by K. J. Parker
“I don’t know, do I?” Aidi said impatiently. “I don’t know how mad women think. Sane ones are hard enough going, God knows.”
“And,” Kunessin went on, “if she’s doing us this big spread, she’ll have to eat with us, which means if it’s poisoned . . .”
Aidi nodded. “Maybe she doesn’t care. In fact, that’s more likely, if you ask me. Look, I’m not saying she’s definitely planning on doing the lot of us in; it’s not a court of law or anything. I’m just saying there’s a danger, even if it’s just a slight one, so surely it’d be a good idea not to take the risk, just in case. Well?”
Kunessin sighed. “So what’s the logical inference?” he said. “We decide we don’t trust her. Well, we can’t very well leave it at that. It’d mean we’d have to stop her going foraging, we’d have to get the other three to keep her away from all the cooking and food handling, we’d have to put locks on all the stores; and even then, if she’s set her heart on it, she’d find a way. And she’s Muri’s wife, don’t forget. What’s he supposed to think while all this is going on? He’s got quite attached to her.”
Aidi couldn’t help but grin at the choice of words. “So basically you’d rather die than make a fuss, is that it?”
Pause; then Kunessin nodded. “I guess so,” he said. “I’d rather run what I reckon is a smallish risk than tell one of us that I don’t trust his wife not to kill us all.” He lifted his head and grinned suddenly. “Of course it’s a risk,” he said. “Everything’s a risk. If we’d let risks put us off doing dangerous things and trusting each other, we’d none of us have survived the war. Funny,” he added, “I’d almost forgotten. You know, what it was like when a one-in-four chance we’d make it was good odds. We weren’t the least bit worried then. We just knew.”
He shook his head. Aidi frowned, then said, “That was different. That was in a war. It’s like swimming. If you’re in water, you swim, you’ve got to, or you drown. On dry land, though, swimming’s completely out of place, it’ll get you nowhere and you’d be stupid to try. The war’s over, Teuche. We don’t have to do that sort of thing any more.”
Kunessin looked at him; almost a pitying look, as from a wise teacher to a promising but occasionally misguided student. “That isn’t how I remember it,” he said. “But then,” he went on abruptly, and the smile on his face wasn’t entirely friendly; it was an expression they all knew well, “the day you and I actually agree on something, I’ll be sure to wear a very big, wide hat, in case the flying pigs shit on my head.”
Aidi shrugged and walked away, and there the matter rested. That evening, however, Kunessin caught up with Enyo as she went to fill the log basket.
“This banquet idea,” he said.
Enyo nodded. “Chaere, I take it.”
“Correct,” Kunessin said. “But I suppose she’s got a point. Look, could you do me a favour? Could you find a way of watching her like a hawk while she’s cooking up this wonderful feast of hers, just in case there’s something not quite right about it?”
Enyo pulled a face. “Trouble is,” she said, “I wouldn’t know what I’d be looking for. That’s the problem. She’s the only one who knows about that stuff.”
Kunessin nodded. “Quite right,” he said. “But I remember when my mother used to cook for us, and when it was something fancy she was going to a lot of trouble over, she’d be forever sticking her finger in and licking it, or slurping a bit off the ladle, to make sure it tasted right. That’s what you do when you’re cooking, isn’t it?”
Enyo laughed, then nodded. “But it’s just a taste . . .”
“Sure,” Kunessin agreed. “But somehow I don’t think you’d do that if you knew for certain it was poisoned. It’d be instinct. You just wouldn’t want that stuff in your mouth. Well, would you?”
Enyo frowned; then she shrugged. “I can watch her, if you want me to,” she said.
“Thanks, I’d be obliged. Here,” he added, picking up the log basket. “Let me take that for you.” And he carried it back to the house like a trophy.
Enyo watched while Menin cooked the dinner (Kunessin grabbed her arm as she brought in the dish of doves’ eggs. “Well?” Enyo smiled at him. “I’ve learned how to make short-base pastry,” she said), and very good it was, too. Menin and Enyo served up, while Clea sulked and Chaere made faces. Kunessin made sure Menin got plenty to eat. They washed it down with a jar of red wine the farmer had given them to seal the house purchase - Alces and Muri had water - and after a few drinks Menin loosened up considerably and started prattling: about the recipes, what all the ingredients were and where you found them and what the seasons were and what her grandmother had told her about a wide range of related topics, and in the end it was all they could do to persuade her to shut up.
“That’s the end of the mushrooms,” she said sadly. “There won’t be anything fit to eat now till early autumn.”
“Is that right?” Kunessin said politely.
“Oh yes. Nothing now till the early ceps. Now they’re really nice, really, really nice, in a sauce, though you can just fry them in a little green oil, but I think that spoils the flavour. There’s really nice ceps here, they’re quite scarce back home but not here, there’s plenty.” She paused to drink another half-cup of wine. “No, you don’t want to go eating any mushrooms between now and the start of harvest.”
Aidi looked up. “Really?”
She nodded gravely. “Oh no,” she said. “They could make you really ill. Really ill. I knew someone once who died from eating poisonous mushrooms.”
Kunessin looked in her direction; not at her, just past her. “As bad as that, then.”
“Really bad,” Menin said. “Of course, there’s some mushrooms that’re bad for you even in the mushroom season, but it’s all right so long as you know what you’re looking for. I mean, you have to know, but once you do, it’s perfectly all right.”
“You’ll have to teach us,” Kunessin said with his mouth full.
“Sure,” Menin chirped, and her hand located the wine cup and lifted it to her mouth. “I can do that. My gran taught me, when I was a little girl. We used to go out to the woods together, and she showed me which ones you could eat and which ones are bad for you. It’s quite easy to tell, once someone’s shown you.”
“Pity we’ll have to wait till autumn,” Muri said.
“Well, I can tell you,” Menin replied, “but that’s not the same as showing you, because it can be hard to say the difference in words, but when you see for yourself it’s quite easy, really. But in the autumn I’ll show you, sure, and then you’ll know too.”
After the meal, Aidi muttered to Kunessin, “I liked her so much better when she was sinister and didn’t talk,” and moved away to sort out Chaere, who was defiantly trying to feel ill in a corner, though without success. Menin, meanwhile, slipped out into the yard and crossed to the burnt-out house. Quickly looking behind her to make sure she was alone, she knelt down beside the ruins of the fireplace, pulled back her sleeve and searched by feel up the chimney until she’d found what she was looking for. She could only touch it with her fingertips, but that was enough to make her smile. Then she went to the woodshed, gathered an armful of logs and went back to the barn.
A ship came in. No soldiers; it was a sloop, slim, fast and expensive, a government courier, and it had come all that way just to deliver a letter. Kunessin opened it, read it, quickly glanced through the enclosures to make sure they were all there.
“Thanks,” he said. “No reply.”
The ship sailed away the same day, having taken on a little drinking water and the quarter-jar of fire-melted gold. The covering letter explained that this was the sum total of the proceeds of the mine prior to the agreement with Commissioner Straton; it had been stolen and hidden away by the mutineers, but had since come to light. Properly speaking, it belonged to the proprietors, since its extraction pre-dated the assignment of mining rights; as a gesture of goodwill, however . . .
“Teuc
he.” Aidi, stunned and bewildered. “That was sixty thousand thalers.”
“About that, yes.” Kunessin was sitting at the only remaining good table with three of the six remaining oil lamps lit beside him, and the wad of legal papers that had been in with the letter spread out side by side in front of him. “The question being, was that enough? And yes, I’m inclined to think it was. The important thing to remember is, they’ve got no way of knowing for sure when we first made the strike. I told them we’d only been going a few weeks, which made sixty thousand a good return. I’m not sure they believed me, but my guess is they won’t want to rock the boat over a few unprovable suspicions.”
“Teuche . . .”
“Meanwhile,” Kunessin went on, without raising his voice, “here we’ve got the counterpart land transfer deeds, properly sealed by the registrar, a deed of rectification and indemnity - strictly speaking it’s not necessary, since all that’s superseded by the new transfer, but it can’t do any harm - and a nice long letter of comfort setting out the ancillary terms I agreed with Straton. You’re the lawyer, Aidi. That pretty well covers everything, doesn’t it?”
He slid the documents across the table in Aidi’s direction, but Aidi ignored them. “You should have asked us first,” he said. “It’s a lot of money.”
Kudei, who’d been cleaning his boots a few yards away, stopped and turned his head a little. Alces saw him, and came over to stand beside him.
“Agreed,” Kunessin said. “So what?”
“So we should’ve talked about it first, before you gave it away like that.”
Just the slightest shift on Kunessin’s face, a flaw or crevice between the eyebrows. “I just explained about that,” he said. “Weren’t you listening?”
Aidi took a deep breath. “That’s not the point.”
The crease became a definite frown. “Of course it’s the point,” Kunessin said. “Sorry, don’t you agree with my approach? You think we should’ve done something else.”
Aidi shifted nervously, like a horse at the start of a thunder-storm. “I’m not saying that.”
“So if we had discussed it, you’d have supported my decision? Or did you have a plan of your own you’d have liked us to consider?”
Behind them somewhere, Clea knocked over a jug. It hit the floor with a bump, didn’t break, rolled away under a bench. Clea swore at it and asked Menin to fetch her a mop. All that happened, and still Aidi hadn’t answered Kunessin’s question. Neither had he moved; and Alces, watching him carefully, thought about an arrow hanging in the air at the end of its ascent. Then someone did speak, but it was Kudei.
“Sixty thousand’s a lot of money, Teuche,” he said.
Slowly, Kunessin stood up and carefully moved his chair; like an artilleryman shifting the lie of his piece so that his arc of fire covers two targets. “Maybe I’m the one who’s missing the point,” he said mildly. “Perhaps you’d care to tell me what the big deal is, Kudei.”
Kudei was sitting very still, his eyes wide open, his hands at his sides, perfectly relaxed. “Maybe it would’ve been a good idea if we’d talked about it,” he said. “After all, we’ve had plenty of time. It’s not like you had to make a snap decision in a hurry.”
Kunessin nodded slowly, like a judge. “Fine,” he said. “If this is going to be a formal staff meeting, someone had better fetch Muri. Anyone know where he is?”
“Hold on, both of you.” Alces had shifted his position just a little; not obstructing Kunessin’s view of Kudei, but impinging on it. “We don’t want to get all uptight about it, and besides, it’s done now, no use crying over spilt milk.”
Kunessin said: “Do you know where Muri is, Fly? If we’re going to talk about this—”
“Muri always takes your side,” Aidi snapped. “We don’t need him here to know what he’d think.”
Kudei frowned, as though taking a point away from Aidi for a misjudged move. Alces said, “I don’t think this is about sides, Aidi. And yes, I think it’d have been nice if you’d told us first, Teuche. It came as a bit of a shock.”
Kunessin smiled. “Just to clarify,” he said. “You’d have liked to have been told, or you’d have liked to have been asked? You’ll agree there’s a difference.”
“Can we stop this?” Kudei said. “Like Fly said, what’s done is done. No point starting a civil war over it.”
“I think we should have discussed it first,” Aidi said. “That’s not unreasonable, is it?”
Kunessin moved round to face him. “It’s funny,” he said. “I remember a time when I made decisions for all of us, and it wasn’t about money, it was our lives, whether we’d get killed or not. And I don’t seem to remember having to refer every single fucking order to committee before people did as they were told.”
Kudei tried to speak, but Aidi was quicker. “That was in the war,” he said.
Kunessin paused, as if waiting for the rest of the argument. “That’s right,” he said. “I’m not quite sure I see what you’re getting at.”
Alces was looking down at the floor. Kudei noticed that, at some point, the women had left the barn. “Don’t you?” Aidi said. “Sorry, I thought you knew: the war’s over. I assumed they’d have told you, you being a general.”
Kunessin smiled; dry, angry. “All right,” he said. “Granted, the soldiers who want to throw us off our land and take it away from us are from our own government, not some enemy overseas we’ve never heard of before. If you think that really makes a difference, maybe I can begin to understand why you’re turning on me like this. Personally, I don’t see there’s a whole lot in it.” Aidi started to reply, but Kunessin cut him off. “When Nuctos died, I seem to remember you wanted me to take over, make the decisions, be the officer commanding. Isn’t that right, Fly? Kudei?”
“I’m not disputing that, for crying out loud,” Aidi said, and he knew his anger was making him sound weak. “This isn’t—”
“Aidi?” Kunessin said. “You wanted me to take over, didn’t you? When Nuctos died.”
If Aidi hesitated just for a moment, maybe Kunessin didn’t notice. “Of course I did,” Aidi said. “And yes, I entirely agree: in the war you gave the orders and we didn’t discuss everything, and yes, it’s quite true that we were in a sticky situation when Straton was here, and you handled it and got us out of it, and I agree with every decision you made. I agree that giving the government that stupid jar of gold will most likely keep them off our backs and head off any trouble we might’ve had on account of it.” He paused, drew breath. “I still think you should’ve told us first. After all, you had plenty of time. It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision.”
Kunessin looked at him, face blank, for three seconds. “Apology accepted,” he said.
Muri Achaiois came back from the sawmill drunk. His hair and beard were floured with the same pale yellow dust that clogged his nose and made his eyes watery and red. He’d cut himself on the forearm, hadn’t noticed doing it, but there was caked blood and a big black scab. He tripped over the door frame and fell into the house, instinct guiding his fall so that he landed on his shoulder, rolled and regained his feet as nimbly as a front-rank fighter; then he staggered again, slammed the table with his knee and roared, not so much because of the pain but because he was so angry with himself for being idiot-clumsy and waking his wife, and most likely the neighbours as well.
“Muri?” Her voice, muffled and snarly with spoiled sleep.
“It’s all right,” he growled back, furious at her for having been woken up by a pathetic drunk who couldn’t even open a door any more. A couple of houses down, a dog started barking. Wonderful.
He knew what she’d do next: pretend to go back to sleep, to spare him further dishonour, but her back would be tense like a bow at full draw, and her breathing would be all wrong. So he said, “Go to sleep” at her, then sat down on her feet and tried to get his boots off.
Once upon a time he’d vaulted the pike hedges and tightropewalked the depth of a battal
ion on the shoulders of the enemy, smashing heads and lopping arms at will as he went. Now, he was being wrestled to submission by a bootlace. That was too great an insult to be endured, so he stuck his finger under the lace and yanked at it with all his legendary strength; but the lace held and sawed into his finger like a stonemason’s rope, and he yowled. Once upon a time, at the Military College, he’d solved all six of Holoenta’s Paradoxes, when all the rest of his year were still struggling to understand simultaneous equations. Now all he could do was suck his finger where a bit of string had drawn his blood and tasted his flesh.
“Iero,” he whined, “I can’t get my boots off.”
“All right.” A sad, patient voice, one that expected nothing more from him. “Light the lamp.” Then, very quickly, “No, it’s all right, I’ll do it.”
Not the right thing to say. Muri Achaiois had been a mathematician and a scientist before this woman was born. “I’ll light the lamp,” he said, and caught her soft hand like a wasp on its way to the bedside table, and held it under arrest while his other hand fumbled for the lamp and the tinderbox. He knew he was gripping on it a little bit too tight, but he took his time letting go. She didn’t say anything.
He found the lamp; found the tinderbox but knocked it off the table on to the floor, heard it bump and skitter. “Now look what I’ve fucking done,” he roared (Muri Achaiois, trained as a blacksmith and cabinet-maker, who could file a perfect circle by eye and plane two complex curves so they’d glue together flush). “Stay there,” he moaned, in a crude imitation of her patient voice. “I’ll find it.”
Down on his hands and knees, his stomach raging like the sea, his brain sliding about in his head like the bubble in a spirit level, scrabbling for the stupid tinderbox; banged the bridge of his nose into the side of the bed, swore, found the damn box, stood up, barged into the table, just managed to grab the lamp, by perfect instinct, before it rocked over and smashed; with infinite care stood it upright again, fumbled off the glass mantle and set it down, knocked it over with his sleeve as he reached for the tinderbox and heard it tinkle-smash, a sniggering sort of noise, on the floor. Broken glass crunched under him as he moved. Just as well he still had his boots on.