The Beating of his Wings (Left Hand of God Trilogy 3)

by Paul Hoffman

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He’s not as dumb as he looks.’

  As he walked to Kitty’s house it was through a city and a world filled with confusion. It was either the eve of destruction or the crisis had passed. Some people were leaving, some people had decided to stay. Prices had been rising on fears of a war, but now they were falling on rumours of peace. Men of experience were selling off gold, men of experience were buying it back. Things might go this way or things might go that. The first casualty, the day after the declaration of war, is the memory of the confusion that preceded it. Nothing fades from the powers of recall like the recollection of uncertainty.

  On his way from the Embassy of the Hanse, Cale stopped briefly at a depot used by the outdraggers – tinkers who hired out their handcarts for deliveries of just about anything, though mostly the meat and vegetables from the market across the square. He gave one of them, angry-looking but beefy, five dollars and the promise of another five if he’d head for the street where Kitty lived and watch for two or three people coming out who might need to be carried away. He’d need to be quick, no hanging about.

  ‘Sounds like there could be trouble,’ said the man. ‘Ten dollars and then another ten.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  The tinker was careful about the business of giving names, but there was serious money involved. ‘Michael Nevin.’

  ‘Do the job and there’ll be more.’

  ‘More money or more jobs?’

  ‘Both.’

  Knocking softly on Kitty’s door, Cale was admitted, searched, relieved of his collection of devices and then taken in to see Kitty. He was seated behind a large desk, his face indistinct in the semi-darkness. Sitting against the shutters at the back of the room were the two men who had come so close to killing Kleist and Vague Henri a couple of hours earlier.

  ‘You’ve disimproved since we last met, Mr Cale. Sit down.’

  Cale’s fear at having two such obvious evil-doers behind him was not in any way eased by the oddness of the fit of the chair. It was slightly too low, the arms slightly too high, the seat awkwardly sloped. And it was fastened to the floor.

  ‘I have to talk to you alone,’ said Cale.

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘Are they still alive?’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about them, sick little boy.’

  ‘I have to know if they’re dead or alive.’

  ‘They are in a waiting room. The question is whether or not you are going to wait with them.’

  ‘Me? How have I offended?’

  ‘You, sir, have not delivered on your undertakings for which you have been paid and cared for.’

  ‘I’ve been a bad servant, I admit. I’ve come to put that right.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I’ve two things to tell you. The first is to repay what I owe you. The second is a swap for my friends.’

  ‘And why shouldn’t I make you give me this second thing without the cost of looking weak?’

  ‘Because I have to prove it as well as tell you. And the proof isn’t here.’

  ‘We’ll see. Go on.’

  ‘They leave.’

  ‘We’ll see after you pay me what you owe.’

  Cale tried to give the impression that he was considering this.

  ‘All right. You’ve a map of the four quarters?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I need to show you.’

  It took a few minutes for the two men to unroll the map and hang it from hooks high up on one of the walls. It was obvious to Cale that Kitty would have commissioned a survey of some kind but he was surprised at its size and detail, better than anything even the Redeemers had made and they were skilled cartographers.

  ‘You’re impressed,’ said Kitty.

  ‘Yes.’

  One of the men handed him a pointer with little more substance to it than a stalk of wheat – no chance of using it as a weapon. Cale looked at Kitty, hooded and in the shadows, still as a stump. If there had been anyone to tell him fairy stories as a boy, Kitty would have been a sight to bring back the true fear of the child’s nightmare. Cale had no choice, so he got on with it.

  ‘This is what I think, based on what I know,’ Cale said. ‘Some of it’s guesswork. But it’s there or thereabouts.’

  There was a high-pitched wheezing sound from Kitty, laughter perhaps, and the smell of something hot and damp momentarily carried in the still air.

  ‘Your scruples are noted.’

  ‘The Swiss mountains make an attack almost impossible from anywhere except the north. As far as the Swiss are concerned, the other countries in the Swiss Alliance exist to act as a series of three buffers against any attack from there. Farthest north is Gaul, protected by the Maginot Line and the Arnhemland desert. The Axis think the strength of the defences in the Maginot Line will protect them and that Arnhemland is too wide and waterless for an army of any real size to cross. They’re wrong. Bosco has been delaying so he can dig a network of wells and water stores across the desert.’

  ‘And you know this because …?’

  ‘Because I thought of it. The Gauls think that even if an army does come through the desert and hit their weaker defences, an army that’s spent six days in Arnhemland isn’t going to be in much of a shape to fight – even weak defences should be more than enough to stop them until they can bring in reinforcements.’

  ‘And they’re wrong because …?’

  ‘The Redeemers won’t take six days, they’ll take one day and two nights.’

  ‘Are they going to run all the way?’

  ‘They’ll come on horseback.’

  ‘I seem to remember you saying in one of your less than informative reports that the Redeemers had no cavalry to speak of and would take years to develop one.’

  ‘They’re not cavalry – just mounted infantry. It takes six weeks to learn to ride a horse, if that’s all you’re going to do.’

  ‘And if the Gaul cavalry catches them?’

  ‘Then they’ll get off and deal with them the way they dealt with the Materazzi at Silbury Hill. And they’ll be in a great deal better shape than the Redeemers were there. Half of them were fighting with paper shoved up their squeakers to stop them from crapping on their feet.’

  ‘Spare me the details.’

  ‘More battles are lost because of the squits than because of bad generals.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Speed – at first. They’ll take Gaul in six weeks.’

  ‘Optimistic, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t. If I say it can be done, then it can be done. The defence against the Redeemers is based on how quickly they moved in the past – how quickly all armies moved in the past. Everyone fights the war they’re used to.’

  ‘So the Redeemers will roll over Gaul, then Palestine, then Albion and Yugoslavia and all the rest until they’re at the gates of Zurich.’

  ‘It won’t be that easy.’

  ‘You surprise me.’

  ‘Always.’

  Again the high-pitched, wheezing laugh. ‘What a conceited young man you are.’

  ‘I’m not conceited. I’m just honest about being so much better than other people.’

  Kitty was silent for a moment. Another waft of the hot damp smell.

  ‘Well then,’ said Kitty. ‘Allowance must be made for your boastfulness, being a person so much above others. Go on.’

  Cale turned back to the map and pointed to the river that cut Gaul in half on its way to the sea.

  ‘All the Redeemers need to do is make it quickly to the Mississippi. Then they’ll have a defensive line they can hold or retreat to if things go wrong, and for as long as they like.’

  ‘And from the Mississippi onwards …?’

  ‘War the usual way, probably – slow and nasty. But the Redeemers are good at that.’

  ‘And where are the Laconics in all of this?’

  ‘Paid to stay out of it if Bosco
does what I said.’

  ‘And what if he doesn’t do what you said? Or the Laconics think once the Redeemers have taken the Swiss they’ll come for them next?’

  ‘Once they’ve taken the Swiss that’s exactly what Bosco will do.’

  ‘So why should they go along just because it’s convenient for your plan that they do so?’

  ‘Because that’s what they want to believe. This way they get money and a guarantee.’

  ‘Worthless.’

  ‘But they don’t know that. It doesn’t make sense to attack them after all. There’s no great strategic use for Laconia and there’s bugger all there. The cost of taking it doesn’t bear thinking about – even for the Redeemers.’

  ‘But Bosco will try.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. He just asked me to make it possible. Something to do with God, I imagine.’

  ‘So you don’t know everything.’

  ‘I know everything I know about.’

  Cale needed to be honest with Kitty for the reason that his life and Vague Henri’s and Kleist’s depended on him being convincing. Nothing convinces like the truth. But Bosco’s plan to create a final solution to the problem of evil would have seemed impossible even to someone as vile as Kitty the Hare. Such a thing was outside the kingdom of even his appalling imagination because it had no purpose – there was no money or power to be had from such a vision.

  ‘What about the purpose of the Redeemer camp at Moza your friends so foolishly chose to attack?’

  This was tricky. They must have told Kitty something useful or they’d be dead. But then maybe he hadn’t intended to kill but just to scare them. If Cale told Kitty something that conflicted with what they’d told him he’d know they’d been lying. And then there were other possibilities to the left, and the right, and to the left again, always intelligent guesses to be made and got completely wrong. Gambling that Vague Henri would have decided to tell something close to the truth, Cale committed himself.

  ‘The Redeemers will attack from the north through Arnhemland but they’ll want to squeeze from opposite ends and the only way to attack the Swiss from the south is up through the Mittelland, then through the Schallenberg Pass to Spanish Leeds.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Forty thousand, give or take. I’m not saying he won’t just stay where he is and seal the Swiss in and wait for the attack from the north to work its way down. But if he can draw the Swiss into an attack in the Mittelland it might be worth it. And if they don’t come out to fight he can seal off the Schallenberg then wait them out there.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Five thousand men in front of the Schallenberg could hold the Swiss in for ever. That’s nearly thirty-five thousand less than staying where he is.’

  ‘Why not go through and take the city?’

  ‘Because five thousand men can hold it from the other end just as well. But then it’s just a question of how long it takes the Redeemers to make it down from the north. See – everything depends on them getting across Arnhemland in a day and two nights. After that it’s just a matter of time.’

  ‘And have you told anyone else about this?’

  ‘Who I tell and what I tell them is my business.’

  ‘You’re very insolent for someone who’s come looking for charity.’

  ‘No, I haven’t told anyone.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What I know is all I’ve got. Besides, my reputation isn’t what it used to be. Who’s going to believe a sickly boy who used to be good at throwing his weight around?’

  ‘What about your Materazzi patrons?’

  ‘Everybody and his mother want them to drop dead, if at all possible.’

  ‘And yet Conn Materazzi is much slobbered over by the King.’

  ‘Conn won’t stomach me at any price.’

  ‘So I’ve heard. Is it true?’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t understand.’

  ‘That you’re the father of the little boy?’

  ‘She sold me to the Redeemers.’

  ‘Not really an answer. But it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘What about my friends?’

  ‘You’ll have to do better.’

  ‘I can.’

  ‘Then do.’

  ‘Not with them here.’

  ‘Your reputation may have declined but I know you to be a person of violent talents who is not always wise in your use of them.’

  ‘I’m not the person I used to be.’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘Cadbury told you what happened at the Priory – I couldn’t lift even a finger to save myself. Look at me.’

  For some time Cale sat as Kitty considered his white skin and the black circles and the stoop of his shoulders and the weight loss.

  ‘I could get these gentlemen to chastise it out of you.’

  ‘You’re going to need more than what I tell you. You’re going to need proof. And I haven’t brought that with me. Let them go.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You’ll still have me. Nobody knows who the two boys are. Killing them won’t send much of a message. But my death would send a signal. Not right?’

  ‘You’re offering to sacrifice yourself for your friends? I’d thought better of you.’

  ‘I intend to walk out of here. I’m just pointing out that you can afford to let them go if you’ve got me.’

  Kitty considered but not for long.

  ‘Go and get them – both of you.’

  They did as they were told, closing the heavy door quietly behind them.

  ‘You know where I’m living now.’

  It was a statement. In reply, a long cooing hoot – Kitty was laughing.

  ‘Why would I care where you lay your hat?’

  Cale stayed silent.

  ‘Yes, I know where you live.’

  ‘I’ve found out what the Hanse are going to do. Interested?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Kitty, casual. ‘You’ve proof?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Show it me.’ The unpleasant laugh again. There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in.’

  It opened. The two men who had left, and several others, entered holding Vague Henri and Kleist, their hands tied. But the restraint was more for form than otherwise. They were in a terrible state, Kleist in particular unrecognizable, his face bloody, both eyes bagged with pockets of blood, though one had split like a small gaping mouth and was pouring a delta of red down his right cheek. Vague Henri looked as if someone had wiped his face with some toxic plant – bloated and inflamed. His tongue slipped out of his mouth as if he were an old man gone in the head. Their left hands had been crushed and both of the boys shook uncontrollably.

  Cale did not react at all. ‘Put them outside. Someone will collect them and when they’re safe they’ll bring proof of what I’m saying to you.’

  ‘Play the fraud with me and you’ll find that death has ten thousand doors and I’m there to show you through every one.’

  ‘Can we get on? I have a dinner to go to.’

  A slight nod of the head and the two boys were pushed, stumbling, to the door.

  ‘Make them tell me what they see in the street.’

  Two minutes later and one of Kitty’s guards returned. ‘Some outdragger with a handcart has come to collect them.’

  ‘While we wait for the letter I’ll tell you what’s to come. Once they shut the door.’ A moment, then Cale continued. ‘The Hanseatic League are going to declare their support for the Axis and promise to send ships and troops and money. The money will come but not the ships or the troops. They’ll make a show of assembling ships in Danzig and Lubeck but even if they put to sea they’ll be driven back by storms or plague or woodworm or an attack of barnacles for all I know. But they won’t come – at least not until they’re reasonably sure who’s going to win.’

  ‘And Wittenberg told you this over tea and cucumber sandwiches? I’d heard that h
e was a man of intelligence and discretion. Why would he say these things to someone like you?’

  ‘I used to like cucumber sandwiches – when I could get them.’

  ‘Answer me.’

  ‘I saved Wittenberg’s wife from some Redeemer nasty business. I own his happiness, if you like. But he didn’t tell me directly and I wouldn’t have believed him if he had.’

  ‘So she told you? That’s what you’re saying?’

  ‘No. I tried and I even twisted her arm, so to speak. But she’s a clever girl, Riba, and wasn’t having any of it. I stole his key and took the letter from his room.’

  ‘Sounds unlikely.’

  ‘It does, yes, but it’s true all the same. Wittenberg’s a clever man, subtle, like you say, in talks and discussions and that, but he’s above stealing in a personal way. I mean someone like him could let thousands die but couldn’t kill a man standing in front of them. It never crossed his mind I’d betray his wife’s generosity or his. I suppose he hasn’t had my disadvantages.’

  ‘What else do you know?’

  ‘What I told you. It’s a letter not a confession. You have to read a bit between the lines but not much. See for yourself when it comes.’

  Even though Cale was lying he had more or less accurately set out the position of the Hanse, not so very surprising in that there were only a limited number of options available to them, given that they were a trading federation who used military power to protect their financial interests only when it was unavoidable. But it was about more than just money because they had already provided a great deal to the Axis and would provide more. Partly it was the open-ended financial risk of war: there was a limit to giving money, even if it was a great deal of money, but there was no limit to the treasure that a war could swallow up. And they were also mindful of the view that war was the father of everything – it produced changes even for the victorious that could have untold consequences. Far better to stay on the sidelines, making vague promises you had no intention of honouring, handing over cash and staying out of it as long as possible.

  Sadly for Cale, this happy guesswork was of no practical value beyond being plausible – Kitty expected proof and there wasn’t any. And he expected it in the next few minutes.