The Belly of the Bow

CHAPTER SIX

‘I seem to have this knack,’ the young merchant muttered, ‘of stumbling into other people’s wars. It’s a bad habit and I think I’ll try and break it.’

His sister sat down on a coil of rope and opened her writing tablet. ‘I wouldn’t,’ she said without looking up. ‘Wars have always been good for business. Think of yourself as a pig with a talent for sniffing out truffles.’

‘That’s not really-Look out, he’s coming back.’ The merchant, whose name was Venart, straightened his back and tried to look bored as the soldier came stomping down the deck towards him. ‘Finished?’ he asked. ‘Because we do have work to do, you know. This lot isn’t going to unload itself, and-’

The soldier looked at him, and he subsided. ‘All seems to be in order,’ the soldier said grudgingly. He opened the small wooden box he was holding and produced a strip of clay, stamped with three columns of small writing and kept wet between two layers of damp cloth. From his satchel he took a signet ring on a length of flax string and pressed it into the clay; then he closed the box and handed it over. ‘Here’s your docking clearance and licence to trade,’ he said. ‘You should be prepared to offer it for examination whenever required to do so by an officer of the Bank, and you’ll need to produce it when changing money or sealing any bill or document with a Scona resident. It must also be endorsed with an excise stamp indicating that all duty has been paid before you’ll be permitted to leave Scona. Is that clear?’

Venart nodded wearily. ‘Perfectly,’ he said. ‘Now can we please start unloading?’

‘Go ahead,’ the soldier replied. He called out an order to his three subordinates and led them down the gangplank and off the ship.

‘You realise,’ said the merchant’s sister, whose name was Vetriz, ‘that if you’d been even half polite to that man, we’d have been spared all that poking about in sacks and opening of barrels. Honestly, why do you always insist on carrying on as if you were an Imperial envoy?’

‘I wasn’t,’ Venart replied, stung. ‘I just resent it when some lout in a uniform-’

‘Of course you do,’ Vetriz said soothingly. ‘You don’t see why some horrid little man should push you around when all you’re doing is carrying on an honest trade. And that’s why we spend so much time sitting at the dock having our cargo ransacked. You’re a merchant, you’re suppose to cringe and fawn and kiss their smelly boots. It’s called business, or hadn’t you heard?’

Venart sighed. ‘I don’t like this place,’ he said. ‘Never have. It’s sort of-’ He paused while he carefully sorted through the resources of his vocabulary. ‘Sort of creepy,’ he went on. ‘There’s a bad feeling about this island, I don’t know what it is.’

‘You don’t? How extremely unperceptive you are. Come on, let’s make a start, or it’ll be dark before we’re finished.’

Vetriz got up and walked away briskly, leaving her brother to trot after her. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘if you’re so clever, what is it about this place?’

‘What do you expect in a country run by an ex-slave trader?’ Vetriz said casually. ‘Oh, don’t say you didn’t know. Everybody knows that.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Well, now you do. That’s how the Director of the Bank made her money, back in Perimadeia. She ran a chain of brothels.’ She stopped and smiled sweetly. ‘You do know what a brothel is, don’t you?’

‘Don’t be aggravating,’ Venart said irritably. ‘But isn’t she supposed to be related to that man we met, the one who killed people for a living?’

‘That’s right,’ Vetriz replied. ‘Her name’s Niessa Loredan. Anyway, she made her fortune buying women and children from the South Coast pirates and selling and hiring them in the City. At least, that’s how she started. And now she runs Scona. Which probably has something to do with why it’s not a particularly nice place.’

Venart thought for a moment. ‘Well, she’s done all right for herself, at any rate,’ he said. ‘You get the bill of lading sorted out while I go and see the warehouse people.’

Most of the cargo was made up of barrels of raisins and sacks of pepper and cloves, none of which were likely to be improved by being left standing out in the rain for any length of time. The warehouseman wasn’t in his office, but Venart eventually ran him to ground in the harbourmaster’s office, where he was playing knucklebones with three of the clerks. He didn’t seem to be in any great hurry to leave the game, but eventually Venart was able to persuade him to open up the warehouse and take his money.

‘And the porters’ fees,’ the warehouseman added.

‘That’s all right,’ Venart replied. ‘We do our own unloading.’

‘Not on Scona you don’t,’ the warehouseman said with a grin. ‘Not unless you want all your stuff pulled out of store and dumped in the sea.’

‘But that’s outrageous,’ Venart protested. ‘You can’t do that.’

‘Custom and practice,’ the warehouseman said with a shrug. ‘Nothing to do with me.’

‘It isn’t custom and practice,’ Venart insisted. ‘Or at least it wasn’t three years ago, when I was here last.’

‘It’s a new custom,’ the warehouseman said. ‘I mean, customs have got to start somewhere. Sixty quarters, and you won’t have any trouble.’

Venart looked him in the eye. ‘How about if I take this up with the harbourmaster?’ he said sternly.

‘Can if you like,’ the warehouseman replied in a bored voice. ‘But he’s a busy man, and by the time you get to see him, all your gear’ll be being washed up on Shastel. The choice is yours.’

Venart paid him the sixty quarters and went back to the ship. There was no sign of any porters, but that didn’t surprise him in the least. He told his men to start unloading.

‘I’ve been through the list and everything’s fine,’ Vetriz said, sitting next to him on the sea wall. ‘Oh, and by the way, don’t let them sucker you into paying porters’ fees. Apparently they try it on with newcomers, but it’s all a scam.’

‘Do I look like I was born yesterday?’ her brother answered. ‘I’ve told Marin and Olas to take first turn watching the cargo. Let’s go and find somewhere out of this rain and get something to eat.’

‘The Unicorn, just off the Strangers’ Quay,’ Vetriz said. ‘It’s not too expensive, for Scona, and if we’re lucky we might get out again without having our throats cut.’

There was no point asking how she knew that; there were just some things that Vetriz knew, and that was that. Venart guessed that she asked people.

‘We’ll leave making a start till the morning,’ he announced, dumping his kitbag in the corner of the room. ‘I don’t suppose anybody does any business around here in the evenings.’

‘Actually, the time to do business is the evening promenade, ’ Vetriz corrected him. ‘There’s three or four taverns where the provisioners hang around, over on the other side of the Dock. We’ll need to take samples along, and it’s customary not to start talking business until after the second drink. Once we’ve told them what we’ve got, we leave it to them to have a sort of informal auction, and whatever we do, we don’t name a price ourselves, because that’s a sign of weakness. They make the offer, and we take it or leave it. They don’t haggle much.’

‘How the hell do you know? Never mind.’ Venart shook his head. ‘You’d better lead the way, then.’

‘I don’t know where to go,’ Vetriz replied. ‘I’ve never been here before in my life.’

The provisioners’ pitches turned out not to be hard to find. The fifth tavern they looked in smelt overpoweringly of cardamom and cumin, and they saw ten or twelve men sitting on cushions on the floor passing round a pewter jug, while all about them were open bags and sacks of fine-grade produce. When the two Islanders joined them, they were greeted with cheerful curiosity, more cushions and more cups were called for, and a space appeared in the ring. Two boys hurried up with the cushions, the cups, another quart jug and two wide copper plates of raisins, dates and dried figs. To Venart’s surprise, three of the men in the circle turned out to be women, dressed in the same heavy brocaded coats and trousers, embroidered slippers and big shapeless felt hats as the men.

After the barest minimum of small talk, the circle got down to business. Venart produced his samples, handed them to the man next to him to pass round, fixed a pleasant smile on his face and resolved to say nothing, while Vetriz (who was hungry) kept herself occupied with the plate of dried fruit. As predicted the merchants started haggling and arguing among themselves, for all the world as if the two strangers weren’t there. It was only when one man opted out of the negotiations after a good deal of arm-waving and furious language that he leant forward with a warm, friendly smile on his face and said, ‘Welcome to Scona.’

‘It’s a pleasure to be here,’ Venart replied inaccurately.

The provisioner acknowledged the formula with a slight bow from the neck. He was an elderly man with a round face, pale brown eyes and four hairless chins. ‘I can see you’re familiar with our way of doing business,’ he said, ‘so presumably this isn’t your first trip here.’

‘Not for me, no,’ Venart said. ‘But my sister, who’s learning the business from me, hasn’t been here before.’

The provisioner nodded two or three times. ‘It can be a very offputting place when you’re new here,’ he said. ‘But once you’re used to it, and you know better than to be taken in by the dockers’ scams and the excisemen’s bluster, you find it’s more or less the same as any market place anywhere. If people want to buy what you’re selling, it’s easy enough; if you’re not carrying the right lines, you have to work harder.’

‘And what about the war?’ Venart asked. ‘Is that making much difference?’

The provisioner grinned at him like a tired dog. ‘War?’ he said. ‘What war? Oh, I know what you mean, but it’s like an unspoken rule, you don’t call it that. You say “the state of tension existing between the Foundation and ourselves”, or “the intense rivalry between the Scona Bank and its local competitors”.’

Vetriz frowned. ‘Not meaning to be rude,’ she said, ‘but why not call it a war when it is one? It seems – well, a bit silly.’

Venart scowled ferociously at her, but both Vetriz and the provisioner ignored him. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to your eminently reasonable question,’ the provisioner said. ‘That’s just what’s been decided, and so we do it. To give you an example, our forces have just wiped out a larger enemy unit right in the heart of the Foundation’s territory, which effectively gives us control of the area. Now what’ll happen is that the accredited Scona representatives in Shastel will call at the offices of the Foundation and hand over a letter of credit – drawn on Scona, needless to say – for the value of the mortgages held by the Foundation in the territory we’ve just taken, and the Foundation will seal receipts on the mortgage deeds acknowledging that all sums due have been paid in full. Then as soon as they’re able, they’ll send a larger army to chase us off again, and if they succeed, their agents will call on us and give us a letter of credit (drawn on Shastel, needless to say) and we’ll receipt our mortgage deeds back again, and so it’ll go on. Neither side can actually cash the letters, obviously, but I know for a fact that we solemnly enter them in our accounts as fixed assets, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they do the same.’

Vetriz bit her lip. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘It still seems a funny way to do business.’

The provisioner shrugged his shoulders. ‘It is; but, to use our favourite phrase, it’s custom and practice. And it does make a sort of sense, in a way; we treat warfare as one of the many forms that commercial activity can take. And if you ask me, running commerce and warfare in parallel is no sillier than simultaneously waging war and playing diplomacy, which is what all governments do.’

The rest of the circle had stopped arguing and gone back to talking pleasantly among themselves – except when they’re negotiating Venart noticed, they’re a very soft-spoken lot – and a middle-aged woman on the opposite side of the ring got up, sat down next to Venart and started talking terms. Vetriz tried to follow the conversation for a while, but it wasn’t particularly interesting stuff, and for all her determination to learn the business she still found it hard to get enthusiastic about warranties of actual state and condition. Instead she turned to the man they’d been talking to.

‘I was wondering,’ she said. ‘Do you happen to know a man called Bardas Loredan? I think he’s the Director’s brother.’

The provisioner raised both eyebrows. ‘Not personally,’ he said. ‘I know of him, naturally. If I may ask, why?’

‘Oh, I met him once in Perimadeia,’ she said, with slightly exaggerated lack of concern. ‘We did some business with him just before the City fell.’

‘Really,’ said the provisioner softly.

‘Oh, yes. We bought a lot of rope from him.’

The provisioner nodded slowly. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘Colonel Loredan – that was his official rank, wasn’t it? – he’s something of a mystery to us, if the truth be told. He came here immediately after the City fell, but as far as anybody knows he’s having nothing to do with either the Director or his brother-’

‘His brother,’ Vetriz repeated. ‘Gorgas Loredan?’

‘That’s right. Our Chief Executive. Do I take it you know him as well?’

‘We’ve met,’ Vetriz replied, looking past him rather than at him. ‘I gather he works for his sister.’

‘Gorgas Loredan’s a very important man here on Scona,’ the provisioner said, deadpan. ‘If you know him personally, that could be a great help to your business dealings here. For one thing, he’s in charge of all the buying for the military.’

‘Oh, I don’t suppose he remembers me,’ Vetriz said quickly. ‘Does anyone know why there’s bad feeling between Bar-between Colonel Loredan and his brother?’

The provisioner shook his head. ‘Rumour and speculation,’ he said, ‘and no two stories agree. It’s not all that uncommon for brothers to fall out, you know.’ He paused, apparently thinking something over, and then went on, ‘If you knew the Colonel in Perimadeia during the siege, did you ever come across a man called Alexius, the Patriarch?’

Vetriz blinked several times and then nodded. ‘I did, as a matter of fact. He was a friend of Colonel Loredan’s, and we also did business with him. In fact, it was our ship that brought him out when the City fell, and he stayed with us for a while on the Island afterwards.’

‘That’s interesting. I only asked because he’s here on Scona too; he arrived not long ago, and I did hear somewhere that he was anxious to find where Colonel Loredan’s living now. If you want to see the Colonel, he may well be the person to ask.’

‘I see,’ Vetriz said. ‘Well, I don’t suppose we’ll have the time to go looking up old friends, because we’re on quite a tight schedule. But if we do, I’ll certainly bear that in mind. I don’t suppose you have any idea where Patriarch Alexius is staying, do you?’

The provisioner smiled. ‘As a matter of fact, I do. He’s the guest of Gorgas Loredan. I can show you where he lives if you’d like.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble,’ Vetriz said immediately.

‘It wouldn’t be any trouble,’ the provisioner insisted, and if there was an edge of wickedness in his voice he concealed it very well. ‘It’s on my way home, in fact, and since it doesn’t look like I’m going to do much business this evening, I might just as well walk so far with you.’

‘Well, I really ought to wait for my brother, you see,’ Vetriz replied with a slight tinge of desperation. ‘And I really have no idea how long his business will take.’

‘I’m in no great hurry,’ the provisioner said. ‘I don’t mind waiting.’

Vetriz shifted a little on her pile of cushions. ‘I expect you’re just being polite,’ she said. ‘And really, I’d hate to hold you up.’

‘No trouble, no trouble,’ the man said firmly. ‘While we’re waiting, perhaps you’d indulge my curiosity just a little further. You see, I’m terribly interested in what actually happened in the last days of the City, and meeting someone who was actually there – if you don’t mind my asking, that is.’

‘Oh, no, not in the least,’ Vetriz answered unenthusiastically. ‘But really, we didn’t see very much, and I wasn’t actually there at the end, it was my brother-’

‘Only,’ the provisioner went on, ‘the story is that the City fell because somebody actually opened the gates and let the plainsmen in. I find that extremely hard to believe, and I wondered if you knew anything.’

Vetriz shook her head. ‘I expect I’ve just heard the same rumours as you,’ she said. ‘I mean yes, I’ve heard that story, but to me it just sounds like rationalising; you know, Perimadeia couldn’t possibly have fallen to the plainsmen unless it was treason, and then that turns into speculation and the speculation becomes a rumour-’

‘Quite so,’ the provisioner agreed. ‘That’s how tales get about, as my father used to say. But I’ve heard this story from several quite different sources, and they all seem to agree on so many details that maybe there really is something to it after all.’ He smiled, and appeared to relax slightly, like a hunter slowly easing his bow when he’s decided that the animal he’s just drawn on is actually too small to be worth shooting. ‘So what was it really like?’ he went on. ‘I used to visit the City quite regularly at one time, but that must be, oh, ten years ago now, so the truth is, I really have no idea what it was like towards the end. Is it true, do you know, that Chief Temrai actually built scores and scores of seige engines from scratch, just from what he remembered seeing in the Arsenal? If so, I’d say we’ve all been underestimating the plainsmen for far too long. The potential for trade…’

As Vetriz listened and tried her best to reply intelligently to the provisioner’s questions, she had the distinct feeling that she’d been deliberately let off the hook; no, it wasn’t even that, more a case of having been saved till later, like the best of a batch of honey-cakes. Whatever the reason, he didn’t insist on walking with them once Venart had struck his deal, and they were able to escape.

‘This isn’t bad at all, you know,’ Venart said as soon as they were back out in the open air. ‘I’ve got rid of all the raisins at twenty-five per cent profit, and she’s going to take half the cloves at thirty per cent. They don’t seem particularly keen on pepper, though; she offered me fifteen quarters a quart, so I turned her down on that. I’ve got this feeling we can get it up to seventeen if we stick at it; I mean, they must use mountains of the stuff, and I can’t really believe they’re getting it cheaper from the Colleon boats.’

Vetriz made some sort of show of listening to her brother’s blow-by-blow account, but her mind was preoccupied with other things. The thought that Alexius was here, on Scona, was somehow vaguely alarming, as well as extremely mystifying. If she’d been told he was on Shastel, that would at least have made better sense, because Shastel was heavily into all the mystic stuff and magic that Alexius knew about; they weren’t the same denomination as the City magicians had been, but they talked a lot about this peculiar thing called the Principle, so they might well be expected to invite one of the greatest living authorities on the subject to come and join them. But for him to go and join their enemy-

Unless that was it, and what was being planned was some kind of wizards’ war, with Alexius and the Shastel scholars trading fiery spells with each other across the Scona Straits. That would make just a little sense, if it wasn’t for the fact that Alexius couldn’t do anything remotely resembling magic (and nor could anybody else, for that matter) and even if he could, he wouldn’t offer himself for hire like a cotton-picker at the start of the season. She was so preoccupied that she forgot to keep saying, ‘That’s nice,’ at regular intervals, and Venart stopped talking and looked at her.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘You look like you’re miles away.’

‘What? Oh, it doesn’t matter. Go on with what you were saying.’

‘I will if you can tell me what I was talking about. Is it something that merchant told you?’

Vetriz nodded. ‘He was asking me if I knew Patriarch Alexius. Apparently he’s here. On Scona.’

Venart raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, everybody’s got to be somewhere. Maybe he got offered a job. Don’t look at me like that. For all practical purposes he’s just another City refugee, he’s got to earn a living the same as everyone else.’

Vetriz gave him one of her patient looks. ‘I don’t think it works like that in his line of business,’ she said. ‘I mean, I haven’t heard of any annual hiring fairs for abstract philosophers, have you? I think…’

‘Well?’

‘I don’t know,’ Vetriz confessed. ‘I just have this feeling, that’s all. You’d probably best ignore me.’

Venart sighed. ‘The last time you had a feeling,’ he said, ‘I had to pull him out of the fall of Perimadeia. This time, can whatever it is you’ve got a feeling about please be something a little less strenuous and exciting? Maybe even something where we can turn a few quarters? You want to try and get rid of this idea that we’re princes and princesses out of a kids’ story.’

‘Huh.’ Vetriz pushed her hair back behind her ears. ‘If it wasn’t for me you’d lead ever such a boring life. You should be grateful.’

‘I’m sure I know you from somewhere,’ the man said for the third time, raising his voice so as to be heard above the background noise in the inn. At the other end of the room, ten or so soldiers were having a heated discussion about something technical, to do with fletchings for arrows. ‘you’re Perimadeian, aren’t you?’

Alexius nodded slowly. ‘Actually, I was born in Macyra, but I lived most of my life in the City.’ He smiled, as if at some private joke.

‘I’ve got it,’ the man said, pouring himself another mug of cider. ‘You see, I studied in Shastel, years ago, of course, before the Bank was ever founded, when I was a student, and I was sent to the City as one of Doctor Raudel’s pages. There, I thought you’d recognise the name.’

Temper, Alexius commanded himself. Bear in mind, this nuisance is much less of a nuisance than some of the nuisances you’ve managed to be perfectly civil to in the past. And he did buy you a meal.

‘Oh, I remember Doctor Raudel Bovert; I met him a number of times.’ Alexius turned his head slightly and stared up at the smoke-grimed rafters. ‘Rather pompous, very opinionated, like so many of the scholars of the Foundation. He had a few very brilliant insights which he’d completely failed to understand, but his manner was so offputting that nobody in the Academy could be bothered with them. A typical Foundation scholar, in fact.’

The man wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘now I know who you are. You’re one of the Perimadeian Foundation, something quite high up.’

‘The Patriarch, actually,’ Alexius replied casually. ‘Last of the line, of course, there won’t be any more of us after I’m gone.’ He made the effort to frown. ‘No great loss, really,’ he added, to himself as much as to the man. ‘When I think of all the talent and resources we had at our disposal, and then of what we actually achieved-But that’s probably just as well. It’d be rather distressing to die knowing that something valuable was dying with me.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ the man said. He was still rather vexed at hearing Raudel dismissed so trivially, but obviously the thought of having an opportunity to talk to the greatest living authority on the Principle was worth the aggravation. Alexius could visualise the expression on the man’s face as he bored all his friends with the story that evening. ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘first things first, how about another drink?’ He turned his head and called out, ‘You there! Wake up, there’s people dying of thirst.’

The last thing Alexius wanted was another drink; his head was already foggy from the two mugs of strong cider the man had practically forced down him already. But it would have been easier to stand off the whole of Temrai’s army single-handed than resist such grimly determined hospitality. Fortunately, after half a mug, he fell asleep-

– And then he was sitting on a bed in a room in an inn, quite like this one but slightly less depressingly sparse; and there on the other bed, lying on his back with his boots off, was Venart, the young Islander he’d known back in the City and afterwards. He was asleep, snoring softly, and on the floor where it had fallen from his hands was a fat ledger. Small world, Alexius thought, and then the door opened and Vetriz came in, cautiously, furtively even, holding a bundle of sailcloth. She closed the door quietly, walked over to the small table and unwrapped her bundle, which turned out to contain a roll of expensive-looking fabric. Vetriz made sure her brother was still asleep, then spread the roll out and held it up against herself, craning her neck to peer down and see what it looked like. So she’s bought some cloth that probably cost more than she’s allowed to spend, and she doesn’t want her brother to know, he thought. For a final revelatory vision granted to an eminent sage on his deathbed, it’s a bit prosaic. I thought these things were meant to show you the crucial cusps of the future, the point of balance where momentous trends can go one way or the other. I had no idea the future of women’s fashions was so important.

After striking various poses and leaning over backwards to look at them, Vetriz rolled up the cloth and put it away under the bed, just behind Alexius’ feet; she was so close that he could see the individual hairs on her head, and the tiny white line of scalp where she’d parted it to form her rather appealing fringe. In fact, the quality of the vision was markedly better than any he’d had before in terms of clarity and realism, and he suddenly realised that he was indeed actually there-

This is ridiculous. Of course I’m not there, although it’d be wonderful if I was. But I’m here, stuck in a horrible inn with a boring man, dying. This is starting to annoy me.

Then the door opened again, and a man came in; slowly, painfully, leaning on a stick. But that’s me, and that’s ridiculous, because I’m already here. He opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out, and the other Alexius hobbled over to the bed and sat down beside himself, while Vetriz closed the door and woke up her brother with a brutal shove.

‘Wake up,’ she said, ‘look who’s here. Patriarch Alexius, this is-’

‘Please,’ the other Alexius interrupted, ‘I want you to help me. There’s no earthly reason why you should, and it might well get you into serious trouble, but can you please get me off this island on your ship? You see-’

– And he opened his eyes, blinked twice at the round face of the hospitable pest, who was asking him if he was feeling all right, and tried to reply; but he was feeling drowsy again, so he closed his eyes, then opened them again-

– There was someone sitting on the bed; a stranger, a young girl. She was wearing a coarse dark-brown woollen robe, and her hair was tied back in a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She looked about eighteen, pretty in a slightly awkward sort of way.

‘Hello,’ she said, ‘my name’s Machaera. Can you see me?’

Alexius nodded. ‘Are you here?’ he asked softly. The girl frowned.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘It feels exactly as if I am, but I know for a fact I’m in my cell at the lodgings doing a projection. Who are you?’

‘My name’s Alexius. When you say you’re doing a projection, do you mean you’re somehow using some latent mental ability to harness the Principle and use it to show you this vision? Come to that, can you understand what I’m talking about or is it a complete mystery to you?’

‘Oh, I know about the Principle,’ the girl replied. ‘And so do you, obviously. You don’t look at all well, by the way.’

‘You’re too kind. Now then, by the way you’re taking it all in your stride, I’d say this isn’t the first time you’ve done one of these, what did you call them, projections. Am I right?’

‘Yes indeed. I’ve done heaps of them now.’ Oh, for pity’s sake, another natural. What harm have I ever done anybody to deserve this? ‘But this is the first time I’ve ever been able to talk to anybody. Usually I just stand there and listen.’

Alexius made an effort and gathered up the few scraps of strength he had left. ‘There could be several reasons for that,’ he said. ‘We may be sharing a vision – it’s happened to me a few times, though never like this. I may be able to talk to you because of my experience with, ah, projections. There’s also the possibility that I’m hallucinating because of this fever I’ve got, and you aren’t really there at all.’

‘Oh, I’m here all right,’ the girl said, and she reached out to touch Alexius’ hand. Somehow she couldn’t quite reach, even when she shifted up very close. ‘Oh. Well, I think I’m here and so do you. Isn’t that proof?’

Alexius shook his head. ‘Not really,’ he said, and he realised that he was using the voice he’d always used when taking a tutorial. ‘You see, I could be hallucinating you, or you could be hallucinating me. It’d be quite possible for me to imagine you saying you could see me.’

The girl look disappointed. ‘So you think I’m not really here at all?’ she said. ‘Really, I honestly think I am. But you can’t take my word for that, can you?’

‘I believe you,’ Alexius said. ‘And I can only assume you’re here because this is some sort of cusp in the curve of history which-’

‘Sorry. Do go on.’

‘No, you were about to say something. I want to know what it was.’

The girl hesitated. ‘Well, it was just when you called it a cusp. That’s the word my tutor uses, Doctor Gannadius. He says-’

‘Gannadius! ’

‘My tutor,’ the girl repeated. ‘Why, have you heard of him?’

‘Gannadius,’ Alexius repeated. ‘Shortish round-faced man with very pale blue eyes, just the right side of sixty, dark brown hair starting to get thin on top? He used to be Archimandrite of the City Academy of Perimadeia.’

‘That’s right,’ said the girl. ‘You do know him, don’t you?’

‘And he’s your tutor. Where?’ He felt something fall into place in his mind. ‘On Shastel,’ he said. ‘You’re a member of the Foundation, and Gannadius is working there. I’m right, aren’t I?’

The girl dipped her head. ‘He’s the senior tutor in Applied Metaphysics,’ she said. ‘He taught me how to do this – well, how to do it properly, at any rate. Are you from Perimadeia too?’

Alexius smiled. ‘Why does everybody keep asking me that? Yes. Listen to me; will you go at once and find Gannadius and tell him what you’ve seen? Please? It might be quite important.’

‘Of course,’ the girl said. ‘Excuse me, but are you the Alexius who used to be the Patriarch? Doctor Gannadius talks about you all the time. He said you were the most brilliant-’

‘He’s wrong. Very gullible man. Now, please, will you do what I asked you?’

‘I’ll do my very best, I promise,’ the girl said. ‘And really, you shouldn’t say such things about Doctor Gannadius. He’s very highly respected in the Foundation.’

‘Really? Extraordinary. Well. Look, I’m sorry if this sounds rude but I’d be really grateful if you could go and see Doctor Gannadius now. It’s been very… interesting talking to you like this, but I would just like to-’

– Someone was leaning over him, that damned hospitable fool with his earthenware jug of cider and his big fat face. ‘Time for another one before you go?’ he said cheerfully. ‘Now then, say when.’

Alexius looked back at the girl. ‘Please,’ he said. She nodded. The hospitable nuisance looked straight through her, then at Alexius, and shook his head. ‘I’m not hallucinating,’ Alexius said. ‘She wasn’t actually here, you see, and…’

‘Of course you’re not,’ said the man, putting the jug down. ‘You were just talking in your sleep, that’s all. But maybe another one wouldn’t be such a good idea after all.’ He stood up, just a little too quickly to be convincing. ‘Well, it’s been a real treat talking to you, but time’s getting on, so I’d best be on my way. Goodbye, Patriarch.’

Alexius sat quite still for a few minutes, making sure that the hospitable nuisance had actually gone, and hoping (rather optimistically) that his headache would go away. When it didn’t he hauled himself to his feet and was nearly out through the door when the innkeeper called him back and told him that his friend, the one who left in such a hurry, had forgotten to pay for the drinks.

‘What can you see?’ the boy called out.

‘There’s people moving about,’ Bardas Loredan replied, ‘but I can’t make out whether it’s them or us.’ He shifted carefully and put more weight on his elbows, painfully aware that his perch up among the rafters by the hole in the roof was unstable at best; if the roof-ties realised he was there, they’d be well within their rights to collapse under his weight and let him drop to the ground. ‘They seem to be heading for that other ruin down in the dip there, but it’s too far for me to be able to see clearly in this rain.’

‘Why don’t I creep out and see if I can get close enough to take a proper look?’

‘Be quiet,’ Loredan replied.

The boy muttered something, and went back to whittling a bit of stick. Loredan shifted a little more, trying to get out from under the persistent drip that was landing square on the back of his neck. His left hand had gone to sleep.

‘If it’s us,’ the boy said, ‘we should go down and tell them what we’ve seen. And if it’s them, they’ll be to busy to bother with us. We might even be able to gather useful intelligence.’

‘I don’t think you could spare any, even if you managed to get hold of some. Now shut up and let me concentrate.’

The boy abandoned his bit of stick, which he’d reduced to a thin shaving, and started sharpening the arrowheads on a piece of broken whetstone he’d found in his pocket. The slow scraping of steel on stone is, of course, one of the most irritating noises in the world.

‘Pack that in,’ Loredan snapped. ‘They’re perfectly sharp as it is, you’ll only take the edge off.’

‘I’m bored.’

‘Then consider yourself extremely lucky. Now for gods’ sakes keep still and quiet, before I lose my temper.’

‘I still think-’

‘Quiet! ’ Loredan peered down, trying to see past the rafter end that was blocking his view. He’d caught just a glimpse of two men coming round the side of the slope towards the base of the tower. ‘Get over there in the shadows,’ he called out softly, ‘and keep absolutely still. I’m coming down, if I can get out of this-’

He wriggled, bumped his head and dropped and slithered back to the footholds he’d found in the wall, taking skin off the palms of his hands in the process. He landed awkwardly on the ground and shuffled across to where the boy was crouching, picking up his sword on the way. He had pins and needles badly in his left leg; not what you want if you’re likely to have to fight at any moment. ‘Where’s the bow?’ he whispered.

‘I thought you’d got it.’

‘Oh, for-Well, we’ll just have to make do. Now shut up and stay still, and pray they’ll go away.’

There was a shuffling and a squelching in the doorway, and something obscured the light that shone weakly through it. ‘Hello?’ someone called out. ‘Is there anybody there? Colonel Loredan?’

Bardas Loredan held his breath; but the boy stood up and called out, ‘Over here! It’s all right,’ he added, ‘they’re us, it’s archers. We’re over here,’ he repeated, as the two strangers peered round, their eyes not yet accustomed to the darkness. ‘By the back wall.’

Wearily Loredan tried to stand up, but his leg refused to co-operate. ‘Are you hurt?’ said one of the strangers, seeing him wobble and sink back. ‘There’s a surgeon coming with the relief force, he won’t be long.’

‘It’s all right,’ Loredan replied, ‘just a touch of cramp. You were looking for me.’

The two men came closer. One of them stopped by the window and pulled open the shutter. ‘Chief Executive Loredan’s orders,’ the other one said. ‘We’ve been searching for you for hours.’

‘Well, now you’ve found me,’ Loredan replied. ‘What’s going on?’

‘We’ve got the raiding party pinned down,’ the solider said; he was a sergeant, quite a senior man by the look of him. ‘Over the hill a way, at Penna, you know it? They aren’t going anywhere in a hurry. Are you fit to move?’

Loredan shook his head. ‘We’re fine,’ he said, ‘don’t you worry about us. You get back and rejoin your men, we can take care of ourselves.’

The sergeant shook his head. ‘Chief Executive Loredan’s orders,’ he repeated. ‘He wants to be sure you’re all right.’

‘Well, you can set his mind at rest. Thank you for your trouble, but we’re going home now. We’ll be fine.’

The sergeant took a deep breath, and Loredan felt sorry for the man, a good soldier trying to deal tactfully with difficult civilians. ‘If you’ll please just come with us,’ he said. ‘Chief Executive Loredan’s orders.’

Loredan closed his eyes for a moment. It was a ludicrous situation; they’d come to rescue him and here he was refusing to be rescued, and he got the distinct impression that they weren’t going to take no for an answer. He had no wish to see his brother; the question was whether it was worth fighting two men over. He thought about that for a moment.

‘I’m very sorry,’ he said, ‘but I can’t come with you right now.’

The boy was looking at him as if he’d gone mad. Loredan took a step forward, so as to be between the soldiers and the boy. He realised that he had the broadsword, still in its case, in his hands, and that that might be taken as an aggressive gesture.

‘I’m sorry,’ the sergeant said. ‘But you’ve got to come with us.’

‘Oh, all right, then,’ Loredan said. He carefully put the sword down, swung fast and drove his fist into the sergeant’s face; then he stepped over him, kicked the other soldier in the groin and punched him hard on the jaw as his head came down. He felt the skin on his knuckles tear against the sharp edge of the man’s helmet.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ the boy asked.

‘Don’t swear,’ Loredan replied. ‘Come on, let’s go home.’