Sharps (25 page)

“Aren’t you one of the Scherians?” the man said.

“Me? No.”

“You sound like a Scherian. I saw you at the fencing.”

“Not me,” Suidas said.

The other one’s blade was almost straight, flaring from an inch width at the hilt to an inch and three-eighths at the base of the false edge. It had three thin fullers, three-quarter-length. No cross, just a plain stag’s-horn grip, the crown of the antler forming a basic handstop. There was a small nick in the edge two fingers down from the point.

“That’ll be fine,” Suidas mumbled.

The man nodded. “I’ll throw in a bit of rag to wrap them in,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“You sure you’re not one of the fencers? You look really like one of them.”

“If I was a Scherian, I’d probably know.”

The man shrugged, and twisted a piece of cloth three times round the messers. Even covered, they couldn’t possibly have been anything else. “So,” he said, “where are you from?”

“Mesembrotia.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s a very long way away.”

“Right, then. There you go. Good luck when you get to Beaute.”

He tucked the bundle under his arm and fled, heading back the way he’d come. He hadn’t given much thought to how he was going to get back inside the building; climbing the facade with two swords clamped in his teeth didn’t appeal much, but neither did walking up to the guards posted on the door. In the event, he didn’t have to decide. He walked though the gates of the courtyard and found Tzimisces waiting for him.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Tzimisces said.

He really wanted to run. “Sounds like you were looking for me.”

Tzimisces shrugged. “You shouldn’t have stolen the spoons,” he said.

“What spoons?”

Tzimisces ignored him. “The man you sold them to took them straight to the Guild,” he said. “He knew he’d get a good price, in return for a description of the seller. It’s hard to imagine anything more embarrassing. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re guests in this country. The idea is to improve diplomatic relations, not cause an incident.” He paused, then sighed and pulled a more-in-sorrow face. “Next time you want spending money, come to me. Understood?”

Under the cloth, two messers. He drew strength from them. “Understood.”

“I said you wanted the money so you could go out and find a girl,” Tzimisces said. “They weren’t exactly impressed, but I thought they’d probably be able to relate to that better than if I told them the truth. You need to get a grip on yourself.”

Suidas took a long step back into middle measure. “Nobody’s perfect.” But Tzimisces only laughed. “You’d better get back inside,” he said. “Phrantzes is looking for you. He thinks you’ve deserted.”

After he’d seen Phrantzes, Suidas went in search of food. He found the remains of breakfast: a few rock-hard crusts of bread, and the untouched pickled cabbage. He opened the jar, scooped out a medium-sized dose and swallowed it without chewing.

“You’re a brave man.” He hadn’t heard Addo approaching.

“I was hungry,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Besides, it’s not so bad if you don’t chew. We ate a lot of it during the War. Well, it was that or rats, and when you’ve had a hard day, you haven’t got the time or the energy to catch rats.”

Addo had noticed the bundle on the table. He didn’t say anything about it. “I was meaning to have a word with you,” he said.

“Sure. How’s the face, by the way?”

“Stiff,” Addo replied. “But they reckon it’s starting to heal. Look, about these messer things. Will you teach me?”

For a moment, all Suidas could do was stare. “Please?” Addo said. “Only I haven’t got a clue, and I really don’t want to be caught out again like I was last night. I thought we could get hold of a couple of the things and grind off the edges so we can practise safely. You know about them, don’t you?”

Suidas hesitated, then nodded. “A bit.”

“That’s a bit more than I do. I’m guessing it’s something like single sword.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Addo nodded. “Just as well you told me, then. Well? It’d be a great help.”

“Sure.” Suidas realised he was rubbing his hands together so fiercely he was hurting himself. “I take it that means …”

“Yes,” Addo said. “Well, you’re better at longsword than me, so it sort of makes sense, doesn’t it?

He was rubbing his hands because the scar was itching. “I don’t like messers,” he said.

“I’d gathered that.” Addo was trying hard not to stare. Suidas covered as much of the scar as he could with his left thumb. “So, what d’you think?”

“Why not?” Suidas smiled, a big, deliberate grin. “I’ll tell Phrantzes to get us a couple of the bloody things. Shouldn’t be a problem. This country’s awash with them.”

Addo wasn’t looking at the bundle on the table either. Presumably he’d learned from his father how to make things invisible. Tact and tactics, a gentleman’s education.

“Have we got to?” Iseutz said.

“Yes.” Phrantzes looked very sad. “It’s expected of us. We did win the tournament, after all: three bouts to one.”

There was a grim silence. Then Addo said, “Well, it can’t be worse than having a tooth pulled. When do we …?”

“In about an hour. There’s a big crowd already.”

No kidding. The square was solid with people; a cat could have crossed it diagonally walking on their shoulders. And every single one of them seemed to be holding a picture on a stick.

“Where’s the coach?” Iseutz hissed, as they stood in the Guild doorway. “I can’t see it.”

“Me neither,” Giraut replied. “But I’m guessing it’s over there.”

He nodded towards the thin double line of Blueskins, hedging a narrow road through the crowd. They were holding their spears horizontally and pushing.

Iseutz pulled a face. “If this is how they carry on when they like us, I’d hate to be unpopular.”

Phrantzes pushed past them and took the lead. Lieutenant Totila brought up the rear. “Please,” he said, “don’t dawdle, and don’t stop to wave. Now, on three.”

He counted, and Phrantzes stepped out of the doorway, and a great noise hit them and blotted out the world. Giraut couldn’t see anything except the backs of armoured, struggling soldiers. Halfway down the road, Iseutz stopped dead. She was shaking her head and shouting, but nobody could make out a word of it. Addo caught her hand and towed her, with Giraut gently shoving against the small of her back. Suidas was trying to peer over the soldiers’ heads. He was counting.

“About even,” he said, once the coach door had shut and they could just about hear again.

“What?”

“The pictures,” he said. “We’re all more or less equally represented. Maybe just slightly more of you,” he added, grinning at Iseutz, who scowled at him.

The chaise was moving. How that was possible, Giraut couldn’t guess, until they left the square and he glanced back through the window and saw a clump of Aram Chantat horsemen forming up to follow them.
So the Permians are scared of them too
, he thought, and made a mental note to tell his father.

“These people are lunatics,” Iseutz said.

“Quite,” Suidas replied. “They like you best.”

She ignored him. “Can you imagine
anything
making people behave like that at home? It’s unthinkable.”

“They’re an emotional people,” Phrantzes said. “And fencing’s very popular.”

Iseutz scowled at him, then noticed something. “Where’s the creep?” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, the
political officer
. He’s not here. Where is he?”

“He’ll be rejoining us later,” Phrantzes said. “I believe he’s had to stay on in Joiauz for a meeting of some kind.”

“Yes!” Iseutz yelled, and Addo noticed she had a nice smile when she was genuinely happy. “That’s the best news I’ve heard since we left home.”

Phrantzes tried to look disapproving, but made a hash of it. “In the meantime,” he said, “Lieutenant Totila will be our liaison.”

Suidas grinned at him. “What’s a liaison?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Phrantzes admitted. “But I’m sure Totila knows. He seems a very competent young man.”

“Oh, the Blueskins are deadly competent,” Suidas said. “Trust me.”

There was an awkward silence; then Addo said, “I don’t know if anyone’s interested, but it seems that I carelessly packed a load of books in my bag from that Guild place. Of course, we’ll have to give them back,” he added quickly, glancing at Phrantzes, “when we get to the next stop, but I don’t suppose it’ll hurt if we read them first.”

Suidas laughed. “All fencing books, presumably.”

“Afraid so. Still …”

“Yes please,” Iseutz said. “Well, it’s got to be better than looking at the scenery.”

Giraut smiled. “It’s a bit bleak, isn’t it?”

“Makes the war seem even more stupid, if you ask me,” Iseutz said. “I mean, why the hell would
anybody
want a country like this?”

After four hours on the old Imperial road – dead straight, perfectly level, cut through the flanks of mountains and raised on vast shale and rubble causeways; magnificent, awe-inspiring and very, very dull – Giraut suggested they play a game. There was a slight pause, then Iseutz yawned ostentatiously and said, “Go on, then”; at which point Phrantzes took out the book he’d borrowed from Addo and started to read. Suidas grinned and said, “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

“How about dogs and frogs?” Addo suggested.

“What?”

“We used to play it on long journeys when I was a kid,” Addo said. “It’s very simple. Suppose I’m the dog, I think of the title of a book or a play or something, and I say it in dog language, and you’ve got to guess what it is. So, for instance,
The Return of Dolichenus
would be woof
woof
-woof woof-woof-
woof
-woof. And then you’re the frog, so in frog language it’d be—”

“Let’s not play that,” Iseutz said firmly.

“How about frame of reference?” Giraut said.

Pause. “Just remind me of the basics,” Suidas said.

Giraut nodded. “Well, if I start, then of course it’s up to me to choose, but let’s say I choose quotations. I start off with a quote from early Mannerist poetry, for the sake of argument; so I say, oh, I don’t know, ‘No temple hath Persuasion save in words.’ Then you’ve all got to follow with quotes from early Mannerist poetry. But where it gets good is, suppose I lead with ‘Maxentius at the gates of Ap’Escatoy’, meaning it to be Rescensionist heroic ballads, and
you
come back at me with ‘The theft of the golden cockerel’, you’ve changed the frame of reference, you see, because Maxentius and the golden cockerel are both frescoes by Sisinna of Peribleptus, so I’ve got to follow with another northern impressionist fresco, when I was expecting to go with another Rescensionist ballad, and if I can’t do that, you win.” He stopped. They were looking at him. “It doesn’t have to be art and books, it can be Ivy Crown winners or rivers or whatever you like. It’s a really good game once you get into it.”

“How about lies and scandal?” Iseutz suggested. “Everybody knows that.”

“I don’t,” Giraut said.

Suidas stretched his legs out a little, taking full advantage of Tzimisces’ absence. “I know a good game,” he said. “It’s called sudden death. We used to play it in the army.”

The others looked doubtful, but Addo said, “Go on.”

“It’s pretty straightforward,” Suidas said. “You say something you’d never do, not under any circumstances. Then I think of a situation where you’d do it. Simple as that. Come on,” he added, as the others went quiet, “it’s a good laugh. And you don’t need to know the names of any rivers anywhere.”

“All right,” Giraut said suddenly. “I’ll go first, then. I would never, under any circumstances, eat my brother.”

Iseutz scowled at him. “You haven’t got a brother.”

“Fine. My father, then. Only that’s a bad example, because we don’t exactly get on.”

Suidas shook his head. “A hypothetical brother will do just fine,” he said. “Right, how about this?” He settled himself comfortably in his seat, his hands folded across his chest. “You and your entire family are travelling in a coach through the mountains. You’re miles away from anywhere, and stupidly you’ve come out without an emergency supply of food. Your coach has a smash, it’s not going anywhere. The horses run off, no chance of finding them again. In the smash, your brother is fatally injured. With his dying breath, he begs you to look after your aged mother and your crippled sister who can’t walk. What can you do? It’s five days’ walk to the nearest village. All the food you’ve got is four loaves of bread. So, you leave the bread for the women, and you set off to walk to the village for help. But you need food for yourself, or you’ll die before you get there. It’s not just your life – you couldn’t give a damn about yourself – it’s your mother and your sister who matter. You’d do anything to save them, wouldn’t you? And your brother’s dead already, and he’s made of meat.” He paused and smiled. “Well?”

There was a silence. Then Giraut said, “That’s a bit farfetched, isn’t it?”

“It’s possible,” Suidas replied. “It could happen. Well? Do I win?”

Giraut shrugged. “I guess so,” he said. “But that’s a really outlandish scenario. I mean, things like that don’t really happen.”

Suidas laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. I mean, look at us. We’re in a coach, in the mountains, miles away from anywhere. We’ve already had trouble with the coach, so you can’t say that’s unrealistic. And things like that do happen, believe me.”

“I’m not sure about this game,” Iseutz said. “It’s a bit grisly, isn’t it?”

“I’ve got one,” Addo said.

Suidas nodded to him. “Go on, then.”

“I would never,” Addo said, “under any circumstances, kill my father.”

“Oh for crying out loud,” Iseutz muttered, but Suidas ignored her. “That’s easy,” he said. “We all know who your father is. He’s a great man, right? Used to being respected. I guess things like dignity and honour mean a lot to him. So,” he went on, “he gets a really nasty disease. It’s the sort of disease you catch from getting careless in a brothel.” Addo caught his breath, but Suidas said, “Hypothetical, remember? All right. This disease leaves him crippled, he can hardly move. And everybody can tell exactly where he got it from, just by looking at him, so there’s the shame as well as everything else. The pain is agonising, and it never goes away. He can’t move, he can’t talk, he just lies there and looks up at you, and you know that what he wants is for you to end it, put him out of his misery. You love your father, you’re a good son. So, what do you do?”