Colours in the Steel (59 page)

 

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 keep 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 friend,’ 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.’

‘Go on, please.’

Gorgas inclined his head. ‘Like most of the farms in the Mesoge, it was owned by one of the old city houses; our landlords were the Ferian family. I expect you know of them. I believe they’ve declined rather a lot over the last few years, but back when we were children they were still a force to be reckoned with.’

‘I’ve heard of them,’ Alexius said.

‘Well,’ Gorgas took a deep breath, as if preparing for an effort. ‘About eighteen years ago, when we were all still living on the farm, the landlord’s son and a cousin of his came out for a holiday in the country. The story was that they were interested in buying racehorses, but I think it was more the case that they’d made the city a bit too warm for their own good and had to get away for a while, the way the sons of the nobility do from time to time. They soon got through their money, so they were reducing to billeting themselves on the tenants; not much fun for them, and even less for us. They were bored stiff inside a week; nothing to do all day but mope around the farmhouse with the goats, or go for long walks. They drank a lot and chivvied a few of the local girls, but they found them all a bit unappetising and stopped bothering after a bit.

‘Except,’ Gorgas said, frowning a little, ‘for my sister. They liked her all right; she wasn’t a great beauty or anything like that, but she was lively and had a sharp sense of humour, which made her a bit more like what they were used to at home. It didn’t help that she thoroughly loathed and despised her husband - he was a pleasant enough man, but a peasant from his boots upwards, and they couldn’t have children, which upset her. Anyway, these city boys took to hanging around her all the time. Gallas, her husband, didn’t seem to mind too much; it was obvious nothing much was happening and anyway, you’d have to have run off Gallas’ pigs or set fire to his beard before he’d lose his temper, or even notice. Our father and Bardas didn’t like it at all, though. And I—’ Gorgas turned his head away a little. ‘I wanted more than anything else to get out of the Mesoge and go to the city. When those two young fools showed up, I suddenly saw a chance.’