10
‘Has he been tortured?’
‘Apparently not,’ said Bosco.
‘Did you know he was here?’
‘You must be mistaking me for a middle-ranking official in the Carceral Pelago. Why would I know he was here?’
‘I want him released.’
It took Cale by surprise when Bosco replied calmly, ‘Very well.’ Bosco smiled. ‘You expected me to refuse?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why? He clearly came here to be reunited with you. And we both know you have no intention of going anywhere.’
Realizing he was being mocked Cale changed the subject.
‘Why wasn’t he tortured?’
‘A good question if I may say so. An administrative error. There’s been an outbreak of jail fever in Clink Number Four so overcrowding in the rest. Pressure of numbers and work and a man guilty of Gomorrah was accidentally given the same number as your faithful friend.’
‘They seem to make a lot of mistakes in the prisons here.’
‘They do, though, don’t they? Perhaps it was God’s will.’
‘I’d like to see him now.’
‘I’ll send Redeemer Gil. He knows him. Will that satisfy you?’
It was not that Bosco expected thanks but it amused him to make Cale feel awkward. ‘You don’t mind,’ said Bosco, ‘if I ask how you knew he was here?’
Cale turned back to look at him.
‘No.’
‘Well?’
‘No. I don’t mind if you ask.’
‘How one gets used to change. Cheeking me would once have got you a thrashing.’
‘Yes?’
‘I mean nothing by it. Your acolyte seems very fond of you.’
‘I don’t have an acolyte.’
‘But you do. In all ways. I understand how things have changed between you and me but I wonder if you have. I fear that perhaps, not so deep down, you might still just be an angry little boy.’
‘I thought that’s all I was supposed to be?’
‘Righteous anger is something very different from bad temper. I just thought I might point that out. Vague Henri will be with you within the hour.’
‘I want to go into the convent.’
‘Very well.’
‘You’re being indulgent.’
‘That worries you?’
‘It’s meant to, isn’t it?’
‘Only because I take some pleasure in confounding your expectations of me. You don’t quite seem to have grasped, if I may say so, how things are.’
‘I can do what I want, is that it?’
‘You know very well what the answer to that is. But you’d do well to think more carefully about what’s permitted to you and what isn’t.’
‘I’m just a bad-tempered boy.’
‘For both our sakes I hope that’s not true. The keys to the convent will be brought to you. You may do as you wish there.’ As he placed his hand upon the door handle, Bosco turned back. It had always been a habit of Bosco’s, this – to leave what was really on his mind to the last moment as if it were an afterthought.
‘What do you know about the Laconics?’
‘Soldiers for hire. Expensive.’ He thought for a moment as if trying to remember. Only his years of deadpan insolence stopped him from smiling at this unexpected opportunity to mock his former master. ‘Chrononhotonthologos,’ he added thoughtfully. Bosco looked at him realizing he was being dared.
‘It is not a term I’m familiar with,’ he said, refusing to take the bait.
‘It means a swashbuckler, a desperado.’
‘Really. Anything else?’
‘No.’
‘There has been a rumour that the Antagonists have discovered a silver mine in Argentum. It’s no longer a rumour. Not quite as sure but probable is that they will use this find to pay for a large army of Laconics to fight against us.’
‘I thought they never fought for hire more than three hundred at a time.’
‘And I thought you didn’t know anything about them.’ An impudent silence followed. ‘I’m going to send you a brief concerning them. As your life may depend on it I’m sure I don’t have to ask you to read it carefully.’ He’d had enough of Cale and left without saying anything more.
With Bosco gone Cale considered what he felt. Alarm and delight in equal measure. Delight at the shock of seeing Vague Henri, alarm at the depth of that delight. His anger at Arbell Materazzi had swamped the dreadful loneliness that her absence caused him. But it had also hidden the loss he felt for his friend. Until that moment he had believed that he could take or leave Vague Henri though he’d got used to having him around. Now he was alarmed at the realization at how much he’d missed him. The excitement at the idea of his return was unbearable. He was a soul made out of great dams connected by great canals and constructed with great locks. But there’s nothing built that doesn’t leach or seep.
And what had happened to Kleist? Dead probably, he thought.