The Two of Swords, Part 17 Page 5

  She smiled at him. “You weaselled your way out of it, didn’t you? You always do.”

  “No. Well, sort of. Actually, no, I was let off. Otherwise—” He drew his finger across his throat. “Something like that, it really pulls you up short.”

  So that was it, then, was it? Forgive and forget and promise not to do it again? Was it possible that he truly understood her, right down deep, past all the thousands of tiny interlocking steel plates? She deliberately called to mind what she’d been told about him, the first time they were going to work together. Don’t trust him further than you can spit.

  “It was the truffles in hazelnut and fig sauce,” he said with his mouth full. “I love them, but they don’t like me. They go straight through me like an arrow.”

  She looked up at him and pulled a stern face. “Don’t eat them, then.”

  “It’s not that easy. The queen, bless her, knows I like them, so we get them at every meal. And you can’t refuse, it’d give offence.”

  Oida had sent down for a light snack: six kinds of fancy cured meat, baby cucumbers sliced lengthways in yogurt, little fried onion cakes with some sort of utterly delicious herbs and spices that you could only get in Blemya, and soft white wheat bread, still warm from the oven. She’d had to hide under the bed when the servant brought in the tray. Her head was aching, but she could see straight again. “You shouldn’t be eating with an upset stomach,” she said.

  He gobbled the last of the cucumber. “Just being sociable,” he said.

  No further than she could spit, remember? “Sometimes I play this game,” she said. “What would I do if there wasn’t a war?”

  He frowned. “Tricky one,” he said. “Well, actually, no, it’s not. If it hadn’t been for the war, you’d be married to some farmer. Right now you’d probably be chopping up two hundred cabbages for pickling, or washing out guts ready for the sausage-making.”

  She laughed. “No farmer would’ve married me, with no dowry. I wonder, would the Lodge have come for me if it hadn’t been for the war, or would I still be picking berries on the moor?”

  He frowned slightly. “I know it’s your game,” he said, “but I think you said the rule was, what would I be doing now if there wasn’t a war? Which I take to mean, if the war suddenly ended and we had peace.”

  “Ah well,” she said. “In that case, I’d probably look round for the one big score that’d set me up for life, and then, I don’t know. Probably I’d buy a small estate or a big farm, a long way out in the sticks.”

  “One big score.”

  She nodded. “Rob someone, or a swindle, or maybe just a really good game of cards. You know, I’ve been so close to it, four or five times over the years, but it’s like someone’s playing with me like a puppy with a bit of string. Just when my jaws are about to close, it twitches away.”

  “It doesn’t have to be criminal. You could marry money.”

  She scowled at him. “Don’t be silly. Also, if I did that I’d be saddled with a husband.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  She shrugged. “Depends. Probably.”

  He ate the rest of the cold meat. “I see you in a big old house, sitting in a library. West-facing, naturally. For some reason, it’s raining outside and there’s a big log fire. You’re sitting at a desk, reading one book and with two others open in front of you, and every now and then you stop and write something in the margin.”

  She laughed out loud. “It’s a stupid game,” she said. “And the war will go on and on for ever, so what’s the point?”

  But Oida shook his head. “Glauca has six years to live,” he said. “He dies, the war’s over. But it won’t come to that, because long before then the Lodge will have taken over both empires, and someone – I have a horrible feeling it’ll be my brother – will be emperor over the whole lot. At which point, no doubt, new and different wars will break out. But they won’t be this one.” He dabbed his mouth with the hem of his sleeve; his one vulgar habit. “Which reminds me.”

  She looked at him. Just the slightest change in tone of voice, but it was like a tiny creak in a house that ought to be empty. “What?”

  “All this is very pleasant,” he said, “but you’ve got work to do.”

  “I thought we’d agreed I haven’t.”

  “You need to do a job for me.”

  Her eyes widened. “Is that right?”

  He nodded. “For a smart woman you can be a bit stupid sometimes. Two things. One, you don’t seem to have grasped the significance of what I told you. You got a direct order, but it didn’t come from On High. Do you know what that means?”

  She nodded. “Commissioner Corason told me,” she said. “Schism inside the Lodge. I didn’t believe him.”

  “Do you now?”

  She paused before answering. “If I don’t,” she said, “then I don’t believe you either, in which case my orders were valid and I’ve got to murder you. So, yes, I choose to believe.”

  “Belief isn’t about choice. See Monomachus’ Ethics, books one to three.”

  “Screw Monomachus. What was the other thing?”

  He gazed at her for a moment, then went on; “You were ordered to get rid of me. I think it would be best all round if you succeeded.”

  “Got you. Won’t that be a problem with the negotiations?”

  He shook his head. “Fortuitously, you killed me just after I’d wrapped up all the salient terms of the deal. Now, the queen really likes me at the moment, probably because of all that money and the fact I rescued her boyfriend for her—”

  “We rescued.”

  “I left you out of it,” he said, “safer for you, in the long run. Anyhow, she’ll play along if I ask her nicely. I expect she’ll give me a state funeral, quite possibly a mausoleum. I always fancied a mausoleum, on a hilltop somewhere, with lots of white marble and a free-standing alabaster sarcophagus and a shiny copper roof, only I thought, the hell with it, I wouldn’t be around to see it.” He grinned. “Anyway,” he said, “that’ll convince everybody except everybody who actually matters. What they’re going to need is positive, unassailable proof.”

  “What?”

  “My head preserved in a jar of honey would be optimum, but I don’t think that’s practical. This, though, would do almost as well.”

  “What?”

  She noticed he’d raised his right hand and was pointing to his index finger. “You’ll notice,” he said, “this scar here. It’s quite distinctive, like a clover leaf. Had it since I was nine, and Axio trapped it in a door. Packed in salt, it’d keep quite nicely.”

  She didn’t follow. “Where are you going to get a finger just like that from?”

  “Think about it. And the beauty of it is, Axio would know I’d rather die than lose this finger.”

  His plectrum finger. Without it, he couldn’t play. “But—”

  He shook his head. “Axio’s a fool,” he said. “He overestimates my vanity. The truth is, of course, that I’d far rather lose this finger than die, but he couldn’t see that. So.” He shrugged. “We’ll need some salt. And a little box.”

  She stared at him. “Are you serious?”

  “About the box? Absolutely. A bag wouldn’t do nearly as well.”

  “Well?”

  Corason’s eyes were shining, or glittering; she could see the candle reflected in them. She sat down heavily. “I need a drink.”

  He reached for the teapot, but she shook her head. “Something stronger.”

  Corason raised both eyebrows. “You don’t drink. It’s in your file.”

  She looked past him, caught the barmaid’s eye. “Peach brandy,” she said. “Bring the bottle.”

  “We haven’t got any.”

  “What’ve you got that’s like it?”

  The barmaid thought for a long time. “Applejack?”

  “Is that stuff fit for human consumption?”

  “Well, we drink it.”

  “Fetch me a bottle anyway.”

&
nbsp; The barmaid didn’t move. Corason produced money. She went away.

  “Well?”

  She nodded.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She didn’t speak or move until the barmaid came back with the bottle. “Job done,” she said, filled a tea bowl with applejack and swallowed it.

  “Meaning?”

  From her sleeve she produced a small rosewood box, the sort high-ranking clerks use to keep pen-nibs and sealing wax in. She opened the lid.

  “For God’s sake,” Corason said. “Put it away.”

  “Not till you’ve had a closer look. Here, see this scar? Seen it before?”

  He reached over her hand and closed the lid. “Yes.”

  “That’s what I meant by job done.” She refilled the bowl and gulped it down. “But you don’t have to take my word for it. The news’ll be all over town by this evening, I expect. He was a well-known public figure, and all that.”

  Corason had gone as white as a corpse. “Well, then,” he said. “That’s that.”

  She looked straight at him. “No thanks? Praise? Well done, thou good and faithful servant?”

  He shook his head. “If you want. Well done.”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  He leaned back, and the chair creaked. “You got out all right, obviously.”

  “Obviously.”

  “What happened to your eye?”

  “There were a few minor mishaps. Want to hear about them?”

  He shook his head. “Not really.”

  “Then don’t pretend you care.”

  He looked as though he’d just come home to find his mother in bed with the stable boy. “Seriously,” he said, “well done. It was a job that needed doing. I know you hate me and the Lodge and everybody in the whole world because of it, but—”

  “I did as I was told.”

  “Exactly. It’s what we all have to do. The hammer strikes, the saw cuts, otherwise there’s no point to their existence.” He massaged his forehead, as though he had a bad headache. “Pour me a drop of that stuff, will you?”

  “Buy your own.”

  “I might just do that.” He gestured to the barmaid, but she hadn’t seen him. “Well, then,” he said. “Time for your next assignment. They want you to go to a place called Malla Polla—”

  But she shook her head. “I’m excused duty,” she said.

  “Oh.” She’d shocked him. “Why?”

  “When Oida was dying,” she said quietly, “he made me promise him something. I have to find his brother and give him a message.”

  “What?”

  “Family stuff. I’m not allowed to tell anyone except Axio.” She poured another bowl. “Don’t even think about telling me I can’t do this, unless you want your throat cut right now.”

  He shrugged. “Not up to me,” he said, “I’m not your control. I’ll tell them you asked for a leave of absence, on compassionate grounds.”

  “Compassionate. Now there’s a word. Yes, you do that. Oh, and I’ll need money.”

  “What? Oh, all right. How much?”

  “How much will it cost to get me to where Axio is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Find out.” She stood up, wobbled, caught the edge of the table. The box slipped out of her sleeve and fell on the table. Fortunately, the catch held and it didn’t spill open. She retrieved it and shoved it down the front of her dress. “Be here same time tomorrow.”

  “I’m not sure I can get you that information.”

  “Here. This time tomorrow.”

  On her way out of the city, she stopped at the booksellers’ yard and found the man who had the best selection of maps in the whole of the West. “I want a map,” she said.

  The man smiled. “I have many fine maps. What sort would you like?”

  “I want one that’s got a place called Engoi on it. It’s not for me, it’s for my brother.”

  The man’s smile only wavered for a second. “We’d better look in the gazetteer,” he said.

  Engoi turned out to be a small village in Eysi Celeuthi, three miles east of the border between East and West. “I can sell you a map of Eysi,” the man said, “but it’ll be a bit out of date. Half the cities in Eysi aren’t there any more, and I seem to remember Forza Belot diverted the course of the Haimon river during the Field of Crocuses campaign.”

  She gave him a weary look. “Noted,” she said. “How much?”

  The map came in a dear little brass tube embossed with flowers and vine leaves. She found a teahouse, spread the map out on the tabletop and studied it carefully. Maybe there’s more than one Engoi, she thought. She rolled it back up again, and had a lot of trouble getting it back in the tube.

  A shadow fell over her, making her shiver. Then a man appeared at the edge of her vision, and sat down opposite. “Hello,” he said. “I don’t suppose you remember me.”

  He was young and ridiculously tall. “Of course I do,” she replied. “You’re the thief. No, don’t tell me. I never forget a talent, but names take a little longer.”

  “I’m Musen,” he said. “Corason told me you’d be shopping for maps.”

  She smiled at him. He’d changed since she’d last seen him. There were scars on his face and arms. His nose had been broken. It improved him. “You know Corason.”

  “Yes. I worked for him. He says you’re going to see Commissioner Axio.”

  “If he says it, I guess it must be true.”

  “Can I go with you?”

  There was one particular scar, in the middle of the palm of his left hand. She’d seen several like it over the years. It came from having your hand nailed to a plank or beam. It’s a job that calls for skill and judgement, to avoid skewering the big veins on the other side. “Why?”

  He grinned. “Everyone says you’re the best in the business.”

  “Liar.”

  “They say you’re good at getting to places and finding people. I don’t like doing long journeys on my own.”

  “You get into trouble.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s because you steal things and get caught.”

  “I used to.”

  “Get caught?”

  “Steal things. I don’t do that any more. Not unless I’m told to.”

  She put the map in her sleeve. “Corason sent you to keep an eye on me.”

  “Yes. And because I want to see Axio. He’s my friend.”

  He’d put his hands on the table. It didn’t look a particularly comfortable way to sit. “When did you work for Corason?”

  “I stole the pack of cards they used to buy off the siege of Rasch. Then, when he got shot after the big battle, I found him and brought him back. I’ve been with him on and off ever since, running errands. He knows I want to see Axio again, so he sent me to go with you.”

  She frowned. “Axio’s your friend.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did Corason tell you why I’m going to see him?”

  “No. Just that it’s important Lodge business. I don’t need to know.”

  “No, you don’t, but what the hell. Listen. I have to take something for him to see, and give him a message. It’s very important. If there’s two of us, it doubles the chance of one of us making it. We’d be going to a very bad place. There’s no people there any more, it’s right on the front line, so if soldiers don’t get us, we’ll probably starve. What Axio’s doing in a place like that, I have absolutely no idea.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’m used to roughing it.”

  “Good, because I’m not. I don’t like getting wet, I hate sleeping in ditches, I’m pathetic at setting snares and spit-roast squirrel gives me the shits. I’m a girl, for crying out loud, I shouldn’t have to do all that.”

  He grinned. “I might be able to help,” he said.

  “How could you possibly—?”

  “There’s this man I know.”

  *

  It was essentially a fairy story
– the lion with a thorn in its paw, or the poor fisherman’s son who throws back a fish that turns out to be the Dragon King in disguise. But this time it was true.

  The slave dealer Saevolus Andrapodiza, the second richest private individual in the world, had a penchant for dressing as a carter, drinking in low dives and losing large sums of money in card games. Originally he’d done it to annoy his father, and now that the old man was dead he found he couldn’t break the habit. Just occasionally, though, he won large sums of money in card games, whereupon he would celebrate by getting drunk, which made him aggressive. He’d just threatened to fight any man in the bar, and an ex-soldier had advised him, in the friendliest manner possible, that he shouldn’t really say things like that if he didn’t mean them. But I do mean them, Saevolus replied, whereupon the ex-soldier picked him up and threw him across the room.

  Sitting in a corner was Musen. He’d noticed that the little thin man had just won forty angels, and, despite having bought drinks all round three times, it stood to reason that he had most of it left. So Musen got up quietly and, as the ex-soldier lifted his boot to stamp on Saevolus’ ribs, gently barred his way. Musen was a head taller than the soldier and a handspan broader across the shoulders, and he was smiling in a context where nobody would normally smile. The ex-soldier hesitated.

  “You won,” Musen said. “You made your point. Why spoil it?”

  The ex-soldier had four friends with him, but they hadn’t moved. Serving under Forza Belot, he’d learned a bit about tactics. He took a deep breath and let it out again.

  Musen smiled. “Let me buy you a drink,” he said.

  That done, he helped the little man up off the floor, bustled him out into the street, picked his pocket and asked if he was all right. The little man groaned. Musen noticed a gold signet ring, and recognised the emblem. Far too recognisable to sell; but it occurred to him nevertheless that his new friend might prove profitable in other ways. “I’ll take you home,” he said. “Where do you live?”