by Susan Price
Per struck the flat of his hand on the table, making a loud, sharp noise. There was quiet. Looking at Gareth, Per said, “In Elf-Land, whom shall we fight?”
Andrea sat straighter, waiting for Gareth’s answer. This was what she was fascinated to know.
“You will not be fighting Elven,” Gareth said. “Or—no Elven like us. You will no be fighting Elven with weapons like ours. Do no fear that.”
Per looked puzzled. He spoke with Sweet Milk while chatter broke out again. Raising his voice, Per said, “If no Elven like you, then what kind of Elven? How many kinds of Elven be there?”
“There be many different Elf-Lands,” Gareth said. “Some of them are like ours, and some of them are like yours. We want you to gan into an Elf-Land very like yours and fight our enemies there, who are very like you, and—”
“Oh my God!” Andrea said, as it broke on her what this was all about. People glanced at her but were too interested in what else was being said to pay much attention.
“They have weapons like ours?” Per said.
“Very like yours,” Gareth said. “Swords, lances, pistols.”
“Whyfor have you need of us?” Per asked. “Your weapons knock down towers.”
“Ah,” Gareth said, “but we needed you to lead us to tower. We needed you to lead us to where Grannams were in ambush. That is why we need you in Elf-Land. You know land, you know how to cross it. You can be of priceless help to us.”
“We dinna ken land in Elf-Land,” Per said. “It be no our land.”
“It be exactly like this land,” Gareth said. “Elven that live there look exactly like you.”
Astounded comment and chatter broke out again. Andrea leaned on the table and put her head in her hands. “They look like us?” Per said.
“It be Elf-Work. They will make themselves look like you—to trick you. They be shape-changers. But they be not you. And if you will help us defeat them, we will pay you generously.”
An outburst of words broke on them from all sides; but the Sterkarms probably didn’t find the proposal as strange as Andrea did. The idea of mortal men being recruited to fight the Elves’ battles in Elf-Land was in their folklore—and so too was the notion that Elf-Land—or at least, some Elf-Lands—were identical to their own world and only subtly, magically different, so that people could step into them and never know that they’d left their own world and fate behind. They had many stories of people going into Elf-Land for an hour or a day and finding, on their return, that years had passed, so there was nothing new to them in the idea that time moved at different speeds in different worlds. And, of course, everyone knew that Elves were shape-shifters and could, if they chose, take on all sorts of forms.
Per struck the table again, calling for silence. “We need to talk about this. We’ll give you an answer tomorrow, Master Elf.”
Gareth nodded. “Shall we withdraw to our bowers? And meet here tomorrow?”
“That would be well.”
And the two sides parted, the Elves going out to their sleeping quarters above various storerooms in the courtyard. Andrea, as she went down the tower steps, had no doubt what the answer would be. The Sterkarms, turn down the chance of a fight, the chance of plunder, fame, and wealth? The Devil would turn nun first.
“Gareth,” she called as they ducked out of the tower’s low door into the courtyard. Her voice was tight. She didn’t want to talk to him and knew that he didn’t want to talk to her. “I need to have a word with you.”
He gave her the barest glance over his shoulder. “Tomorrow. I’m exhausted.”
“I need to talk to you now.” She walked at his shoulder. “I want an explanation.”
He turned and faced her. “Who are you to demand explanations? You could have got us all killed!”
Patterson and his men were walking ahead, on their way to their own sleeping quarters. Patterson turned back. “Got woman trouble, Gareth?”
The others laughed. “Need rescuing?”
They were all coming back, with jeering laughs and menacing swagger, all of Patterson’s men. Andrea found her breath catching in her throat. She knew they were all angry with her. It would be a mistake to let them see she was scared. Looking Patterson in the eye, she said, “On whose orders did you shoot Toorkild?”
That stopped him short for a second, but then he gestured as if knocking away a fly. “Give it a rest, you mad mare.”
“Are you saying that you didn’t shoot him?” Andrea watched his face. “Why deny it? Ashamed?”
A spark of anger lit in his eye. “I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve ever done. After all”—he grinned—“I’ve never fucked you.”
The other men sniggered. One clapped Patterson on the back.
Inwardly Andrea trembled with anger and nerves, but she refused to be either humiliated or intimidated. “Then you did do it. On whose orders?”
“I felt like it. Now, come on. Put Gareth down, and let’s get you locked up in your pigpen for the night.”
“Leave her,” Gareth said, sounding tired to death. When Patterson still stayed where he was, Gareth snapped, “For God’s sake!” He was annoyed with Andrea too, but Patterson’s crudity was unbearable.
Patterson shrugged. “Please yourself.” He turned and ambled away, his men laughing and sniggering with him, looking back at Gareth and Andrea and laughing again.
Andrea turned away from them and said to Gareth, “You’re sending the Sterkarms through to fight—well, the other Sterkarms. That’s right, isn’t it?”
Gareth sighed. “You’ve figured it all out. Why ask me? I just want to lie down and sleep.” He started walking toward his bower.
Andrea walked at his side. “Why? Why order such a thing? Is it just spite?”
“It’s a business decision, as always,” Gareth said.
“I suppose blowing people apart, burning people alive—that’s all business as usual? Trade by other means?”
Her words brought back to Gareth, with great vividness, some of the things he’d experienced recently. The smell of burning human fat and meat. A woman’s severed head. He’d been hoping not to think much of these things ever again. The contempt in Andrea’s voice too—a woman’s voice—made him feel as if some tender inner part of him was being sandpapered.
“Are you okay?” Andrea asked.
“I just want to lie down. Sleep.”
She said nothing more but followed him to his bower and was closely behind him on his ladder. She was in the room with him before he could do or say anything about it. With a groan he unlaced and pulled off his boots and lay down on the bed.
Andrea shut the door and seated herself on a chest against the wall. “Tell me about this business decision.”
He groaned and rubbed his hand over his face. “Oh, leave me alone.”
“No. I shan’t go away and I shan’t shut up until you tell me. Come on. Tell me.”
Gareth sighed. “It’s no big deal. If you have two dimensions open, then you have twice the trade, don’t you?”
“But Windsor made a real mess of things in—with—with the other Sterkarms.”
“In 16th-side A,” Gareth said. “Yeah. We alienated the natives. So when we came here—16th-side B—we went out of our way not to do that. We laid on trips to Elf-Land, clothes, truckloads of aspirin, whisky—we were Mr. Nice Guy, we really were. And James Windsor”—his tone took on an accusing note—“worked harder than anybody. Promoting peace. Fostering an alliance between the Sterkarms and the Grannams.”
“I’m not an idiot,” Andrea said. “The Sterkarms didn’t attack the Grannams, and—”
“No, they’d never do that, would they?” Gareth’s voice was sharp.
“This time they didn’t. And this time the Grannams didn’t attack the Sterkarms.”
Gareth, resting his forehead on his hand, turned his
head sidelong and looked at her.
“The men who attacked the Grannams,” Andrea said, “were Patterson’s men, dressed as 16th siders. The men who attacked the Sterkarms were our men too—21st siders. Weren’t they? Both sides thought they were being attacked by the other, but they were being attacked by 21st siders. By us. And when everyone was outside, fighting, all the floodlights went on. And there were snipers on the hillside in the dark, picking off Toorkild. And Richie Grannam. And—all the leaders,” she said wonderingly. “Gobby Per. Everyone Per might listen to …” She looked at Gareth. “Why?”
Gareth gave a slight, weary smile. “Promoting peace?”
“By starting a war?”
“Look. You’ve got the Grannams, and you’ve got the Sterkarms. There’s Beales, too, and—oh, dozens of others. Always at each other’s throats, always raiding, always fighting. As I understand it, we already tried asking them nicely, in 16 A—just cut it out and pack it in, we said. They took no notice. How would you have stopped them? Would they have stopped if we’d paid them, do you think?”
Andrea grimaced and shrugged. “No,” she admitted. That was what FUP had done, more or less, in what she’d have to learn to call 16 A. The Sterkarms had taken their payments, asked for more, and gone on raiding and feuding anyway.
“And do you really think the wedding alliance would have stopped them for long?”
“Well, yes, it might.” Andrea thought about it. “No. Not really.”
“The trouble always was, they were too finely balanced. No one family had any superiority over another. So it went on and on and on, in low-grade power struggles. Solution? Make one side overwhelmingly powerful.” He saw realization dawn in Andrea’s face. “Yeah. Back the Sterkarms against the Grannams. Make the Sterkarms top dog. That’s how you make peace.”
“Peace for FUP to trade,” Andrea said.
“And peace,” Gareth said. “Eventually. For everyone. A lot of little Sterkarm kids will grow up in peace and prosperity because of this.”
“Is that what you tell yourself? A lot of Grannam children won’t.”
“And wouldn’t, either, if we just let this go on,” Gareth said irritably.
“The Sterkarms and the Grannams feud all the time anyway. They’ve been doing it for years—centuries, probably. So why this charade? Why the wedding—why pay out all that gold to persuade them to marry when you know you’re going to break it up? I just don’t—”
“For God’s sake, because we had to know when it would all kick off,” Gareth said. “We weren’t going to hang around, containing all their raids and shit, and hoping they’d start a feud sometime soon. What if they’d picked a feud with the wrong people? With the Yonnsenns or Dowglasses? We wanted them to feud with the other big powerful family, the Grannams, nobody else. Let the Sterkarms beat the Grannams out of sight, and there’s going to be no trouble from the other little families, at least not for a long time. And hopefully, by then, they’ll be so used to our rule … So. It was all set up. Bring the Sterkarms and the Grannams together, stage a ‘treacherous attack,’ and then back the Sterkarms. You’ve got to admit it’s clever.”
“Let me guess who thought of this,” Andrea said.
“James Windsor,” Gareth said.
“It’s such a game,” Andrea said. “If you don’t mind murdering people to further your five-year plan, why not just go to the Sterkarms and say, hey! How about if we massacre the Grannams for you?”
“And what if the Grannams won?”
“What?”
“Well, I’ve been told that the Sterkarms kicked ass in 16 A. You’d know, you were there. So you’ve got to be prepared. What if the Grannams won? If they did, and we’d openly declared war on them—well, that would be difficult. But if the Sterkarms treacherously attack them, and then use stolen Elf-Weapons to—” He was going to say “massacre the Grannams” but a memory rose up of exactly what that massacre had entailed. “To massacre the Grannams,” he said firmly, “then we’re off the hook.” This was the hardening he needed, he reminded himself. You had to be able to keep the big picture in view and face up to what had to be done, like an adult.
Andrea still sat on the chest, staring into space. “So now you’re going to set the Sterkarms on the Sterkarms. I suppose you’re going to do the same to—the first Sterkarms—the other Sterkarms—”
“Sterkarms A,” Gareth said.
“You’re going to do the same to Sterkarms A as you’ve done to the Grannams. Attack them with rockets and grenades. Wipe them out.”
“Impose peace,” Gareth said.
My Per, Andrea thought. Peace will be imposed on my Per. And my Toorkild—still alive in 16 A. And my Isobel, and my Sweet Milk, and Ecky and Sim and all the rest.
I can’t bear this, she thought. It’s surreal. Per killing Per. No.
“Why involve me?” she asked.
Gareth was rubbing his face. “Eh?”
“Why drag me into it? Why give me my old job back, just to drag me into this?”
Gareth sighed. “You were the candy, weren’t you?”
“What?”
“Didn’t you have an affair with Per Sterkarm in 16 A? I get the impression it was quite intense.”
“Ah—well—” Andrea felt her face warming.
“The long and short of it was: Make the Sterkarms top dog, but make sure the Sterkarms are led by somebody we can lead by the nose. So knock out all the experienced, older leaders—”
“Knock out?” Andrea said. “You mean murder.”
“Okay. Murder all the experienced leaders and set up a puppet leader—somebody young, inexperienced, easy to influence.”
“You mean Per?”
“Exactly.”
“You think Per is easy to influence?”
“Relatively speaking,” Gareth said. “Easier than Toorkild or Gobby. And we’ve been working on him, giving him lots of presents, taking him into Elf-Land, promising him things. Now that he’s the leader, we’ll be keeping him occupied with lots of shiny toys. You’re one of them.”
“Come again?”
“Well, that was the plan anyway. You’ve cocked it up a bit, haven’t you? But you were to be one of the presents to keep him sweet. A beautiful Elvish mistress. Windsor knew you were his type.”
Andrea was speechless.
“You were just supposed to sit around looking pretty.” Gareth sounded dubious about that. “And flirt. You weren’t supposed to tell the Sterkarms that we shot Big Toorkild. What were you thinking of? Windsor’s going to be furious when he hears about that.”
Andrea stood, waving her hands around her head, as if his words were so many buzzing flies. “Okay, I’ve heard about enough. I’m going.” She climbed down the ladder from Gareth’s bower to the alley below and picked her way through the mud and muck heaps to her own bower. As she went, her brain hurried and sallied, turning back and venturing again, thinking: How do I get from here to 16 A? How do I warn Per—my Per? How? How?
20
16th Side: An Agreement
“We want to speak with Elf-Windsor,” Per said.
They were all in the great hall of the tower again. Per sat at the head of the table in the armed chair where his father had once sat. Sweet Milk was next to him, on a bench. Isobel was watchful nearby, on a stool; and as many others as could escape their duties were standing around the table, so they could tell their children and grandchildren that they were there. If they lived that long.
Andrea sat between Gareth and Patterson. She wasn’t happy.
“Elf-Windsor be in Elf-Land,” Gareth said. After a good night’s sleep, he seemed calm and spoke authoritatively. “I be his man here in Man’s-Home. He has given me power to deal in his name. If you make an agreement with me, he will honor it, I promise you.”
Per conferred with Sweet Milk and some of the other Ste
rkarms, and glanced at his mother, but Andrea didn’t doubt that he would agree. In the Sterkarms’ world almost all bargains were agreed on a handshake and a promise. The Sterkarms were notorious, of course, for not keeping their word with other clans, but between themselves they did, and at the moment the Elves seemed to be considered honorary Sterkarms.
“We shall send a ride into Elf-Land,” Per said. “I shall choose my men from those who wish to come. Some wish to stay here and keep their own land.”
Andrea translated what he said, for Patterson and his men, while Gareth nodded his agreement.
Per, his fist clenched on the tabletop, said, “Elven will send Elf-Men to every tower here, with Elf-Weapons, to fend off Grannams when they come.”
Gareth nodded again. “That was agreed.”
“No more than two men to a tower,” Patterson said, after listening to Andrea’s translation. Gareth translated that, and Per frowned and opened his mouth to argue. Patterson said, “With Elf-Weapons, you won’t need any more. We’ll have to draw up a list of towers, and we may have to send for reinforcements. That will mean a wait.”
Gareth translated. Per muttered things over with the men around him, and then agreed. Andrea sighed. This looked as if it would take ages.
“When we are in Elf-Land, we want Elf-Weapons,” Per said.
Gareth leaned across Andrea and conferred with Patterson. Then he said to Per, “There will be Elves with you, with Elf-Weapons. They will be men expert in their use. It would take a long time to train you to use them. You are wanted for your knowledge of—of raiding.” That was simpler than trying to translate “local terrain” and “local tactics.”
More muttering among Per and his men. Per said, “You could take us into Elf-Land and train us, and then bring us back here—or send us to the other Elf-Land—an eye blink after. No time would be wasted.”
Andrea suppressed a smile. Get out of that one, she thought. The Sterkarms had never been stupid, or slow to see where their own advantage lay.
Gareth and Patterson leaned across her and whispered again. Then Gareth said, “Elf-Weapons are costly, hard to use, and dangerous to those who be no Elven. It will be safer for your men if only Elven use Elf-Weapons.”