by Tim Stretton
His list of enemies did not stop with Bartazan’s political rivals, he realised. As a result of the episode at the Temple, he now had not just Minalgas Inisse but the whole Animaxianite establishment against him — although if they had been responsible here, he would have expected sacrilege to be on the bill of charges. Then there was Orstas, who had sworn revenge on both himself and Bartazan; and even Padizan’s sister Nadien. The fact that Padizan’s murder was laid to his account gave weight to this otherwise flimsy speculation.
Mirko sighed and shifted himself on the bed; it was by no means plush. But soon he found himself drifting off into sleep. Just at this moment he heard the lock turn rustily and sat up in alarm. Did Giedrus’ men go in for secret night-time murder?
A well-modulated voice said: “You can leave us, Vaidmantas. And no listening at the door, if you value your job.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
In the faint light which entered through the grille in the door, Mirko saw that his visitor was none other than Catzendralle. She sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Mirko! Are you all right?”
“Unhurt; but puzzled and angry. Do you know what’s happened?”
“Vaidmantas told me on the way here. You shouldn’t have asked for me — people will wonder at the connection.”
“I thought you might be able to help me. I’m no use to you here.”
“Neither are you any hindrance. Having you out of the galley is not disadvantageous at the moment.”
Mirko noted that this represented an implicit acknowledgement that he was capable of beating Drallenkoop, but forbore from pursuing the topic.
“You know that I’m innocent. And your family put me here — which led me to believe you could get me out.”
“Both of your statements are tendentious. I don’t know you’re innocent at all. Padizan was undoubtedly killed by one of Bartazan’s retainers — it could have been you. And I don’t know what makes you think House Drall put you here.”
Mirko sat up in annoyance. “This isn’t the time to fence with me, Catzendralle. You know, by every reasonable definition of the word, that I didn’t kill Padizan and that I’m not intriguing for Bartazan.”
Catzendralle smoothed her hair back in silhouette, a nervous gesture Mirko had noticed before. “I’m sorry — I’m just trying to show you that, as ever, things aren’t as straightforward as you imagine. Of course I believe you’re innocent — but you have many enemies, as I’ve tried to warn you. House Drall is perhaps not the most hostile of your opponents; added to which, Drallenkoop wants to beat you on the open water. He entertains no possibility of Serendipity beating him.”
Mirko stretched out on the bed. “Catzendralle, I just don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know why I’m here or who put me here — and I’m hardly in a position to find out. And Paladrian justice can be arbitrary; I draw only limited comfort from my innocence.”
“You are too useful an agent to be locked up here for long. I will find out what I can, and do what I can to secure your release.”
“Thank you.”
“Will you be all right in here?”
Mirko smiled. “I have limited scope to better my condition.”
“That wasn’t what I meant. What you said in the Secret Garden — well, I’m trying to let you like me.”
“You don’t have to try that hard, Catzendralle. I do like you.”
Mirko noted a flush of colour in Catzendralle’s cheeks. “I should go now. It was impolitic to come here at all.”
“Good night, Catzendralle.”
The lock scraped shut as soon as she had left. Mirko turned on his pallet to face the wall and tried once again to compose himself to sleep.
CHAPTER 18
M
irko awoke early the next morning, having passed a poor night’s rest. A Constable appeared and left half a loaf and a flagon of water, which he forced himself to consume, although he had little appetite. A short while later Vaidmantas appeared.
“Good morning, captain. I hope your night was not too disturbed.”
“I had planned other ways of spending the evening. Now, have you come to release me?”
Vaidmantas clucked apologetically. “Your stay here will be less onerous if you do not raise your hopes with unrealistic expectations of freedom. This morning I will ask you questions; it is in your interest to answer fully and honestly, but you will not be leaving for some while.”
Mirko shrugged. “I have nothing better to do.”
“Good, you show some co-operation. Perhaps you would like some ale?” and he reached out a heavy earthenware flagon and two cups.
“Now,” he continued. “What can you tell me about Padizan’s death?”
“Only what everyone knows: he arranged for Minalgas Inisse’s escape — for a consideration — acted imprudently afterwards, and the end we both know.”
“How do you think his death came about?”
“Candidly? I have little doubt that a retainer of Bartazan’s may have been over-enthusiastic in avenging the House’s honour.”
“You don’t think that Bartazan connived in or ordered the death?”
“There’s no evidence to suggest he did.”
Vaidmantas frowned. “Don’t think to deceive me, Ascalon. You were present at the dinner where Bartazan unveiled Padizan’s head on a plate and explained exactly why he’d had him killed.”
“If you knew, why did you ask me?”
“To prove your mendacity to myself. I no longer require convincing. You are Bartazan’s man of business; you either killed Padizan or had him killed, and have been working to destabilise Giedrus’ election campaign. There are no more questions for you today — but tomorrow, I’ll expect to hear truth — in all its phases.”
Vaidmantas stalked out in displeasure. Mirko lay on his bed and cursed. Why was he protecting Bartazan? He might as well have admitted that he knew Bartazan had ordered Padizan’s death. It was still possible that Bartazan would secure his release, but given how close the matter touched the Elector personally, it seemed unlikely he would risk it.
The day dragged with unbearable slowness. The cell, away from the direct sunlight, was uncomfortably chilly; given the poor quality of the food, his constitution would be unable to stand many weeks of this. Mirko considered scratching a message on the wall, but he lacked any object sharp enough to make an impression, even in the soft limestone of the cell.
Late in the evening there was an immense commotion on the corridor.
“Let us go! Let us go! The Hierophant will hear of this!”
Vaidmantas’ voice: “Silence! You are under arrest. Come quietly to the cells.”
“Never! We are innocent, we intended no mischief. We merely wished to conduct a conversation.”
“The circumstances — specifically the weaponry and your numbers — suggest otherwise. For now, you are detained on charges of conspiracy and insurrection. The Animaxianite doctrines will not save you here.”
“Are we not entitled to avenge slights and sacrileges? You take the worship of Animaxian lightly, my friend.”
“Enough! Constables, the cells with them, now.”
Mirko could understand little of the background. A group of Animaxianites had seemingly taken exception to someone’s conduct, and decided to settle it by violence. They were an obstreperous faction, beyond a doubt; their acts towards him had proved that.
That night, Mirko’s rest was even more disturbed that before. The Animaxianites alternated noisy complaints and imprecations with equally strident devotional practices. Mirko vowed that, should he be released, he would under no circumstances join the Animaxianites.
Early the next morning Vaidmantas once again appeared.
“Get up, you’re going home.”
“I thought I was murderer and spy.”
“So did I — so do I. Not everyone agrees. For now, at least, you’re a free man. And if I were you, I’d be looking over your shoulder.”
/> “What does that mean?”
“It means not everyone likes you. Specifically: keep away from the Animaxianites, and steer well clear of the Lady Catzendralle.”
Two guards escorted Mirko from the palace. At the front of the building, a rattlejack was waiting with a driver and Larien perched on top. Larien jumped down lightly and embraced Mirko.
“How are you?” she asked, her eyes full of concern.
“Tired, puzzled, no worse. Someone accused me of killing Padizan.”
“I know — the Peremptor’s Constables came to see my uncle. He didn’t tell them anything, of course. How could he, when he’d had Padizan killed himself.”
“And you do believe that I had nothing to do with it? I could not prove my movements for the whole of the day in question.”
“You would not a kill a man in cold blood, a man who had not harmed you. Of course you’re innocent.”
Mirko silently contrasted her attitude with Catzendralle’s.
“Thank you for believing me. It is easy when you’re in the cells to think that no-one does.”
“I tried to see you yesterday but they wouldn’t let me. I couldn’t bear to think of you cut off in there.”
“The Garganet embraces fortitude. The situation, while vexing, was hardly terrifying.”
“Only because you don’t understand Paladrian justice. There was every chance you would have been convicted.”
“The matter is concluded— for now, at least. Where are we going?”
“My uncle has a town house nearby — he is naturally keen to speak to you.”
Whitecroft was by no means as imposing as Formello; two storeys in height, hidden behind a screen of manzipar trees, it was a place where he could be close to the pulse of events without making an obvious presence in the town. Most Electors and rich merchants employed something similar.
Larien took Mirko into a richly-furnished reception room.
“Thank you, Larien. I wish to have a few private words with Ascalon,” said Bartazan.
Larien departed with a stiff incline of her head.
“Ascalon, sit down. Perhaps you’d like a drink.”
Mirko selected a strong red wine and waited for Bartazan to come to his business.
“I was visited by Giedrus’ constables yesterday,” he said. “Their attention materially constrains me.”
Mirko sipped at his wine. “I too found myself discommoded, especially since we both know I was guilty of neither of the offences in question.”
“You are well paid,” said Bartazan with a shrug. “A certain amount of inconvenience is inevitable in your circumstances.”
“I would describe the situation as going beyond ‘inconvenience’; all the more so since I might easily have been freed sooner through your intervention.”
Bartazan frowned and looked down into his goblet. “I did not summon you to hear a litany of your unimaginative and essentially minor grievances. The only expeditious way I could have secured your freedom was to have admitted to Padizan’s murder myself, which would have constituted perjury as well as reckless altruism.”
Mirko saw no point in pursuing the matter further. “I assume there was a reason you brought me here?”
“I referred earlier to my material inconvenience. As you know, I have already been arraigned for sacrilege and my reputation has suffered further — at an important time — from the allegations surrounding Inisse’s release and Padizan’s death. I am the victim of a powerful conspiracy — one which also appears to encompass your own destruction. I can the more effectively protect us if I know everything that you do.”
Mirko smiled. Bartazan would kill him if he knew everything Mirko did. There was a limit to the information he could provide.
“I’ve no doubt at all,” he said, “that the incident with the Animaxianites was just what it appeared; Inisse and his friends wanted revenge for your treatment of him.”
“Do you also attribute the events at Coverciano to Inisse?”
“It seems to me unlikely; they would have ensured I was charged with sacrilege, given that I killed one of their devotees at their own altar. Giedrus, or maybe House Drall, are likelier candidates.”
“Mmmm. I suppose Giedrus might choose to strike against me that way — either alone or in concert with Koopendrall. But do not discount the Animaxianites. Do you know that several were arrested last night?”
“Yes. They were in the cells next to me.”
Bartazan smiled softly. “Do you know why they were arrested?”
“Not in any detail.”
“They were on their way to your lodgings to kill you.”
A chill ran down Mirko’s spine. “Are you sure?”
“The Animaxianites are boasting about it.”
“Then they didn’t arrange my arrest. If they knew I was in custody, why would they then look for me at my quarters?”
Bartazan nodded. “Sound reasoning. Giedrus is the most likely culprit: but then why would he have had you released? He could have held you as long as he chose. Maybe it was House Drall after all.”
Privately this was Mirko’s belief too, but he was keen to keep attention away from Catzendralle: the route to her led ultimately back to himself. “Why would House Drall bother with me? I am no real threat to them. Drallenkoop is sure I can’t beat him on the water.”
Bartazan stroked his chin. “What is the worst thing that could happen to House Drall? Not defeat for Dragonchaser, that’s for sure. No, their nightmare would be ‘Peremptor Bartazan’. By striking at my galley-master, they strike at me, sap my energies. This cannot be. You must take greater care of your security.”
“So it’s my fault that your enemies are trying to kill me?”
“Ascalon, you have the Garganet touchiness. All I am saying is, look after yourself, for I cannot.”
“Or will not.”
“The distinction is over-precise.”
“Do you have any further questions or observations, my lord?”
“Not at this moment. If I were you, I’d assign several of the more trustworthy slaves as your companions — perhaps the Garganets?”
“I have a galley to prepare for an important race: if you’ll excuse me.”
With a curt bow Mirko turned and left the room. Larien noticed him leaving the house and ran into the street after him.
“Mirko! What did he say?”
Mirko scowled. “That my safety is my own responsibility, and he will be irked if I allow myself to be killed. My own concerns were ignored.”
Larien gave a sympathetic shrug. “We always knew my uncle was not a man to be trusted. Come on, let’s go down to the Old Town and find something to eat — you must be hungry.”
Mirko realised that he was indeed ravenous — the food in the cells had not induced an appetite. “I would sell out a thousand Bartazans for a portion of fried whelks,” he said with a smile.
The rattlejack swiftly conveyed them to the heart of the Old Town, reassuringly unchanged despite Mirko’s privations since he had last seen it. The bustle of craft from all parts unloading: galleys from the Emmenrule, West Gammerling, Mettingloom, Aylissia and the Near Isles, all with their characteristic goods. Tomorrow was market day, and there were profits to be had. Larien selected a tavern with tables out on the waterfront overlooking the galleys, and Mirko ordered up beer and whelks. They ate and drank in companionable silence for a while.
When Mirko had finished his portion he looked across at Larien, still eating daintily. Her hair was loose today, and one lock was repeatedly blown across her face by the sea breeze, causing Mirko to smile at her ineffectual efforts to prevent it.
“What are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” laughed Mirko. “I was just enjoying looking at you. Does that fall within my permitted privileges?”
Larien flipped the stray lock aside. “Yes, I suppose it does,” she said. “Do you remember, I once said to you that I had few attachments, but always deep ones.”
; Mirko looked down into his mug. “It was the first time we met, at Formello.”
Her eyes sought his. “Yes it was,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know if you’d remember.”
“My mental processes are generally sharp enough.”
“Do you remember the first thing the Lady Inuela said to you?”
Mirko laughed. “Since you ask, no.”
“There you are, then. I must have made some kind of impression on you.”
Mirko met her gaze. “Oh, you managed that, for sure.”
“I remember hoping, when we were walking in the gardens, that you’d turn out to be what I thought you were.”
“What did you think I was? And have I?”
Larien ran her finger round the rim of her mug. “You seemed to have a largeness of spirit, a decency of soul, which is hard to find in Paladria. I suppose they’re the qualities you would associate with a Garganet gentleman.”
“In Garganet I was no gentleman. I came from unremarkable origins: what made me what I am was the Garganet navy. We had a code, written and unwritten, and I believed it, and I lived it. Until one day I found I couldn’t …”
Larien reached out and touched Mirko’s hand. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
Mirko left his hand under Larien’s. “I don’t know if I do, Larien: maybe you’d need to be Garganet to understand it.”
“Try me,” she said, leaning across until her head almost touched his; instinctively, Mirko leant back a touch.
“There is the Garganet Naval Code,” he said. “It governs our lives. Its first article is this: Never to surrender, never to flee, always to fight. It’s the basis of our invincibility. Anyone coming upon a Garganet galley knows it will always fight if attacked, no matter what the odds. Even if a Garganet galley is quicker and faced with overwhelming odds, we fight. We don’t surrender our ship, and we don’t run away.”
“It sounds an inflexible arrangement.”
“It has its logic: it deters all but the most determined foes from attacking. Not only do we always fight — we always fight well.”