The Belly of the Bow f-2 Page 31

  ‘I see.’ She looked steadily at him, her eyes very large and round and brown; then she spat in his face. Gorgas shuddered and slapped her across the cheek, striking her on her hard, fleshless cheekbone so hard that she lost her balance and fell over backwards.

  I’m sorry,’ Gorgas said immediately, ‘I didn’t mean to do that, you just…’

  ‘You were provoked,’ she said, as he got up from the floor. ‘My fault. Really, Uncle Gorgas, I don’t have any quarrel with you. But why did you let him go?’

  Gorgas shrugged. ‘He wanted to go, and I couldn’t stop him. Simple as that.’

  ‘And now me. All the baby chicks flying the coop, Uncle Gorgas. I expect Mother’s livid.’

  ‘She’s not best pleased.’ He stood up. ‘Look, are you all right? I didn’t mean to hit so hard, it’s just – well, things are getting to me and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘It’s all right, really.’ Iseutz smiled, and Gorgas noticed that her eye was already beginning to swell. ‘You know, part of you is a decent human being. That’s the strange thing about you. In spite of the really incredible things you did, you’re not really a monster either. You know, I used to lie here thinking about that – what sort of person could do something like that, murder his own father without a moment’s hesitation? Well, obviously a monster, I thought, something more and less than human. But I don’t see that somehow.’

  Gorgas slumped against the wall and rubbed his cheeks with the palms of his hands. ‘It was a mistake,’ he said. ‘I made a mistake. People do, you know. And the stupid part of it is, the whole thing only took – what, three minutes, four at the most. True, there was all that stuff with Niessa and the City boys before, but so what? Pimping for your sister’s part of growing up in the Mesoge, it’s one of the things you do for a little extra money when you’re young, like scaring crows or picking blueberries on the moors. No, when you analyse it rationally, it was a few minutes, less time than it takes to boil a kettle. Everything else bad I’ve done in my life has been in the normal course of business, the sort of thing you’re never really ashamed of, deep down; there was just one thing I did, and that’s all, but it’s the only thing about me anybody ever sees. I’m Gorgas the patricide, the man who killed his own father. They talk about me as if it was what I did for a living, like I do it every day; like I kiss my wife and children goodbye every morning and go off to spend the day murdering members of my family. And that’s not me. That’s putting me on a level with some lunatic who kills people for no reason and keeps on doing it till someone stops him, or an assassin who murders people for money.’ He stopped short, and shook his head. ‘The gods only know why I’m telling you this,’ he said. ‘Ask anybody who knows me, I don’t lie about what happened but I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve, either.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Iseutz said soothingly. ‘You can talk to me about things you can’t tell other people because we’re so much alike. Well, aren’t we?’

  Gorgas looked at her. ‘No offence, but I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Beyond the fact that I killed my father and you want to kill your uncle, I’d say we’re very different.’

  She shook her head. ‘You’re forgetting,’ she said. ‘One thing we’ve definitely got in common. My mother.’

  ‘I beg to differ,’ Gorgas yawned. ‘You forget, I’ve known her all my life, and you hardly know her at all. I imagine you’ve invented this other monster while you’ve been in here, but I’d be really surprised if you knew the first thing about what Niessa’s really like.’

  She frowned. ‘But you hate her, don’t you? Because of the way she uses you, makes you do things you don’t want to, the way she’s ruined your life-’

  ‘Don’t say things like that,’ Gorgas interrupted. ‘I love my sister. The gods only know what’d have become of me without her. For all these years, she’s been the only person I’ve got in the world. You just look at what she’s achieved-’

  Iseutz laughed. ‘You really mean it, don’t you?’ she said. ‘You really do believe all that stuff. That’s bizarre, Uncle Gorgas, truly it is.’

  Gorgas leant forward and straightened his back. ‘You’ve lost me, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘Surely what I believe about my own feelings has got to be the truth, hasn’t it? I think this time you’re being just a bit too clever.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ She put her hands behind her back and stood on her toes, like a young girl about to be taken on an outing or a treat. ‘So what happens now?’ she asked. ‘Where am I supposed to go now?’

  ‘Wherever you like, we’ve been into all this-’

  ‘Being practical, I mean. Like, I’ve got no money, nowhere to go, no way of earning a living. Do I go and live with Mother, or am I going to be shipped off the island and sent somewhere, or what? I was assuming you’d got all that sorted out.’

  Gorgas shook his head. ‘House arrest, you mean. Are you expected to go and play the good, dutiful daughter in your mother’s house, doing chores and being shown off to visitors? I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why not?’ She grinned crookedly. ‘It’s what normal daughters do.’

  Gorgas thought for a moment. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘here’s the deal. If you want, you can come and stay with me. A week or as long as you want to, but I’d want you to think of it as your home. The gods know, having a home to go to’s probably the most important thing in the whole world. How about it?’

  She stared at him, trying to laugh. ‘Gods,’ she said, ‘you really do believe in all that stuff. Happy family life, the pleasures of having one’s nearest and dearest about one. You live in a strange world, Uncle Gorgas. It must be a bit like those brass bowls we used to have in the City, the ones that come from Colleon and got passed off as City-made. Remember how, when you first looked at them, you thought you could see the usual writing on the side, who made it and where and some motto or other? And then, when you looked closely, you saw it wasn’t writing at all, just shapes made to look like writing, because the people who make them in Colleon can’t read or write. I think that’s your life, Uncle Gorgas, made by someone who’s never had one but thinks he knows what they’re supposed to look like.’

  Gorgas sighed. ‘Is that a yes or a no?’ he asked. ‘Come on, this is all highly entertaining but I’ve got other things I should be doing, like running a war.’

  ‘Why not?’ she replied with a shrug. ‘It’s not as if I’m spoilt for choice, and yes, it’s thoughtful of you to make the offer, whatever your reasons may be. Of course,’ she added, ‘it’s not such a big deal for you, since I don’t suppose you’re actually at home very often, it’s your wife and kids who’re going to have to put up with the mad woman. Still, I don’t suppose that thought even crossed your mind.’

  ‘It didn’t,’ Gorgas confessed. ‘But they’ll be all right about it. After all, you’re family.’

  ‘I’m a member of the Loredan family,’ Iseutz replied with a smile. ‘That alone’s grounds for any sane person to lock the door on me and set the house on fire. We’re an evil bunch, aren’t we, Uncle Gorgas?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose we are,’ Gorgas answered. ‘But we’re our evil bunch.’

  ‘Not prisoners,’ Alexius said gravely. ‘Guests. Valued and respected guests.’ He shifted uncomfortably on the stone bench. ‘If I was sixty years younger,’ he added, ‘I’d scratch my initials on this bench, like I did on the bench outside the Preceptor’s chambers, where I used to sit and wait when I’d got myself in trouble and had been sent for to be judged and found wanting. I spent a great deal of time sitting on that bench, in a room not entirely unlike this one, and the feeling of unspecified but acute dread is also remarkably similar. I’d hoped that at my age I wouldn’t have to go through all that again, but it seems I was wrong.’

  Vetriz smiled. ‘It was a bit like that when we were children,’ she said. ‘It was always, “Wait till your father gets home,” because of course he was away most of the time on business, and when he was actually the
re we were as good as gold. But when he’d been away for a couple of months and then we heard that his ship had been sighted and was due in later that day – well, it was always an uncomfortable time, because there’d always be this terrible catalogue of crimes and misdemeanours ready to greet him; the poor man only just had time to take his hat off, and Mother would march us forward, and he’d look at her with this Can’t-it-wait expression… Of course,’ she went on with a grin, ‘I always got away with it, because I was a girl and all I had to do was let my little face fall and start snuffling and Father would believe anything I said. So I always put the blame on poor Ven, and, bless him, he never did come to terms with that; he’d always protest his innocence and be really upset when he got punished for naughty things I’d done. He honestly believed that all he had to do was tell the truth and somehow Right would always prevail. You know, deep down in his soul, I think he really still believes that to this day.’

  Alexius considered that for a moment. ‘That’s rather a fine thing, don’t you think?’ he said. ‘Not the most suitable mindset for a trader perhaps, but nevertheless admirable, in a way.’ He sighed, and shifted again. ‘Have you heard any more about how the war’s going?’ he asked. ‘The man who sold me my breakfast was convinced that Shastel is striking a deal with a great confederacy of pirates; they’ll ship the halberdiers over to Scona and in return they’ll get to sack Scona Town. On the other hand, he also believes that if they try, Gorgas Loredan will drive them back into the sea, and Niessa Loredan will command her tame wizards to summon up a great storm and sink all their ships, so perhaps his value as a source of information isn’t as high as one might think.’

  Vetriz shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘I think this war’s like a fight I once saw,’ she said, ‘where there were these two young men at a wedding dance, and they’d had too much to drink, the way people do, and there was some sort of a quarrel over a girl or something. Anyway, everybody expected these two to start fighting and I suppose they didn’t want to disappoint everyone, so they started prancing round and swishing about with their fists; and, quite by accident, one of them made a wild swing and knocked over one of those big iron lamp-stands, you know the sort I mean, and the lamp toppled off and fell on the other man’s shoulder and gave him a nasty knock. And the other one – the one the lamp hit – sat down in the middle of the floor cursing and swearing and rubbing his shoulder and calling the first man a clumsy idiot, and the first man was apologising and getting into a terrible state because he was convinced he’d broken the other man’s collarbone; he was jumping up and down and bawling, “Send for a doctor, send for a doctor,” and then someone else tried to shut him up, so he took a swing at this other man and hit him on the nose; and that really finished him off, because the man’s nose started bleeding and he was staggering about with a napkin pressed to his face; and of course everybody else in the place was laughing like mad, and then the bride burst into tears because of all this fuss spoiling her wedding dance, so the groom got angry with the man who’d done all the damage and took a swing at him himself, and of course he missed and smacked his fist against the wall and broke a bone in his hand-’

  Alexius nodded. ‘Most wars start because someone makes a mistake, and most battles are lost by the losing side rather than won by the victors. I’m not sure if that makes things better or worse. I suppose it depends which you disapprove of more, malice or stupidity.’ He massaged the calf of his left leg, which had gone to sleep. ‘It’s possible she’s forgotten all about us,’ he said. ‘I wonder, if we simply got up and walked away, would anybody actually try to stop us?’

  ‘We could try-’ Vetriz began to say; at which point the door of the Director’s office opened and the clerk scurried out, his arms full of hastily rolled maps. ‘She’s ready for you now,’ he said. ‘And I’d watch it if I were you. It’s a bad day.’

  Alexius stood up, then staggered and grabbed hold of Vetriz’s arm to steady himself. ‘Pins and needles,’ he explained. ‘Oh, confound it. Now I’m going to have to stagger in there and look as if I’m drunk.’

  There was a new piece of furniture in the Director’s office: a small, round three-legged table between the two visitors’ chairs, on which someone had put a jug of weak, sweet wine and two beautifully made horn cups, with silver rims and bases and dainty little silver stands to hold them upright. Vetriz recognised them as City manufacture and quite old, and it occurred to her that there were probably casks and chests of such things squirrelled away somewhere in the building – gifts from visiting embassies, foreign heads of state anxious to curry favour, wealthy individuals trying to secure private concessions, bribes, inducements and sweeteners, not to mention spoils of war. It looked hopelessly out of place in the deliberate dourness of the office; I wonder why she did it, she asked herself. Probably just to disconcert us. Third rule of negotiation: confuse and conquer. She sat down and made a deliberate show of not having noticed.

  ‘My brother Bardas,’ said Niessa Loredan, ‘has left Scona. I didn’t want him to go and I don’t know where he’s gone. Did you know that already?’

  Vetriz looked at Alexius, who shook his head. ‘I had no idea,’ he said.

  ‘I believe you.’ Niessa stoop up, went to the little table and poured wine into the two cups. ‘Flavoured with honey and cinnamon,’ she said to Vetriz. ‘Your favourite, I believe.’

  Vetriz smiled wanly. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said, taking the cup and holding it slightly away from her. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way, but if he’s gone, do you really need us here? I mean, there doesn’t seem to be any point-’

  ‘On the contrary,’ Niessa replied. She was pouring water from a pottery jug into a plain wooden cup. ‘This is exactly the sort of contingency I needed you for. You aren’t going to be difficult, are you?’

  ‘What do you want us to do?’ Alexius asked.

  Niessa sat down and folded her hands. ‘First,’ she said, ‘find out where he is and what he’s doing. Then I want you to bring him back. It’s all right, I’ll tell you how to go about it when the time comes. It’s quite simple, really; like this-’

  – And all three of them were standing beside a river, looking at two young men and a girl. The girl was holding a big wicker basket full of clothes, and the men were trying to grab hold of her. She was trying to avoid them and pull away without dropping the basket, until one of the men pulled it away from her and let it fall into the water. The girl swore at him; he laughed and grabbed a handful of her dress where it covered her shoulder.

  ‘I’d forgotten that,’ Niessa said.

  The fabric tore, and the girl stumbled backwards, putting down a hand to steady herself, The other man came up behind her and reached out, and she swung at his face; she had picked up a stone, and it cracked loudly against the bridge of his nose.

  ‘Look,’ Niessa said, pointing. ‘There’s Gorgas, over there.’

  She was gesturing at a tall young man standing behind a single cypress tree, holding the reins of two horses. He wasn’t watching what was going on down in the river; he was looking over his shoulder, with an expression of panic on his face. Vetriz couldn’t see what he was staring at because there was a ridge in the way, but she saw him pull a short, heavily recurved bow from a scabbard on the nearest horse’s saddle. He pressed the hooked end of the bottom limb against the outside of his right ankle, then lifted his left foot over so as to trap the bow between his legs, bringing his left knee to bear on it just below the handle and applying enough pressure to bend it until he could slip the string over the top nock. It was a graceful manoeuvre, smooth and unhurried, like a dance step practised over and over again until it had become perfect and could be executed without any thought whatsoever.

  ‘I often come here,’ Niessa said casually. ‘But I still notice something new every time. Did you see? He did that without once looking down.’

  He pulled a handful of arrows out of the quiver that hung down beside the horse’s neck, ducked under a low b
ranch of the tree and wedged himself in a slot between two boulders. There was the faintest of clicks as he drew an arrow onto the bowstring.

  ‘He was really attached to that bow,’ Niessa was saying. ‘Bardas made it for him. I was surprised he lent it to the Ferian boy; I never knew him lend it to anybody else, he was that jealous of it. I think it was mostly because it was a present from Bardas.’

  Now Vetriz could what he’d been looking at: three men with mattocks in their hands.

  (At least, I assume those are mattocks. Alexius said to himself. We called what those men are holding rasters where I come from, but I’ve never heard that word anywhere else. I thought a mattock was more like a hoe. Gorgas said they were mattocks when he told me the story, so maybe I’m just filling in.)

  The girl in the river was screaming now, and the two men were panicking, apologising, shouting at her, trying to shut her up; one was yelling he was sorry, he didn’t mean to, it was just in fun; the other slapped her across the face so hard that the running men could hear it. The youngest man stumbled, fell, landed heavily on his side, tried to get up, twitched, went still. The oldest man didn’t appear to have noticed, but the third man swung round, almost losing his footing on the stony ground, looked up in the direction the arrow had come from and shouted something. Then he fell over too, flopping backwards as if he’d been pushed. The older man stopped then, and a moment later he fell down too; the arrow hit him just above the heart and went through diagonally, the arrowhead poking out a finger’s breadth under his right shoulder-blade.

  ‘Forty yards, I’d say,’ Niessa commented, ‘and two out of three as clean a pair of kills as you could possibly wish for. In an archery contest, it’d have scored something like two bulls and an inner; thoroughly respectable, good enough for silver. In the field, though, a botched shot’s a botched shot.’

  Then he stood up, pulled a few more arrows from the quiver and walked over to where the slope overhung the river. The two men had stopped bothering with the girl and were staring at the bodies; the girl was hitting one of them across the back of the shoulders with the sides of her fists and he wasn’t even taking any notice. They watched as the archer drew and took a quick aim, sighting down the arrow and making the adjustment for aiming off; then one of the men dropped like a stone into the water, and the archer reached to his belt for an arrow. The other man started to run without looking round; the girl started to say something, and then the arrow hit her. She went down-