The Hammer Page 9

  “He’s all right,” Uncle said, after a long few seconds when Furio couldn’t breathe. “Furio, run and get Simica. If we’re lucky, he’ll be home.”

  But Simica, who’d been first mate on a salt-beef freighter and whose head contained most of the colony’s medical knowledge, wasn’t home. His door was locked (he was a very mistrustful man) and his horse wasn’t in the stable. Furio groaned out loud and ran back to the store. When he got there, the porch was already crowded: men from the mill and the forge and the lumber yard, several women, a few children, one sitting on the floor trying to see between people’s legs. For a moment, Furio was too polite to barge through. Then he shouted, “Excuse me, please,” and charged like a boar.

  Uncle was peeling a strip of tattered cloth away from Gignomai’s shoulder. Aunt was standing next to him, holding a bowl in one hand and a pad of rag in the other. Uncle turned his head as Furio burst in, and smiled at him.

  “He’ll be fine,” he said. “His nose is broken and he’s got some pretty nasty cuts and scrapes, and he’s had a bash on the head. Simica not there?”

  Furio didn’t reply. He knew he couldn’t just stay put indefinitely, but he couldn’t bring himself to come any closer. “What happened?” he said.

  Uncle shrugged. “Rubrio and Scleria here found him,” he said, “down by the river. Saw it was the youngest met’Oc boy, so they fetched him here. For some reason,” Uncle added, with a very slight frown. “You got any idea? He’s your friend.”

  Furio shook his head. But the white chalk dust meant something, he knew that. Chalk could only mean the west cliff of the Tabletop: the sheer drop, from their world into ours, which nobody could possibly survive.

  “My guess is, he fell off the cliff,” Uncle said, teasing a shred of cloth out of the ploughed-field mess of blood and dirt. “In which case, he’s the luckiest man alive. Must be a hundred and twenty feet.”

  Furio crossed the room and sat down on a crate, as far from the low table as he could get. He had an entire world to reinterpret, and he found it hard to believe that he was the same person who’d been in despair over saying something stupid only a few hours earlier. Very briefly he toyed with the idea that it was a punishment, but he dismissed it as far-fetched and hysterical. Instead, he experimented with placing other bodies on the low table: Uncle, Aunt, Lugano. The conclusion he was forced to troubled him.

  “Are you all right?”

  He looked up, and saw his new cousin looking down at him. She looked solemn and sympathetic, and she didn’t affect him at all.

  “Fine,” he said. “Thanks.”

  “That man’s your friend, isn’t he?”

  Furio nodded. “Gignomai,” he said. “Yes. I’ve known him since we were kids.”

  She sat down beside him, perching like a bird on a thin branch. “Uncle Marzo says he’s knocked out but he should be all right,” she said, and he wondered why he hadn’t noticed her there before. Probably because she was short, and Aunt had been standing in front of her. “My father was a surgeon,” she said.

  For the second time that day she had his undivided attention. “Do you know about…?”

  She nodded. “I grew up with strangers bleeding on the kitchen table,” she said. “It’s all right, your uncle knows what he’s doing. I watched him. He’s rolled back the eyelid to see if one pupil’s bigger than the other—that’s a bad sign—but there wasn’t anything like that. Setting the broken nose shouldn’t be too much of a problem, it’s not broken in a bad place. Probably just as well to do it while he’s still asleep, though. It hurts like hell.”

  She spoke calmly, as if about ordinary things, and he couldn’t help wondering what she’d seen over the years in her house where they ate dinner on a table where people were cut open and sewn back together. One thing he could be sure about. She wasn’t just a pretty girl any more. He wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad thing, but he postponed the analysis and the decision.

  He remembered something. “Your father,” he said. “You said he was—”

  “He died,” she replied. “He caught something from a patient, and it wasn’t written up in any of his books. Mother said he died of pique because he couldn’t identify what was wrong.” She shrugged; her shoulders were thin and sharply defined. “Mother died too, not long afterwards. I think it was consumption. So my uncle sent for me to come here.”

  He looked at her. “What do you make of it?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “We lived in Colichamard—that’s a biggish city on the coast. But we always spent the summers on my mother’s cousin’s farm, so I’m used to the country.”

  “It’s very quiet here,” he heard himself say. “You may find it’s a bit too quiet, after the city.”

  She smiled. “Maybe,” she said. “I don’t think so. Back home, women don’t leave the house much. Not our sort, anyhow. And I assume the inside of one house is pretty much like another. Actually,” she added, “this one’s bigger. I hadn’t realised I’d have a room all to myself.”

  The thought that anything here could be better than Home wasn’t one he’d had to contend with before. “One thing we’ve got here,” he said, “is plenty of space. That’s about all we’ve got here, though. Loads of space but not enough people to fill it.”

  There was movement at the table. They were lifting Gignomai, carrying him upstairs. He was awkward to handle, like a large piece of furniture. “He’ll be all right,” she said.

  He stayed where he was. “God only knows what happened to him.”

  She frowned. “Is it true he’s one of the met’Oc?”

  “That’s right. Youngest son. You’ve heard of them?”

  “I heard them talking about the met’Oc on the ship. I thought they were all traitors and criminals.”

  When Gignomai woke up he was lying on a bed, which made him think nothing had happened. But the ceiling was different.

  He tried to move, and everything hurt.

  There was someone sitting next to him, a stranger, a young woman, looking at him.

  “It’s all right,” she said.

  From time to time there had been accidents on the farm, so he knew perfectly well that if someone says “It’s all right,” there must be something horribly wrong. He tried to breathe in and couldn’t.

  “Breathe through your mouth.”

  “Hm?”

  “Your nose is broken,” the girl said, and he remembered. He’d broken it deliberately, to get past the blockage. Had he really done that? “And you’ve got a broken rib and a nasty gash on your right shoulder. Are you feeling dizzy or sick?”

  He could only see half of her, at the very edge of his vision, so he turned his head a little. “Who the hell are you?” he said.

  She smiled at him. Quite nice-looking. “I’m Teucer,” she said. “I’m Furio’s cousin.”

  “He hasn’t got a—”

  “From Home. I arrived yesterday.”

  Too much information and not enough, at the same time. He remembered something extremely important. “The sword,” he said.

  “Sorry?”

  “My sword,” he repeated, and he could feel fear gushing up inside him, like filling a pitcher from a spring. “I had a sword with me. And a pillowcase.”

  She frowned, just a little bit. He knew what she was thinking.

  “Really,” he said. “It’s not the bash on the head talking. I had a sword, and a pillowcase with all my stuff in it.”

  She didn’t say anything, and he thought, No, that’s right, I must’ve dropped them when I dived into the boar’s nest. Which means…

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting out of bed. What does it look like?”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  He looked at her, then gave up. “You don’t understand,” he said. “I’ve got to go back and get it, before my brother finds it.”

  “A sword,” she said, dismissing all swords everywhere as beneath contempt. “Listen, you’ve got mild concus
sion. If you lie still, you’ll be fine. If you get up and try rushing around, you’ll do yourself serious harm. Do you understand?”

  She was quite possibly the most annoying person he’d ever met in his life. “Yes, fine,” he snapped. “I think I’d like to go to sleep now.”

  She didn’t move. “Good idea.”

  He closed his eyes, counted to 150, and opened them again. She was still there.

  “You can go and look for it when you’re better,” she said. “Or you could get a new one.”

  He closed his eyes again, mostly so he wouldn’t have to look at her.

  * * *

  When he woke up, she’d gone, and Furio was there, with his uncle sitting next to him. “Hello,” Furio said. “How are you?”

  “I’ve got to go back,” he said.

  The uncle (name? He knew it, but couldn’t call it to mind) frowned at him. “Don’t mention it,” he said. “You’re welcome.”

  “I left something behind,” Gignomai said. “I need…”

  Furio and his uncle glanced at each other. “Teucer did say something about a sword,” Uncle said. “But I assumed you were off your head and talking rubbish.”

  “The sword.” Gignomai nodded. “It’s worth twelve thousand thalers.”

  Uncle’s eyes swelled until Gignomai was afraid they’d burst. But Furio said, “Well, your brother’ll have found it by now. They’ll notice it’s gone, won’t they?”

  “I hope not,” Gignomai said. “I want to sell it.”

  Furio was about to say something, but Uncle grabbed his hand and crushed it. He was clearly a strong man, though not in the same class as Luso or Stheno. “Sell it?” he said.

  “That’s right. It’s my start in life, you could say.”

  “What makes you think it’s worth that kind of money?” Uncle asked. He’d carefully lowered and straightened out his voice, but he’d tightened his grip on Furio’s hand.

  “Your brother told me,” Gignomai said. “He saw it.”

  “He offered you that much for it?”

  “I wasn’t selling,” Gignomai replied. “Not then.”

  “Uncle,” Furio said, but Uncle wasn’t listening to him.

  “But you are now?”

  “They won’t let him have it,” Furio said loudly. “It’s not yours to sell, is it? That’s what you told me.”

  Gignomai shrugged. “I’ve left,” he said, “and I’m not going back. That’s why I need it.”

  There was a long, deep silence. Then Uncle said, “Where exactly…?”

  Gignomai explained what had happened. When he’d finished, Furio was staring at him, but Uncle was leaning towards him with a starving look on his face. “You think there’s a chance it could still be there?”

  “It’s a big wood,” Gignomai said. “And they wouldn’t know about the way down. I’m guessing it’s some flaw in the chalk, and water’s been trickling down there for God knows how long, and it ate away the hole I fell down. So they’d have no particular reason to look in that place, and you’d have to search hard to find it.”

  “Dogs,” Furio put in. “You said Luso set the dogs on you. Won’t they have led him there?”

  Gignomai shook his head. “There was the boar, remember? It killed one of the dogs at least. Luso’s probably assumed that what led the dogs there was the boar. That’s what they were bred to hunt for.”

  “So it could still—”

  “Or it might not be,” Furio said firmly. “And in any case, you’re in no fit state.” He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then said, “I’ll go.”

  Gignomai shook his head. “You’ll never find it,” he said.

  Uncle nodded vigorously. “You could draw him a map or something.”

  Gignomai laughed. “I’ll have a hell of a job finding the place again, and I know those woods better than anybody except Luso. Furio wouldn’t have a hope. Also,” he added, because Uncle should have, and hadn’t, “can you imagine what my family would do to him if they caught him wandering about up there? Particularly if he did manage to find the bloody thing.”

  The door opened, and a man Gignomai only knew by sight came in. “Salio Gullermo’s downstairs,” he said. “Needs to talk to you about a hundred yards of twenty-gauge wire.”

  Uncle swore, then stood up. “I’ll get rid of him,” he said, and hurried out. For a while, neither of them spoke. Then Gignomai said, “Who’s that obnoxious girl?”

  “What?”

  “That girl,” Gignomai said. “Hovering over me earlier like a buzzard. Or was I imagining things?”

  “That was my cousin Teucer,” Furio replied. “You didn’t like her.”

  “No.”

  Furio shrugged. “What the hell are you doing here, Gig?”

  “I told you.” Gignomai lay back and shut his eyes. “I’ve had it with my family. Father’s decided I’m going to train to be a lawyer, leading to a career in politics. So I left.”

  “What do you mean, left?”

  “Left. I have taken my leave and do not intend to return. Ever.”

  “But you can’t—” Furio started to say, then paused. “Well, yes, you can, I guess,” he said. “Won’t they come after you? Say we kidnapped you or something?”

  “I considered that,” Gignomai said, “but I don’t think it’s likely. Father will decide that by doing what I’ve done I’ve proved myself unworthy of my name. Round about now, I imagine, I’ll never have existed.” A small scowl crossed his face and he added, “There are precedents. It’s how our family deals with things.”

  “Your brothers…”

  Gignomai shook his head. “Stheno has other things on his mind,” he said. “Luso does what Father tells him, broadly speaking.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “What about her?”

  Furio seemed lost for words for a while. Then he said, “You can do that, can you? Just get up and walk away from everything like that.”

  “Yes. I hope so.”

  “Fair enough.” Furio sat still and quiet for a while, then said, “What are you planning on doing?”

  Gignomai opened his eyes. “Now that,” he said, “is a good question. A lot depends on whether I can get that fucking sword.”

  “Is it really worth…?”

  “Your dad thought so.”

  “In that case, it’s worth a lot more.”

  “So you told me. You’ve forgotten.” Gignomai smiled, then pulled a face. “My nose hurts,” he said.

  “Teucer says it’s not a bad break,” Furio assured him. “It should grow back straight.”

  “How the hell would she know?”

  “Her dad was a surgeon.”

  “Ah.” Gignomai frowned. “So she might just possibly know what she’s talking about?”

  “Yes. What did she do to you, by the way?”

  Gignomai rolled his eyes. “Call it a clash of personalities.”

  “She’s got one, you mean.”

  “Unlike the met’Oc women?” Gignomai smiled, and winced again. “You may have a point.” He looked at Furio a little more closely. “Don’t tell me you’re—”

  “No.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “No.”

  “For crying out loud, Furio,” Gignomai said, grinning. “You’ve already got all the girls in the colony sniffing round after you. Are you after the complete set or something?”

  “It’s not me they’re after, it’s the store,” Furio replied. It came out so fast that Gignomai wondered if he’d meant to say it. “And my cousin’s only just got here. I’ve barely spoken two words to her. I didn’t even know she was a girl till she walked through the door.” He pulled a ferocious face, which just made Gignomai smile. “Anyway,” Furio went on, “you didn’t answer my question. What are you planning on doing now you’ve made your grand gesture?”

  Two days after Gignomai left the Tabletop, Lusomai met’Oc launched a raid.

  Instead of heading east after he’d crossed the
river, Lusomai turned south-west following the line of the logging road. Ignoring the two small farmsteads on the plain, he led his party of sixteen horsemen over the Sow’s Back and down into the long shallow Headwater valley beyond. It was the furthest he’d ever raided, and people felt safe there.

  The first farm to be attacked was the Vari home, worked by a widow and her two sons. The family were in the kitchen eating their dinner when Lusomai’s men kicked down the door. They beat up all three, stole three flitches of bacon and threw a sack of rye seed on the fire. They also tried to steal the geese, but only succeeded in catching one. Lusomai shot another at close range, leaving it inedible.

  He then rode a mile down the valley and attacked the Pasenna farm, killing eight sheep before trying to force his way into the house. Calo Pasenna, who had helped carry Gignomai into town after finding him by the river, had been outside splitting logs when the met’Oc arrived. He ran inside and wedged the door with a bench. Finding himself unable to break the door down, Lusomai fired a shot through it, which grazed Pasenna’s wife’s arm. Pasenna claimed that he heard Lusomai ordering his men to set fire to the thatch. However, no such attempt was made, and Pasenna himself referred to the met’Oc raiding party “suddenly appearing out of the darkness” when he first noticed them, implying that they weren’t carrying torches or lanterns. The met’Oc left the dead sheep behind when they withdrew. They’d been cut open, so that the guts tainted the meat.

  After leaving the Pasenna farm, Lusomai led his party east across the valley to attack the mill and forge at Headwater Top. Senza Ferrara, the smith, claimed to have heard the shot fired at the Pasenna house; an improbable claim, since the mill was a good two miles away, but possible if the wind happened to be from the south. He left the house with his family, the maidservant and the two hired men, climbed the hill and hid in a small copse overlooking the mill tower. Lusomai broke into the smithy, stole a considerable number of tools and cut open the bellows sack. His men then used the anvil as a battering ram to smash four blades off the mill wheel before dumping the anvil in the sump pool. They cut open and scattered six full sacks of newly ground barley flour before leaving.