to their offices, presumably, to deal with matters of importance. The others, for all he knew, might well have gone off to celebrate. After all, it had been a victory, hadn’t it?

Loredan’s brows furrowed. Victory? What’s that? Well, he supposed you could call it that.

‘So nobody needs me for anything?’ he suggested.

‘I don’t know,’ the clerk replied guardedly, obviously unwilling to take responsibility for giving the Commander-in-Chief the rest of the day off. ‘I’m just making copies of these minutes, like I was told to.’

‘Right,’ Loredan said. ‘If anybody comes looking for me, tell them I’ll be in my quarters.’ That sounded sufficiently military, he decided.

A wave of relief hit him as he pushed open the door of the room in the gatehouse where he’d been sleeping since the emergency began; also a feeling of anticlimax, and guilt, of course, for skiving off when there was undoubtedly work he should be doing. None of them lasted very long, however. No sooner had he put his back to the stone ledge than he was fast asleep.

Loredan never remembered his dreams after he’d woken up, so that was all right.

Two and a half hours later, he came round to find someone waggling his foot backwards and forwards. ‘Wake up,’ he was saying. ‘Everybody’s looking for you.’

Gods, but I wish that just for once somebody would talk to me as if I was something other than a hired entertainer. ‘Go away,’ he grunted. ‘Be with you in a minute.’

‘The Prefect wants to see you, now,’ the man replied. ‘It’s important.’

Loredan toyed with the idea of kicking him across the room, but he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength. Virtually every joint in his body had seized like a rusted hinge. ‘All right,’ he sighed. ‘Do I get to wash my face and hands first, or have I got to go along looking like something found on a sausage-maker’s midden?’

‘Urgent is what I was told,’ the messenger replied. ‘And that was an hour ago. Come on.’

As threatened, the Prefect wasn’t happy about having been kept waiting. He’d chosen to meet Loredan in one of the side cloisters that radiated away from the chapter house like the spokes of a wheel, and when Loredan got there he was pacing up and down with a ferocious scowl on his face.

‘I’m not blaming you,’ were his first words. ‘I know the situation was grave, and I believe you were doing what you thought was best for the city. But it’s caused the most awful uproar on the political front.’

Loredan sat down on a stone lion and held up his hand. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘but what are you talking about?’

The Prefect looked at him as if he’d caught him asleep in class. ‘This magic-fire weapon of yours,’ he replied. ‘I’m afraid we’ve played right into the opposition’s hands by using that.’ He gave Loredan a reproachful look. ‘If only you’d given me some warning, at least I could have paved the way, done some groundwork at grass-roots level.’

‘I still don’t know what you’re talking about.’

The Prefect glared at him. ‘This fire stuff. They’re saying you shouldn’t have used it like that. Partly because it’s magic, and that’s a red rag to a bull as far as the Rationalist lobby are concerned. Mostly, though, they’re saying it’s inhumane. By using it we’re acting like savages ourselves. They’re talking about implications, possible reprisals. I’m afraid you’ve really stirred up a hornet’s nest in Council.’

Loredan opened his mouth; but there wasn’t any point saying the things he could get away with saying. He closed it again and sat still.

‘I’ve done my best,’ the Prefect went on. ‘They wanted an outright ban, but we’ve compromised on the position that we won’t use the stuff again without formal advance authority from the Council, and then only in certain rigidly defined… Where do you think you’re going?’

Wearily, Loredan sat down again. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘let me have a wash and get something to eat. I think I need to throw up, and that’s hard to do on an empty stomach.’

The Prefect made a faint tutting noise that could easily have cost him his life under different circumstances. ‘I was rather hoping you’d be sensible about this,’ he said. ‘After all, we’ve had our differences before now, but you’ve done a good job over the last few days and I was hoping I could spare you this, not to mention the embarrassment it’ll cause us.’

Loredan tried to find a few last scraps of patience, but there wasn’t any left. He got up slowly and started to walk away.

‘I’m relieving you of your command,’ the Prefect said to his back. ‘Effective immediately. I’m sorry, but this witchcraft business on top of that fiasco with the cavalry raid-’

Loredan turned round. ‘You agreed to that,’ he said. ‘You agreed it was necessary to take out their engineers-’

‘Not that one, the other one. Before they even got here.’ The Prefect folded his arms across his chest. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I think the only way out of this shambles is to bring the trial forward to the earliest date acceptable to the prosecution. Then, assuming you win-’

‘Trial?’ Loredan looked blank. ‘What trial?’

The Prefect looked as if he was about to lose his temper. ‘Your trial, man. For culpable negligence in your handling of the raid. If I can, I’ll try and persuade the Prosecutor’s Office to add on these new witchcraft charges so that it can all be dealt with in one go.’ He sighed. ‘It won’t be easy, since strictly speaking they’re different jurisdictions, but in the circumstances they might agree.’

‘Witchcraft,’ Loredan repeated. ‘I see.’

‘I’m glad you do,’ said the Prefect sharply. ‘Anyway, if we can bring the date forward, then – assuming you win, as I said – we’ll be in a position to reinstate you in a week or so, provided the Council can be made to agree. I trust you appreciate the fact that I’m sticking my neck out for you, Loredan. You’d do well to remember that the next time you choose to take the law into your own hands.’

Loredan thought for a moment. ‘If I’m relieved of command,’ he said, ‘does that mean I can go home?’

‘I suppose so,’ the Prefect said. ‘You can do what the hell you like, provided you vacate your office and sleeping quarters within the next three hours; and, of course, you lose your right of attendance to Council meetings. We’ll need to know where you can be reached, of course, in case the Council want you for any reason. If you’d take my advice, I suggest you get back to work at your fencing school, get yourself in shape and on form for your trial. If you were to lose that it’d reflect very badly on us. Very badly indeed.’

‘I’ll try to remember that,’ Loredan said, and walked away.

‘I think we should go home now,’ someone said.

There were four new faces at the council of war in Temrai’s tent, and he didn’t know the names of two of them. He shook his head.

‘No,’ he said.

‘Temrai.’ Uncle Anakai leant forward and laid a hand on his arm. ‘It was a disaster. We were comprehensively beaten. We’ve lost the rafts, the ladders and the battering ram, not to mention just over fourteen hundred killed. Carrying on simply isn’t an option if you want to remain as chief of this tribe.’

‘We’re staying,’ Temrai said quietly. ‘We’re carrying on until we win. That’s all.’

‘Temrai.’ His aunt Lanaten, seventy years old and nearly blind, knelt painfully beside him. ‘There’s no need. You’ve done your best, nobody will blame you for not doing what isn’t possible. Perimadeia can’t be taken, it’s protected by magic. You can’t fight the gods.’

‘Magic be damned,’ Temrai grunted, his eyes closed. ‘That wasn’t magic, it was a recipe out of an old book. I read the book myself. But they weren’t making the stuff while I was there, of that I’m certain.’

‘A book?’ someone queried. ‘You mean it’s something people can make, not magic at all?’

‘Of course,’ Temrai said. ‘It’s just naphtha, pitch and sulphur. Why do you think I’ve been buying up every jar of the filthy mess I could lay my hands on?’

Uncle Anakai’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You think you can produce this fire-oil?’ he said.

‘Of course. Anybody can make anything if they’ve got the knowledge and the tools. It’s just a matter of trial and error till we get the proportions exactly right.’

‘So we could use it against them,’ said someone else. ‘Are we going to?’

Temrai nodded. ‘Yes, eventually,’ he said. ‘When we get to that stage. More to the point, I know how we can protect ourselves against it in future rather more effectively than we did today. It’s only a matter of time.’

‘Temrai, fourteen hundred people died today.’ That was Ceuscai, sounding angry; he’s starting to presume a bit too much, Temrai said to himself. ‘That’s more than die in a year under normal circumstances.’

‘We’re at war, Ceuscai. People get killed in a war, it happens.’

‘Not like that they don’t.’ Ceuscai was definitely angry now. Temrai remembered that he’d been in charge of the archers, he’d have had a first-class view of what happened on the rafts. Even so, he was speaking out of turn. ‘Temrai, I don’t care if it wasn’t witchcraft, people believe it was witchcraft and you’re not going to be able to change their minds. You’ll lose them, Temrai. It’s not something they can be expected to do, take on the gods, everything they believe in. For pity’s sake, man, you ought to be able to see that for yourself.’

Temrai stood up. ‘This council is dismissed,’ he said abruptly. ‘And now I’ve got work to do, and so have all of you.’

When they’d gone he sank down onto the bed, his knees drawn up to his chin and his arms wrapped round them, his eyes wide open. He felt like a man who’s stared directly into a bright sun; there were flashes and splodges of hot colour on the surface of his eyes, even when he closed them. The effect of staring at the sun fades sooner or later; but these colours came from the light of the burning rafts, and he doubted that he would ever be rid of them.

Thinking about them brought to mind other flames, other people wearing coats of fire; strong images in his mind of people running between the rows of tents, clothes and hair burning, terror and unbearable pain in their faces and voices, while horsemen rode backwards and forwards propagating the fire, deliberately making things worse instead of trying to help, the way a normal human being would surely do. He remembered seeing such things from underneath a wagon; it was burning too, but it was the only place where the horsemen might not notice him, and he’d far rather have burnt than had to endure the sheer malevolence of those men in their black armour.

Above all he remembered the face of a man illuminated in the glow of fire, the horseman who’d stopped and sat watching, easy and relaxed like someone who was at home in the saddle, one hand lightly resting on the reins while the other held a blazing torch. He hadn’t been there for more than a minute, but that minute had lasted a long time; quite possibly it still wasn’t over. It was so clear in Temrai’s mind, the absolute horror that filled him as he lay on his stomach watching the horseman, praying he wouldn’t turn his head and notice him, while the heat from the fire overhead roasted the skin on his back and his tears poured down his face in just the same way the rain had done this morning.

It was strange, after all these years, to be able to put a name to that well-remembered face; Colonel Bardas Loredan, currently in command of the Perimadeian army.

Put the steel into the fire and watch it change colour; straw to orange to brown to purple to blue to green to black. According to some smiths he’d talked to, there’s a certain point at which something happens to heated steel. Make it hot enough and the flexibility changes to cutting hardness, at which point the skill lies in tempering it, quenching the heat with skill and care in such a way that the steel stays hard without becoming brittle. It’s a delicate business, the perfect balance of fire and water; although there are some smiths who prefer to temper in some kind of oil, and others who use blood. Blood, they say, puts something into the steel at that crucial moment of tempering, an extra touch of hardness on the outside of the metal that doesn’t effect the flexibility and resilience of the core.

The assault had failed, he admitted that. He could force them to hide under the parapet with his stones and arrows, just as he’d hidden once upon a time, but he couldn’t cross the water because of the fire. He could pitch in fire of his own, so that their houses would burn and their women and children would be made to wear fire on their backs and in their hair, but if he did that, there wouldn’t be horsemen; and what would be the point of fire without horsemen? If a thing’s worth doing, after all, it’s worth doing properly.

So they’d just have to sit there under the walls, waiting for something to turn up. Meanwhile, the people inside the city, and in particular Colonel Bardas Loredan, would have a very long minute of their own to keep still for. In fact, he reflected, bearing in mind how long that minute’s already been going on for, there’s no real reason why it should ever end.

On his way to the gatehouse, Loredan stopped off at the kitchens, waited till nobody was looking, and sneaked an empty flour sack under his coat. It proved to be plenty large enough to hold the contents of his sleeping quarters (one shirt, bloodstained and torn, only fit for polishing-rags; one pair of boots; one blanket, property of the state, rather less ancient and threadbare than his own; a writing tablet, bottle of ink, various papers; a set of plain brass reckoning counters; a cheap bone comb with seven teeth missing; a roll of bandage, frequently washed). He slung the now-full sack over his shoulder and left the gatehouse, heading for the Patriarch’s lodgings.

‘He’s ill,’ said the clerk, in reply to his request to see Alexius. ‘Much too ill to see visitors. I’ll tell him you were here.’

‘That’s all right, I’ll tell him myself. Which way did you say it was?’

The clerk blocked his way. ‘You can’t go in there,’ he said. ‘It’s restricted. State security. Patriarch Alexius is busy with important work for the Security Council.’

Loredan looked the clerk up and down, then eased him gently out of the way. ‘You did your best,’ he said encouragingly. ‘Now get out of my way before I break your arm.’

I shall have to get out of the habit of being obeyed, he told himself, before I get to be really obnoxious. The poor lad was only trying to make sure Alexius gets some sleep.

In fact, the Patriarch had been awake for half an hour or so by the time Loredan found his door and knocked on it.

‘You don’t mind me dropping in like this, do you?’ he asked. ‘Only, there’s something I wanted to tell you.’

The Patriarch welcomed him in. ‘Please excuse my not getting up, but I’m feeling a bit fragile after all the excitement. There’s wine in the jug and some rolls in that basket there; a bit stale, I’m afraid, but…’

‘Good heavens above!’ Loredan exclaimed. ‘Food. I remember food; we used to eat it when I was young. Want some?’ he added with his mouth full.

‘No, no. You carry on. When was the last time you had a proper meal, anyway?’

Loredan shrugged. ‘You sound just like my mother. How are you feeling, anyway? Nothing serious, I hope.’

Alexius shook his head. ‘Just worn out,’ he said. ‘When I got back from the Council meeting, that old woman of a clerk put me straight to bed, as if I were a five year old with a temperature. And then,’ he admitted, ‘I fell asleep. You look like you could do with some rest yourself.’

‘I agree,’ he said. ‘Fortunately, I’m now a civilian again, so I can sleep as late as I want. They fired me,’ he explained, ‘for my mishandling of the defences. Nicest thing the government of this city’s ever done for me,’ he added, picking up another roll and tearing it in half. ‘Good bread, this. Obviously the word stale means something quite other when you’re this high up the hill.’

‘Do you mean to say you’ve been relieved of your command? This is outrageous.’ Alexius started to swing his legs out of the bed. ‘I shall go and see the Prefect immediately. Of all the-’

‘Please.’ Loredan raised a hand until he’d swallowed a mouthful. ‘Do no such thing. If that’s the power and the glory, they’re welcome to it.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of you,’ Alexius replied. ‘I was thinking of the city. Who’s going to do your job? If that fool of a Prefect imagines for one moment-’

Loredan grinned. ‘I think appointing my replacement was the last thing on his mind,’ he interrupted. ‘The poor man was fighting for his political survival.’ He told Alexius what had happened, including the Prefect’s firm assumption that the fire-oil had been witchcraft. ‘Which is why I thought I’d better mention it to you,’ he added. ‘If his enemies are using this public outcry thing they’ve cooked up to persecute him with, he might well try and pass it off on you as well as me. I get the impression he believes that aggravation isn’t something you hoard, it’s something you share.’

Alexius made a rude noise, quite inappropriate for a man in his exalted position. ‘I’m afraid you could well be right,’ he said. ‘Well, let him. I’ve been telling people we don’t do magic for twenty-five years, and I’ll carry on telling them that, because it’s true. Besides, there’s no such thing as the criminal offence of witchcraft in Perimadeian law; that’s right, isn’t it? You’re a lawyer, you know these things.’

Loredan shook his head. ‘My clerk knows the law,’ he replied, ‘I just kill people. Or I used to. But as far as I know, you’re right; at least, in my ten years in the racket I never heard of anything like that. I didn’t tell the Prefect that, of course, because if I had he’d have gone away and thought up something else to charge me with.’ He slid back in his chair, trying to ignore the pain of exhaustion in his knees and calves. ‘I’m not worried about him and his damned lawsuits,’ he went on. ‘In fact, I’m not really worried about anything any more. I’m too tired, for one thing.’

Alexius lay back and stared at the mosaics for a while. ‘You think the danger’s passed, then?’ he said. ‘They’ve given up the idea of a direct assault.’

Loredan nodded. ‘For the time being,’ he replied. ‘They’d have to build more equipment before they could have another go; ladders and rams and engines and the like. Also, they’re going to have to think of some way of protecting themselves against the fire-oil.’ He grinned. ‘Assuming we don’t tell them we’ve outlawed its use, of course,’ he added. ‘And as far as I know, there isn’t anything you can do about the stuff. Well, that’s not strictly true. You can use big rawhide canopies to keep it from actually landing on your head, but I suspect that sounds better in theory than in practice. Imagine trying to climb a scaling ladder holding a burning umbrella over your head.’

‘So what do you think their next move will be?’

‘I don’t know,’ Loredan admitted. ‘In their shoes, I’d probably try and find someone inside the city who’d open the gates in return for a large sum of money. Except I’d have tried that first, instead of fooling about with rafts and building all those catapults.’

Alexius yawned. ‘The thing I still don’t understand is why they’re doing this. True, they have a legitimate grudge against us, but it’s over ten years old. Why wait so long?’

Loredan didn’t reply to that; instead, he finished off the last of the rolls and washed it down with the dregs of the wine. ‘I think I’ll go home now,’ he said. ‘And tomorrow I’d better see whether I’ve still got a business to run. With luck, in a fortnight’s time all this will seem like a horrible dream.’

Venart stood on the quay, looking at his ship and not saying anything.

‘It could have been worse,’ his sister said, for the tenth time that morning. ‘They might have sailed off in it, and then we’d have no cargo, no ship and no way of getting home. As it is-’

‘As it is,’ Venart replied bitterly, ‘we’ve still got the ship. And all my beautiful rope’s somewhere at the bottom of the harbour.’

‘You can’t blame them really,’ Vetriz said. ‘If you thought your city was about to be sacked by a merciless and fanatical enemy, and there happened to be a ship standing by in the harbour that could get you to safety-’

‘The ship’s insured,’ Venart said. ‘The cargo wasn’t. And even if they were going to steal my ship, there wasn’t any call to go throwing the cargo over the side. It wouldn’t have taken them that long to unload it onto the dock.’

‘Oh, well, it’s done now. And we’re still alive, and we can go home. Really, there’s no earthly reason why we should hang about here any longer.’

Venart kicked a stone into the water. ‘Somebody’s going to have to pay me compensation,’ he said at last, ‘even if I’ve got to take them to law to get it.’ He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘How’d it be if I had a word with Bardas Loredan? I’m sure he’d see that we can’t be expected to bear the loss ourselves. After all, the only reason we were here was to bring in desperately needed supplies-’

‘Ven.’

‘Don’t you Ven me. It’s your money as much as mine.’ A promising new approach occurred to him. ‘If it was just my money I could afford to be philosophical about it, but where your capital’s concerned I have a duty as your trustee-’

‘Ven.’

Venart ignored her. ‘I’m sure Loredan will help,’ he said. ‘He seemed a very honourable sort of person. If we ask him politely…’

‘He isn’t in charge any more. They gave him the sack.’

‘What?’ Venart scowled. ‘Oh, damn. All right then, what about your friend the Patriarch? I’m sure that if he put in a word for us-’

‘Oh, do shut up, Ven, before I push you in the harbour. I’ve had enough of it here. I want to go home.’

Venart took another look at his ship, as if to reassure himself that it was still there. ‘What did he do to make them sack him?’ he asked. ‘I’d have thought he’d be the hero of the hour.’

Vetriz shrugged. ‘You’d have thought so,’ she agreed. ‘But like I keep telling you, these people aren’t like us.’ She started to walk away, so that Venart had to run to catch her up.

‘He might still be able to use his influence,’ he puffed. ‘He can’t have made enemies of everyone in the government.’

‘Actually,’ Vetriz said, ‘we might ask him if he wants to come with us. And that clerk of his, Athli. I like her, she’s got good sense. And we could always use another clerk.’

Venart stared at her. ‘You can’t be serious,’ he said. ‘All our working capital’s lying rotting at the bottom of the harbour and you’re talking about taking on more staff. Sometimes I think you must live in a world of your own.’

‘Well, we could at least offer them a ride to the Island. Assuming they want to go, of course. They may prefer to stay here and sweat it out. But we ought to ask.’

Venart scowled at her. ‘And I suppose you want me to offer free berths to the Patriarch and his friend as well. I mean, why leave them out?’

‘Good point. Though I don’t for one moment suppose they’d accept.’

‘Vetriz,’ Venart said, his voice almost pleading, ‘we can get good money for every berth we can fill on the ship; the last thing we want to do is fill the wretched thing up giving free rides to people we hardly even know. Particularly if we don’t get any compensation. It’d be throwing away our only chance of getting some of our money back.’

They discussed the matter further on the way back to the inn, and in consequence it was decided that they’d ask Loredan, Athli, Alexius and Gannadius if they wanted free passage to the Island. ‘And if they offer to pay for it,’ Vetriz added, ‘refuse. You take one copper quarter off any of them and I’ll make you eat it.’

‘All right,’ Venart said grudgingly. ‘But first we’ll ask whether they can do anything about getting an indemnity for all that rope. Bloody stuff,’ he added savagely. ‘I wish I’d never set eyes on it.’

‘Ah, well,’ Vetriz said, with a deliberately aggravating smile. ‘If you’d done as I said and bought carpet the last time we were here…’

So, after a deliberately cheap and frugal meal, they went to find Athli, who would know where to find Loredan. She wasn’t at home.

‘Wonderful,’ Venart said, after they’d banged on the door and peered through the windows. ‘Now what do you suggest?’

‘We could wait here,’ Vetriz replied. ‘Or we could go and see the Patriarch. He’d probably know where Loredan lives.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Who?’ Alexius demanded. The pageboy repeated the names, mispronouncing them both. ‘Oh, them.’ He exchanged glances with Loredan. ‘Show them up,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what they want.’

‘I’ll stay for this, if you don’t mind,’ Loredan said, after the boy had gone. ‘They’re the ones you reckon have these peculiar powers?’

‘The girl,’ Alexius replied. ‘And I know you’re sceptical. I don’t know what to make of it, though; their being in the city, I mean. If I’m right about her – well, we’ll see.’

Loredan grinned. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘it’s all to do with rope.’

‘Rope.’

‘I sold him a whole load of surplus rope we’d appropriated by mistake,’ Loredan explained. ‘Presumably he came back to pick up the stuff he couldn’t carry the last time he was here.’ A thought struck him. ‘I hope nothing’s happened to their ship,’ he said. ‘By all accounts things got fairly lively down at the harbour yesterday.’

Alexius nodded. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘if anything has happened to their ship, it knocks a fair-sized hole in my theory. It’s a pretty poor sorceress who can’t protect her own property.’

‘I thought you weren’t meant to call them-’

The door opened. ‘Oh, isn’t that lucky!’ Vetriz said loudly. ‘Here they are, both of them. Two birds with-’

‘Patriarch,’ Venart said formally, nodding to Alexius. ‘And Colonel Loredan. This is indeed most fortunate. If you could possibly spare us a little of your time-’

‘Can we have some wine, please?’ Alexius said to the boy before he could escape. ‘And something to eat, if there’s anything going? Thank you.’ He propped himself up on one elbow. ‘Please excuse me,’ he went on, ‘but I’ve been officially declared ill and I’m not allowed to get up even for visitors. Sit down, if you can find somewhere.’

Vetriz immediately perched on the edge of the bed, almost but not quite sitting on the Patriarch’s feet. Her brother tried not to notice and remained standing.

‘Sorry to barge in like this,’ Vetriz said, ‘but we’re sailing for home and we wondered if you’d like to come with us.’

Neither Alexius nor Loredan knew what to say. The thought of leaving the city hadn’t occurred to either of them before. It was like hearing some strange heretical new theory about the nature of the universe; something too wild and radical to accept, too plausible to ignore. ‘That’s a very kind offer,’ Alexius murmured. ‘I-’ He stopped and looked down at his hands, resting on top of the sheet. ‘That’s a very kind offer. Very kind indeed.’

‘And Athli, too, of course,’ Vetriz went on. ‘And your colleague Gannadius, Patriarch. Is he here today, or is he back at his own-’ She couldn’t think of the right word. ‘Establishment,’ she ventured.

‘That’s an interesting idea,’ Loredan said softly. ‘Are you sure? Passages out must be a valuable commodity right now. I’d have thought you could name your own price.’

Venart opened his mouth to say something, caught his sister’s eye and closed it again.

‘We do need to know fairly quickly, though,’ Vetriz said. ‘We’re hoping to leave tomorrow morning, first thing.’ She hesitated, rubbed the side of her head with her fingertips, and went on. ‘If you like, sleep on it and we’ll keep four berths empty for you on the ship, just in case you do want to come.’ Venart made a quiet moaning noise, which she ignored. ‘I do hope you will,’ she added. ‘I mean, it was wonderful the way you all rallied round and beat off the attack yesterday, really it was, but…’ Then she smiled brightly. ‘That’s all we wanted to say. We won’t stop for the wine, thanks. Goodbye.’

‘But-’ Venart said, as she opened the door. ‘Oh, never mind. Our ship’s at the north quay,’ he added, turning to follow her, ‘the Squirrel, she’s called. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding her, she’s the only twin-castled freighter in the docks.’ He raised his hand in a vague salutation, saw that Vetriz had already gone and darted after her, closing the door behind him.

‘Well, if that doesn’t beat cock-fighting,’ Alexius said after a long silence. ‘What do you make of that, Bardas?’

Loredan rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand before replying. ‘How’s your head feeling?’ he asked.

‘I – Good heavens, you’re right. Sort of a dull, heavy ache, as if there was thunder in the air. I hadn’t noticed it until you mentioned it, but it’s there all right. How about you?’

Loredan grimaced. ‘I wish I’d had the really good night out this is the hangover for,’ he replied. ‘I still don’t believe a word of it, of course. How about their offer? Guilty conscience, perhaps?’

Alexius lifted his head sharply. ‘That’s a nasty one,’ he said, ‘particularly coming from a sceptic like yourself.’

‘I’m humouring you. Are you going to accept?’

Alexius shook his head. ‘Twenty years ago, perhaps. Maybe even ten. Now, though, the journey’d probably kill me. Anyway, I thought you said a direct assault wasn’t going to work.’

Lordan shook his head. ‘If I go,’ he said, ‘it won’t be because I’m afraid of the clan. But there’s nothing to keep me here except the prospect of a trial for culpable negligence. I might just go, at that.’

‘Oh,’ Alexius said. ‘Well, yes, I suppose there’s a call there for your sort of services – teaching fencing, I mean, not lawyering. I suppose,’ he added, ‘I’d better let Gannadius know about the offer. He’s younger than me and still ambitious, still has things he wants to do in the world. I’m sure I could concoct some post for him in one of the Order’s houses on the Island.’

Loredan nodded. ‘That reminds me,’ he said. ‘I ought to tell my clerk, since she was included in the offer. Damn,’ he added. ‘Just when I thought I was going to get a chance to go to bed.’ He stood up, wincing at the stiffness in his joints. ‘If I do decide to go,’ he said awkwardly, ‘then I suppose – well, so long, Alexius. We could have known each other better under different circumstances, except that under different circumstances we’d never have got to know each other at all. Take care of yourself.’

Alexius nodded. ‘And you,’ he said. ‘I have an unpleasant feeling at the back of my mind that I’ve interfered with your life to an extent that I’d never be able to put right if you stayed here. Maybe this business is someone or something putting it right. I’d like to think it was. If you decide to go, that is.’

‘I gather you think I should.’

Alexius shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me,’ he said. ‘Another thing I can’t do is tell fortunes.’

Shortly after Loredan had gone, the boy came back with wine and cakes for four. He put the tray down nevertheless, and asked if there was anything else.

‘Yes, if you’ll just wait a moment,’ Alexius said, his head bent over a writing tablet. ‘I want you to run down to the City Academy and give this to Archimandrite Gannadius, as quickly as you can. Give it to him and nobody else, please; tell him it’s important. Can you do that for me?’

The boy nodded eagerly, his eyes bright with the prospect of an excuse to get outside the walls for an hour or so. Shortly after he left, Alexius could hear him running down the stairs. Enthusiasm, he thought. I had some of that myself once. And look where it got me.

Athli wasn’t at home, which was a nuisance. He hung around outside her house for half an hour or so feeling painfully conspicuous – I feel like a lovesick sixteen year old, and I didn’t even do this sort of thing when I was sixteen – and then gave up and headed for the baker’s shop on the corner, which was cautiously opening its shutters.

‘I know you, don’t I?’ said the woman in the shop as she handed him a freshly baked loaf stuffed with slices of cheese and bacon.

Loredan nodded. ‘It’s possible,’ he said. ‘I used to work for the government.’

‘That’s it,’ the woman said, snapping her fingers. ‘Weights and measures. Didn’t you use to come round here checking weights and measures one time – oh, must be all of ten years ago now?’

‘Fancy you remembering that,’ Loredan replied, his mouth full of bread.

The woman looked at him, and edged sideways in front of the shop scales. ‘You still doing that?’ she asked.

‘It’s all right,’ Loredan replied. ‘I just quit earlier today.’

‘Oh.’ The woman noticed his armour under his coat. ‘Got called up, did you?’ Loredan nodded. ‘It’s happening to everybody,’ she went on. ‘Damn shame, if you ask me.’

Loredan nodded. ‘I blame the General,’ he said.

‘What, the one who got the push or the new one?’

‘Both,’ Loredan replied, putting his hand out for his change.

He finished off the loaf outside the shop, then explored a little until he found an open tavern. He didn’t feel quite so tired now that he’d eaten something, and the idea of a drink was very attractive indeed. Eventually he located one, in a small, rather dismal place he hadn’t been to in years. It hadn’t changed a bit.

‘Guardsman,’ said the landlord, pouring pale cloudy cider into a grubby-looking horn mug. ‘Seen some action these last couple of days, I’ll bet.’

‘Enough to last me a while,’ Loredan replied, handing over a coin. ‘Your health.’

He and the landlord were the only people in the place. Loredan remarked on this.

‘Don’t know why I bothered opening up,’ the landlord replied. ‘Nobody wants to venture out of the house, just in case the savages suddenly come running down the street. That’s not likely, is it?’ he added.

Loredan shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me,’ he replied. ‘Last I heard they’d obviously had enough, after the General used that fire-oil stuff.’

The innkeeper nodded. ‘Good work, that,’ he said. ‘And it’s about time the wizards did something to earn their keep. Night after night we had people in here asking, why don’t the wizards do something? Should’ve realised they’d keep the magic stuff in reserve for when it’d do most good.’

‘Fine man, the Patriarch,’ Loredan said.

‘His health,’ replied the innkeeper, tilting the mug he’d just filled. ‘If you ask me, though,’ he went on, lowering his voice, ‘there’s more to it than that.’

Loredan’s face registered interest. ‘You reckon?’

The landlord nodded. ‘I’ve heard it said that the Prefect and the General’ve been deliberately keeping old Alexius from doing anything, because it’s in their interest for the emergency to carry on as long as they can spin it out for.’

‘Get away.’

‘Just repeating what I been told,’ the landlord said. ‘Stands to reason, though; the two of them, running the whole city – because you’re not going to tell me the Emperor’s been running things all this while. My guess is they got him locked up somewhere.’

‘That’s terrible,’ Loredan said.

‘Too right it’s terrible. And now, soon as the bastards’ve been defeated, look what happens. The General gets the push, just like that. Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?’

‘Hm?’

‘Fallen out over dividing up the spoils,’ the landlord said. ‘My guess is, Colonel Whatsisface was getting a bit too greedy, trying to edge the Prefect out of the racket. And the next thing he knows – wham!’

‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ Loredan confessed. ‘Put that way, though, it does seem to make a lot of sense.’ He sipped his cider, which was horrible. ‘More sense than the other explanation, anyway.’

‘Take that business with the rope, now,’ the landlord went on. ‘Should’ve realised then what was going on. But you never think that sort of thing goes on, though, do you?’

‘What business with the rope? I’ve been a bit out of things lately, remember.’

‘Oh, this was some time back,’ the landlord replied. ‘Seems that Colonel Whatever-he’s-called went around commandeering all the rope in the city, and then flogged it off cheap to all his buddy-buddies from the Island.’ He grinned knowingly. ‘If you ask me, that’s what this whole emergency’s been in aid of, right from where they made a muck of that cavalry raid. You’re not going to tell me we couldn’t have kicked those savages back where they come from if we’d have really been trying.’

Loredan drank some more horrible cider. ‘I never did like that man’s face,’ he said. ‘Used to be a lawyer, of course.’

‘Well, that says it all, really. Same again?’

‘I think I’ll try the wine, thanks.’

‘House red? Or I got something a bit special, if you’d prefer.’

‘House red’ll do fine.’

The wine, though horrible, was a degree less unspeakable than the cider, and Loredan stayed for a couple more, during which time he learnt a lot more about what had really been going on up the hill. Then he decided to go home, before the landlord’s booze achieved what Temrai and all his men hadn’t been able to. His way home led him past Athli’s house, and he decided to give it one last try. This time, she was in.

‘Hello,’ he said.

She stared at him, and for a moment he almost believed she was about to jump into his arms. She didn’t.

‘Hello yourself,’ she replied. ‘They let you out, then.’

‘Time off for bad behaviour. I’ve got a message for you.’

‘Come in and have a drink,’ she said.

He’d been in Athli’s house before, but that was some time ago. He’d forgotten how light and airy it was, with its white distempered walls and bright, cheerful tapestries, neat and well-made furniture, clean and dry floor. Of course there are people who live like this, he said to himself, people who like everything to be nice. If they had to live in a cave, they’d have some flowers in a jar to cheer the place up.

He sat down in the chimney corner while Athli took down two silver cups from hooks over the fireplace and filled them from a jug. ‘What’s the message?’ she said, handing him one. ‘Something nice?’

Loredan nodded. ‘Possibly. You remember those two types from the Island? Venart and Vetriz?’

‘How odd you should mention them. I was going to tell you about them in a minute.’

‘Well, they’ve offered us a free ride out of here,’ Loredan said. ‘Their ship leaves first thing tomorrow; if we want, we can be on it.’

‘Oh.’ Athli stood in front of the fire, holding her cup tightly. ‘Are you going?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Loredan sipped the wine; rather more like it, if a bit sweet for his taste. ‘I’m sorely tempted. What about you? And what were you going to say about those two?’ He leant forward a little. ‘You’ve obviously run into them again since I saw you last.’

Athli nodded. ‘More than that,’ she said. ‘We’ve gone into business together.’

‘Good gods. How did that happen?’

Athli explained, while Loredan listened very attentively. ‘I’m starting to wonder about those two,’ he said when she’d finished. ‘Seems like we can’t put our feet down recently without treading on them.’

‘I thought it was rather a coincidence,’ Athli agreed. ‘Anyway, what do you think?’

‘About their offer?’ Loredan bowed his head over his cup, staring into the dregs. ‘I told the Patriarch I wasn’t afraid of standing trial,’ he said. ‘I lied. I feel like I’ve been in one fight too many as it is. My father used to say, luck’s like a bloody great big rock balanced on a cliff above your house; doesn’t do to push it too hard.’ He shook his head. ‘Not that that means anything in this case. For instance, if I go, maybe there’ll be a storm that sinks the ship and I’ll drown, while if I’d stayed put I’d have lived to be a hundred. Which is making the assumption that I want to live to be a hundred,’ he added, ‘which I don’t. You thought about it yet?’ He looked round. ‘You’ve got something to leave behind,’ he said.

‘What, this?’ Athli laughed. ‘It’d have been nice to have a chance to sell it and get my money back, but the hell with it; basically, it’s just things.’

‘So you’re going, then?’

‘Don’t know.’ She looked up. ‘I will if you will.’

Loredan felt uncomfortable. ‘There must be a few smilers’ worth of stuff in here,’ he said. ‘You seem to have a good eye for a bargain.’

‘Always the shrewd businesswoman,’ Athli replied briskly. ‘Talking of which-’ She hesitated, then went on, ‘Can I ask you a question? Personal question.’

‘Depends. You can try.’

‘All right.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Why is it,’ she said, ‘when you make ten times as much money as I do, you live like a pig and always seem to be broke? No offence, but it doesn’t make sense, mathematically. I’ve often wondered.’

Loredan looked away and Athli thought, That’s done it, I’ve offended him now. But a moment later he turned back, and his expression was more or less the same.

‘I send a lot of money home,’ he said. ‘Maybe I mentioned before, I’ve got rather a large family. Three brothers and a sister – my parents are both dead now, but two of my brothers are still on the farm. I’ve been helping them out, when I can. I owe it to them, you see.’

‘Helping them out,’ Athli repeated.

‘That’s right. My father was a tenant, in a small way; actually, he was a peasant, strictly hand-to-mouth stuff, and with the landlord taking a sixth of everything off the top, it wasn’t exactly easy at the best of times. So I bought the land. Enough for all three of them to have a decent life. Like I said, it was the least I could do, all things considered.’

Athli thought, It still doesn’t make sense; if the brothers got the farm and Bardas went off to make his way in the world, shouldn’t it have been the other way about? They got everything, and he started out with nothing. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘That explains it, I suppose. They must be pretty well off by now then, your brothers. The ones that stayed,’ she added.

Loredan nodded. ‘They’re good farmers, by all accounts,’ he said. ‘Not that I hear from them very often. Anyway, that’s the answer to your question. Very mundane, very ordinary, no great mystery.’

‘You never talk about your family.’

‘No, I don’t. I don’t find them a very interesting topic of conversation. Is there any more of this wine, or are you saving it for your old age?’

‘Sorry,’ Athli said. ‘Please, help yourself.’ She waited until he’d filled his cup, then went on, ‘You aren’t thinking of going back there, then? Home, I mean, the farm.’

Loredan shook his head. ‘Too much like work, living on a farm,’ he said. ‘Not to mention the smell, and goats in the living room. I’m too old to go to work.’

‘How about the Island, then? You decided?’

‘I think you should go,’ he replied. ‘I know we saw them off yesterday, but I’m pretty sure they’ll try again. And keep trying, till they get it right. I think the city will fall, and probably sooner rather than later.’

In spite of herself, Athli was shocked; to hear him say it, quite casually, the thing that she and everybody else had been dreading while at the same time knowing, absolutely knowing, that it could never ever happen. ‘You really think so?’ was all she said.

Loredan nodded. ‘You don’t realise how bloody close they came to it yesterday,’ he replied. ‘If it hadn’t been for the fire-oil, we’d none of us be here now. There’s so many of them; we simply hadn’t imagined there could be so many. And the things they’ve achieved; the engines, the organisation, everything. Last time I had anything to do with them, they were – well, I suppose I’d have to call them savages, though I don’t mean it the way most people do. They were primitive; like they didn’t want anything more than what they’d always had, which is fair enough, at that.

‘Now they’re making things just as well as we can – don’t believe anybody who says they’ve bought them somewhere or been given them; that kid Temrai came here and set about learning how to make everything he needed to take this city. He’s absolutely amazing, that boy. He deserves to win, just as we-Anyway,’ he went on, ‘the only thing standing in his way is the fire-oil. If he can find a way of getting round that, we’re done for. Given what he’s achieved so far, I doubt it’ll take him too long. And even if he doesn’t, he’s got so many men he could just push straight through anything we can throw at him, provided he’s prepared to take the losses. And I think he is. He’s a good chief, but for some reason taking this city matters to him. I saw the way he kept bringing up engines after our trebuchets had just made firewood out of the previous wave. In the end it comes down to whether we’re as prepared to die for our city as they are to die for their chief. And on that basis, we’re stuffed.’

Athli nodded slowly. ‘So you’re leaving,’ she said.

‘I didn’t say I was.’

‘But if the city’s going to fall…’

Loredan leant forward until he was very close to her. ‘I think you should go,’ he said. ‘I’m not saying this is your last chance or anything like that, though it’s got to be better than cramming onto a crowded refugee ship later, when they’re on the wall. I’d-’ He stopped, breathed in and out, started again. ‘I’d feel happier if I knew you were out of it. You’ve got a skill that’ll make you a living anywhere you go. You’ve even got friends on the Island now, you’d have no difficulty making a life for yourself. What have you got here, apart from all this nice furniture?’

‘I’ll go if you go,’ she said.

He moved away, frowning. She wanted to reach out, but didn’t.

‘We could start a school there,’ she said, ‘just like the school here, except I don’t suppose there’s the competition. And what you said about me having friends there, it goes for you, too. For some reason those two seem to have taken a shine to us; we wouldn’t just be refugees starting from nothing, we’d know people, they’d help us.’ She tried to meet his eyes, but he was looking away, into the fire. ‘You don’t actually want to stay here, do you? Stay here and be killed, be a hero when there’s nobody left to remember? You always said you never had any time for heroes.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said gently. ‘Why the hell should I want to get myself killed? For free,’ he added. ‘For money’d be different.’

‘Well, then. Let’s go, together.’ She tried to find a smile from somewhere. ‘It’d be fun, the two of us. Like it used to be.’

He looked up at her now, but she couldn’t see anything in his face except a faint reflection of fire in his eyes. ‘That was your idea of fun, was it?’ he said. ‘Oh, well. Takes all sorts.’

She tried to stay calm, stay in control. ‘Well, I won’t go if you won’t,’ she said. ‘That’s what we in the trade call moral blackmail. Essential skill for a lawyer’s clerk.’

Loredan finished his wine and stood up. ‘I didn’t say I wasn’t going,’ he said. ‘Just that I haven’t made my mind up.’ He put the cup down on a table and did up his coat. ‘Didn’t you say something in your letter about having put a lock on the door of my apartment?’

Athli looked blank for a moment. ‘Oh, gods, yes, the key. Hang on, I’ll get it for you.’ She opened a drawer in a small exquisite writing desk and took out a bundle of cloth. ‘Here you are,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘It’s a bit stiff, you have to lean on the door before you turn it.’

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘How much do I owe you for that?’

She was about to say, Don’t mention it. ‘Five quarters,’ she replied. ‘You can owe it me till tomorrow if you like.’

‘No, I think I’ve got that in change.’ He counted out the coins and handed them over; Athli imagined they hurt her hand as she took them. She put the money down; he walked to the door.

‘The ship’s called the Squirrel,’ he said. ‘North quay, twin-castle freighter. I’d go if I were you.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.

He left.