by K. J. Parker
(Ah, said Alexius to himself.)
– He caught the point of her sword on the shell of his hilt, his elbow high and cramped, his wrist turned over. Her blade passed his body, slitting his shirt; then Loredan turned his arm back, converting the late parry into an almost uncounterable riposte. The girl sidestepped; two quick shuffles forward, while twisting her thin body out of the way and frantically trying to cover herself with her sword. In mid-thrust Loredan saw she’d done enough; he aborted the thrust and sidestepped to match her movement, pre-emptively deflecting her blade before she was through with her own parry. This time, when he counterthrust, there would be nowhere for her to go.
But he was too good a teacher to have neglected such emergencies. The girl jumped backwards from a standstill, just as she’d been taught, and feinted a slash at Loredan’s knees, to make him parry low and leave his chest and head exposed. He in turn anticipated the feint, starting to make the anticipated parry and then converting it into a block for the blow she’d intended to make, a short, wristy slash at his face. Having parried that, he stepped back, lowering his sword-point to cover his retreat. She circled, stepping back and to the right to defeat his intended line, but she’d failed to read the signals correctly. Instead of lunging, being parried and laying himself open to a counterthrust, Loredan bent his knees until his outstretched left hand touched the ground, simultaneously slashing with his sword at ankle height. Just in time she skipped over the blade, only to find as she landed that Loredan’s sword was pointing at her heart, and she had no chance of blocking the thrust in time.
Jerking her head back she wrenched herself to one side; instead of running her through, the blade sliced into her side a hand’s span above her hip. It was a sharp blade, there was very little pain, but it was the first time she’d been cut, and she panicked. Without even trying to move her feet or find her balance she slashed wildly; Loredan fended the blow away from his face with the thick part of his blade while stepping back and left, bringing his blade round to face her undefended side. Then, with a short bend of his arm and a sharp turn of his wrist, he struck her right hand, catching her fingers against the grip of her sword and shearing them off just below the knuckle. Her sword clattered on the flagstones and he stepped back to make the final thrust; hesitated-
She kicked hard. He turned away, taking the force of the blow on his thigh. Before he could line up, she had sprung back a good three yards and was scrabbling left-handed for her sword. Damn, Loredan thought, I hate fighting southpaws; he retreated a step or two and took the guard of the City fence, knees bent and sword angled up. She’d been taught the rudiments left-handed, although she was of course at a grave disadvantage even without the pain and shock of her injury. It ought to be fairly straightforward, provided he didn’t underestimate her at the last. He forced himself to relax, to let his weight sink to his knees.
She attacked, swinging a sideways cut at his head. Easy enough to duck under that and then lunge; easy enough for her to turn the lunge and back away, using her feet to get out of trouble, just as she’d been taught. Loredan stayed where he was; time was against her now, she’d know she had to finish it soon before loss of blood made her too weak. He felt something under his foot and decided he knew what it was.
She attacked again; a feinted thrust at eye level, but he knew she was going to convert that into a cut to his forearm, so he moved his head out of the way and parried the cut; turned it and replied with a ferocious short-arm slash at her neck. She’d been expecting the counterthrust (as she’d been taught) and only just managed to get her blade in the way. Even as Loredan followed through the slash, in his mind’s eye he could visualise his recovery, the short, fast lunge into her heart that she would be completely unable to prevent-
Their blades clashed, and there was a crack. Loredan’s sword had snapped, six inches below the hilt.
Oh, for crying out loud, he thought; and, without thinking, he pivoted on his right foot, bringing his left fist round and ramming it into her face. He felt her nose crunch as her head was turned sideways; then she dropped backwards like a sack full of rocks and sprawled on the ground, falling across her own sword and breaking the blade.
Pity, he said to himself. It was only modern, but it looked like a late-series Mesteyn, worth the price of a drink. He looked down at the hilt in his right hand, at the grey frosting of the fractures in cross-section, noticing that the core had given way, in exactly the same way all the others had. Enough to make a man believe in witchcraft, he thought bitterly, and let it fall onto the stone floor.
He rested the palm of his hand on the pommel of his dagger. Now he really ought to finish the job; but what the hell, nobody was paying him. It would mean a verdict of not proven rather than not guilty, but the practical effect was the same. Certainly the difference wasn’t enough to justify the unpleasant effort of bending down and slicing through the side of her neck, getting blood all over his cuffs and hands. He was free to go, and he was on his own time. Stepping over the girl’s body, he walked out of the courthouse in dead silence.
Alexius turned to the woman on his right.
‘He didn’t finish it,’ she said. ‘I think you’ll find that means all bets are off.’
Alexius looked at her.
‘Tell you what,’ she said. ‘Double or quits on the next case.’
‘I’m not staying for the next case.’
She sighed and dug in her purse, producing ten small silver coins. He thanked her and turned to pay his debts on his left, but the seat was empty.
The ushers were dragging her out. They dumped her in a chair near the doorway; as an afterthought one of them twisted a tourniquet round her wrist. Then they picked her up, one under each arm, and walked her out of the door. The spectators started to mutter; a good fight ruined by a cop-out, highly unprofessional conduct on the part of someone who was supposed to be an instructor. What sort of example was that to give the advocates of tomorrow? People started grumbling about wanting their money back, until they remembered that it had been free admission. Somehow, this seemed to make them feel more cheated than ever.
Back in his usual seat, out of the way and beside the window, Loredan poured himself a cup of strong wine and drank it down in one. His knuckles were sore, he’d done something to his right wrist and he ached all over. Damn waste of time, he said to himself, but at least it’s over. It’ll be good not to have that hanging over me any more.
There was always the possibility that she’d come after him again; but with only a thumb left on her right hand she wasn’t going to be fencing any more, and from what he’d gathered from Alexius of her twisted motivation, killing him illegally wasn’t an option as far as she was concerned. As for the Prefect and the Lord Lieutenant, he sincerely hoped that that was the end of it. He understood enough about politics to know that a not proven verdict ought to be an acceptable second best for both factions. It meant that the Prefect was neither convicted nor exonerated; that the Lord Lieutenant’s people hadn’t made their case, but hadn’t lost face either. Both sides would want to see the issue quietly forgotten about, and him with it. Which suited him perfectly. It’d be interesting to see what effect the result would have on enrollments in his school. It could go either way, or it could have no effect at all.
A pity Athli wasn’t here; it had always helped to have her to talk to after a case, someone to drink with who could be relied on not to say the wrong thing. As it was, he suspected, he’d stay here drinking until he felt ill enough to want to go home. He considered going to see Alexius – he’d certainly be interested in the outcome of this particular fight, and the Patriarch would probably quietly regulate the booze supply so that he had enough to get himself straight without getting sordidly drunk. But it didn’t seem appropriate somehow, to go making social calls so soon after cutting someone’s fingers off. For the rest of the day at least, he wasn’t really a fit person for the head of the Order to associate with, and the news of his continued existence would surely k
eep till tomorrow.
So much for the clan and their much-vaunted silver solder. He poured some more wine – half a cup this time, for there was no need for him to get drunk if he didn’t want to. Finish the jug, then get something to eat and go home, spend the rest of the day lying on his bed staring at the ceiling feeling bored and depressed. The perfect ending to a perfect day.
He was three-quarters of the way down the jug and making up his mind to have another when a shadow fell across him. He looked up, and recognised one of the clerks from the Prefect’s Office, a short, fat young man whose name began with a B.
‘There you are,’ said the clerk. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
‘Sit down,’ Loredan grunted. ‘Or get yourself a cup and join me.’
The clerk frowned. ‘I haven’t got time for that,’ he said, ‘and neither have you. You’re to report to the Prefect at his office immediately.’
‘Really?’ Loredan leant back against the arm of the settle. ‘Why would I want to do a thing like that?’
‘Because I’m telling you to,’ the clerk replied. ‘And because you’re still on the reserve duty list, which means you’re obliged to obey the orders of your commanding officer.’
Loredan scowled. ‘So sue me,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m really not in the mood. And besides, why the hell would he want to see me? I’d have thought he’d have wanted me to disappear from sight.’
The clerk sighed and sat down, having first wiped spilt wine off the bench with his sleeve. ‘On the contrary,’ he said. ‘I’ll be frank with you, the Prefect’s hoping to make good some of the political damage you’ve caused to this administration by treating today’s result as a vindication. He feels that by reinstating you as Deputy Lord Lieutenant, he’ll be making it clear to the city that his original assessment of you was correct, and-’
Loredan stood up. ‘Tell the Prefect from me,’ he said, ‘thanks but no thanks. It’s extremely kind of him, but I’ve already got a job and I don’t want another one. Goodbye.’
‘You seem to think you have a choice,’ the clerk said. ‘If you fail to report to the Prefect’s Office forthwith, I shall have no alternative but to authorise your arrest as a deserter.’ He grinned. ‘Desertion’s an offence for which you can be executed without trial in time of war. If, as you seem to believe, the Prefect wants to get rid of you, it’d be the most efficient way.’
Loredan sighed, and sat down again. ‘At least can’t it wait till tomorrow?’ he groaned. ‘I’m in no fit state to be respectful to my betters. Who knows, by this time tomorrow I might just be sufficiently bored and depressed to go along with this ludicrous charade.’
‘You have your orders, Colonel,’ the clerk said. ‘Finish your drink if you must, and then I’ll walk with you just in case you can’t remember the way.’
Oh, well, Loredan said to himself. It’s not as if I had anything else to do.
‘After you,’ he said politely.
By the time he reached home, Alexius was exhausted. The last flight of steps leading up from the great hall to the door of his chambers, represented an effort he nearly couldn’t bring himself to face. The pains in his chest and arm had subsided completely and his head wasn’t hurting, but he felt as if he’d just spent the last forty-eight hours down at the docks shifting sacks of grain. Something to eat, something to drink, followed by sleep.
He had kicked off his boots and was just about to lie down when the pageboy came in.
‘Someone to see you,’ he said. ‘Another foreigner.’
Alexius swore under his breath. ‘Name?’ he sighed.
The pageboy looked perplexed. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘he said his name was Loredan, but it isn’t the Colonel. And, like I said, he’s foreign.’
‘Ah. In that case, you’d better show him up.’
And, shortly afterwards, Gorgas Loredan entered the room.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, as Alexius waved him to a chair. ‘I haven’t come for my winnings. Actually, if I’ve understood the rules correctly, a not proven verdict makes all bets void, so we’re square.’
Alexius thought of the fat woman who’d sat on his right, but didn’t say anything. Gorgas stretched out in the chair, feet crossed, hands behind his head. There was, undoubtedly, a resemblance. Mostly it was in the eyes and the jaw; but fundamentally it was more a similar way of taking up space in the room rather than any markedly shared physical characteristic.
‘What can I do for you?’ Alexius asked mildly.
Gorgas smiled. ‘How are you feeling, by the way?’ he asked. ‘I was afraid you were having a heart attack, back there in the courthouse.’
‘Much better, thank you,’ Alexius replied. ‘A little tired, but that’s about all. Now then, how can I help?’
‘I’d like to see my brother,’ Gorgas said, ‘but I don’t know where he lives. Since you’re the nearest he’s got to a friend in the city, I thought I’d come and ask you. I’m not putting you out, am I?’ he added. ‘If it’s terribly inconvenient, I can come back later.’
Alexius shook his head. ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘No time like the present, and I’ve nothing particularly urgent to be getting on with. You’ll excuse me if I don’t get up, though.’
Gorgas inclined his head. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But if you could let me have his address…’
Alexius wondered what to do for the best. To refuse would be embarrassing, possibly worse if Gorgas had a short temper. On the other hand, from what little he’d been able to gather, the two brothers hadn’t been on speaking terms for a long time. If this was an attempt to restore diplomatic relations, he’d quite possibly be doing Loredan no good at all if he prevented Gorgas from seeing him.
Admit it, you’re just curious. Curious was putting it mildly; he’d already been certain before the healing miracle in the lawcourts that Gorgas Loredan was somehow deeply involved in some aspect of the mystery he’d found himself in that night he’d tried to lay the curse. So far, he’d apparently managed to keep the disastrous consequences from hurting anybody but himself and the girl. For all he knew, Gorgas wanted his brother’s address so that he could go there and kill him.
‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I don’t know where he is at the moment. For a while he was lodging at the second-city gatehouse, but he’s moved out again.’ There; managed that without telling an outright lie. Will that do, I wonder?
‘Oh,’ Gorgas replied, ‘you surprise me. I was sure you’d know.’
Alexius could see his almost-lie reflected in Gorgas’ eyes. Damn, he doesn’t believe me. Nevertheless; he knew he’d reached his decision, and now he’d stick to it. ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ he said. ‘If it’s any help to you, I could always try and pass a message to him. I met him when we were both on the Security Council, you see; I can see if any of the other members are still in touch with him, though I must say I think it’s fairly unlikely.’
‘I see. Well, that’s a nuisance. I’d have liked to talk to him before I leave, you see. It’s been a long time – the truth is, we haven’t spoken to each other for a good few years.’ Gorgas Loredan yawned, covered his mouth with the back of his large, flat hand. ‘I did something he’s never forgiven me for, you see. I’ve wanted to try and put things right ever since, but I haven’t had the chance till now.’ His eyes were bright and steady, watching the Patriarch as if they were two advocates in a court of law. ‘Perhaps if I told you about it, you’d understand why I’m so keen to see him, and that might just jog your memory.’
Alexius nodded, embarrassed that his lie had been so transparent. ‘If you think it would help,’ he said.
‘It’s not a very pleasant story,’ Gorgas went on, ‘and I’m afraid I’m very much the villain of the piece. I shall have to take the risk of you not wanting to help me after you’ve heard it.’
Alexius could feel his fingernails digging into his left palm, and wondered what was making him feel so tense. As if he didn’t know. ‘Your brother is indeed my fr
iend,’ he said slowly. ‘In fact, I value his friendship a great deal. I would very much like to help him. If, as you say, your intention is to put right something that’s been troubling him for many years, then I’ll help you. If I decide it would be better if you stayed out of his life, I won’t.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Gorgas equably. He leant forward, straightening his back and resting his fists on his knees. Alexius noticed the breadth of his shoulders and the thickness of his wrists. Bardas’ big brother, in every sense of the word. But although there was undoubtedly a strong sense of menace about Gorgas Loredan – almost, at the risk of being melodramatic about it, a fierce vitality that smacked of evil – Alexius couldn’t detect any malice at all directed towards Bardas, or himself. If he’d had to make a judgement then and there, he’d have to conclude that this strange, unpleasantly fascinating big man was sincerely fond of the brother he hadn’t seen for so long; certainly genuinely concerned for and interested in his wellbeing. Well, why not? Even evil men sometimes love their brothers.
And whatever it was he could feel in the displacement – no, the gash – that this man made in the even flow of the principle, it wasn’t evil in the sense of a purely negative, destructive force. Gorgas Loredan wasn’t a nice man, he felt sure; but there was more to it than that. There was an ambivalence about him that made Alexius think of a weapon; an instrument solely intended for doing harm and damage, but equally capable of fulfilling its function for good or for evil, depending on who happened to pick it up. And then he realised, quite intuitively: this man isn’t entirely his own master, although maybe he doesn’t know that.
‘Has Bardas told you anything about his family?’ Gorgas asked.
‘A little,’ Alexius replied. ‘I know your father was a tenant farmer.’
Gorgas nodded. ‘In the Mesoge,’ he said. ‘Strictly speaking our farm counted as a manor because of its size, but in reality it was mostly mountain and forest; only a quarter of it was fit for anything. There were four of us, three brothers and a sister. Our mother died when I was eight; some sort of kidney infection, I think. Our sister’s the eldest; she’s a year older than me, and I’m two years older than Bardas; Clefas came next, a year after Bardas, and finally Zonaras.’ He paused and smiled. ‘Have you got that, or shall I go through it again? It isn’t actually all that important.’