Sharps (41 page)

“That’s one good thing, anyhow,” Suidas said, when they heard the news that the match had been officially cancelled. “Who knows, maybe they’ll see sense and let us go home now. It’s obvious there aren’t going to be any more matches, with the riots and everything.”

“Not according to the Guild,” Phrantzes reminded him. “The fixture at Luzir Beal’s still very much on. They made a point of confirming it.”

“That’s so stupid,” Iseutz said. “We’ll get there and they’ll call it off, and we’ll have had a long ride for nothing.”

“They’re confident the rioting won’t spread to the capital,” Phrantzes said. “It’s the stronghold of the peace faction, after all. When the news of the murders reaches Beal, they’ll be dancing in the streets, not throwing rocks.”

Addo, who’d been gazing at the mosaics with a puzzled expression on his face, turned round. “Unless there’s more trouble,” he said. “Further developments, I mean. For example, if someone decided to kill a couple of the peace faction leaders, as a reprisal …”

“Don’t say that, for heaven’s sake,” Phrantzes wailed. “Look, nobody wants to go home more than I do, but at the moment, that’s not on the cards. So we’ll just have to make the best of it, and try and put on a good show at Beal. Frankly, I couldn’t give a damn about the success of the mission. I think it’s fairly obvious it’s been overtaken by events and is now completely irrelevant. What matters is what they think of us at home, and if they decide we haven’t been doing our very best, they won’t be pleased.” He paused and breathed out, as if he’d just tried to lift a load that was far too heavy for him. “Captain Cuniva’s pretty confident that there’s no immediate threat to our safety, and once we’re out of here and on the road to Beal, we’ll be leaving the danger area and heading into relatively civilised territory. Beal’s not like the places we’ve been to, apparently, it’s not a mining town. People say it’s almost like being in the Empire.”

Iseutz, who’d been looking at him for a while, said, “Where’s Tzimisces?”

Phrantzes winced. “He’s meeting with the city Prefect,” he said. “He’s been sort of unilaterally promoted to Scherian ambassador, according to Cuniva. I have no idea what it’s all about, but it’s possible we won’t have him with us for the trip to the capital.”

Iseutz beamed and Suidas let out a whoop of joy. “Now that really is good news,” he said. “It almost makes up for having to go to bloody Beal.” He paused and frowned. “He’ll be joining us there, I suppose.”

“Probably.”

“Oh well, can’t have everything, I guess. Even so.” He jumped up from the window seat he’d been perched in and paced across the floor. “So when do we get out of this dump and back on the road? Any word on that?”

“Later today, possibly,” Phrantzes replied, “it all depends on the security situation, naturally. Cuniva said he’d let me know as soon as he’s got any news.”

It was a dreary morning. Nobody wanted to play chess, there was nothing to read, and nobody felt like talking. Suidas found a knife from somewhere and carved his name on the base of the alabaster pedestal. Phrantzes registered a mild diplomatic protest, which nobody seemed to hear. When he’d finished, Addo looked over his shoulder. “You’ve spelt it wrong,” he murmured. “Isn’t there a u in Deutzel?”

Iseutz burst out laughing. Suidas threw the knife across the room and went and sat in a corner. Giraut, who hadn’t been all that far away from where the knife landed, got up quickly and said, “Tell you what. Since we’re stuck here with nothing to do, and it looks like we’re going to have to fence at Luzir Beal, maybe we should get some practice in. Might help clear our heads, maybe.”

Iseutz yawned. “Why not?” she said. “If we can get hold of some foils. That ought to be possible, in a Fencers’ Guild.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Phrantzes said immediately. He scuttled away and came back soon afterwards with a bundle of assorted foils under his arm. The weight was more than he could manage and he dropped them, sending them skittering across the floor as though they were alive.

“Splendid,” Iseutz said. “Giraut, you can spar with me. Damn, there’s no smallswords, I’ll have to use a rapier.”

Suidas found a longsword foil, long and heavy with a huge button on the end. “Addo?”

“Sorry,” Addo replied, “but I don’t think I will, if it’s all the same to you. I seem to have pulled a muscle in my back, and it’d probably be a good idea if I left it alone for a while.”

“Fine.” Suidas looked round the room. “Phrantzes,” he said. “Come and spar with me.”

Phrantzes stared at him. “I don’t think …”

“Oh come on, it’s just sparring. I need to sort out my footwork.”

“It’s been fifteen years,” Phrantzes said. “I really don’t think I’d be much use to you.”

“I’ll take it easy, I promise. Come on, man, you used to be champion fencer. And I seem to remember someone saying something about you being our team coach.”

Very slowly, Phrantzes crossed the room. He picked up a longsword foil without looking at it, and lifted it painfully into a middle guard. “I honestly don’t think this is a terribly good idea,” he said. “I was never much of a longswordsman, even when I was younger.”

Suidas wrapped a handkerchief across the palm of his right hand and took a grip on the hilt of his foil. “Stop moaning,” he said. “It’ll come back to you, trust me. Right, I’d like you to attack me in high front.”

He raised the foil in a low back guard and nodded. Phrantzes gave him a despairing look, transitioned into high front, and moved. It was so quick that Addo, who was watching intently, barely saw it: a fast eye-level thrust that proved to be a feint but which melted into a left traverse and a low downward cut to the right knee. Suidas just about managed to block – he had no chance at all to organise his feet – only to find that the cut was a feint too, as Phrantzes traversed again, giving himself just enough room for a rising cut to the chin. The best Suidas could do was take a long step back, dropping his guard completely; the tip of the foil went past, just grazing his skin, but his balance was gone. He staggered back, and Phrantzes rammed the foil into his stomach. He went down, landing painfully on his left elbow, and saw Phrantzes standing over him, hands drawn back for a final killing thrust to the eye socket …

Phrantzes felt like he’d suddenly woken up; the sort of terrified, embarrassed panic when you’ve fallen asleep in a committee meeting or a dinner party, and you know everybody’s staring at you. He looked at the sword in his hands, and the man sprawled on the floor at his feet. He was aware that Addo had just shouted his name.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and then realised he was still wound up for a killing stroke and immediately let his arms wilt. “My dear fellow, are you all right?”

Suidas was staring at him. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” he mumbled. “You could’ve broken a rib.”

Phrantzes let go of the sword to offer a hand to help him up; the sword slipped free and clattered on the floor. Suidas wriggled away on his bottom and pulled himself to his feet.

“I’m so sorry,” Phrantzes repeated. “I just …”

“No, that’s all right,” Suidas said, taking a step back. “My fault, I didn’t read you. I tell you what, though. If that’s you after fifteen years doing nothing, I’m glad I wasn’t around when you were fencing for real.”

“It was an accident,” Phrantzes said. “You must’ve slipped or something, or you weren’t ready. It’s my fault.”

“Stop apologising, for crying out loud,” Iseutz said. “I was watching. You wiped the floor with him. Literally.”

Suidas stooped and picked up his foil. “I think we should do that again,” he said. “This time, I’ll see if I can be in the same fight.”

“No, absolutely not,” Phrantzes said. “Are you sure you’re all right? I did ask if they had any masks or jackets, but …”

“I’ll spar with you,” Addo said, stepping in front of Phrantzes and picking up the foil. “My back’s not as bad as I thought it was. I’m sorry, I was being feeble.”

“Ignore him, he’s just being noble.” There was a harsh core of determination in Iseutz’s voice. Phrantzes swung round and stared at her, but she was looking past him. “This time, Suidas, try and stay awake. He’s twice your age and nearly twice your weight, so you might just stand a chance.”

He understood. Fight him, she was saying, and then you won’t be afraid of him any more. There was a sort of obvious logic to it, the kind of thing you’d expect from her, someone who saw the world in straight lines and primary colours. But when Suidas came for him, it wouldn’t be with a longsword. He’d have a messer in his hand, and two squadrons of Aram Chantat would hardly slow him down if they were stupid enough to get in the way.

And then a terrible thought broke open in his mind. He winced, but it was too late, it was there, already hatched and moving. “Well,” he said, “if you think it’ll help. But you’ll have to promise to go easy on me. These days I get out of breath running up stairs.”

Suidas laughed, and smiled. “Me too,” he said, “but for God’s sake don’t tell Sontha that, she’ll have me eating lettuce leaves and celery.” He lifted his foil into a front middle guard. “Ready when you are.”

And then Phrantzes found himself fencing again, and he didn’t realise he was too blown to breathe until there was a natural break in the flow of the bout. He was moving well, turning his wrists and forearms quickly and neatly, seeing his path, reading his opponent. He’d lied when he’d said he was no good at longsword; he’d always preferred it to rapier (but his old school friend Bonones was better than him, and nobody could ever catch him in rapier play). He fought a tight inside circle, cramping Suidas’ moves and constantly turning him, so he couldn’t make a big attack without laying himself open to a counter in single time. He found himself thinking two or even three plays ahead, making the pace, dictating both the distance and the tempo. Suidas was treating him with enormous respect, watching his point, concentrating. On a sudden impulse, Phrantzes decided to close for a disarm and throw. He feigned a feint, caught Suidas in a bind, let him apply his superior strength, sideslipped, hooked his calf round the inside of Suidas’ front knee, and dumped him on the floor as easily as if he’d just pulled a lever. As Suidas hit the floor he felt a burst of joy, ridiculously out of proportion, as though he’d just solved all his problems with one magnificent manoeuvre; then Suidas, rolling to one side, flailed out a foot, hooked both his knees, and toppled him like a felled tree. He landed flat on his back, the floor hit him like a hammer, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. When he dragged air into his lungs and opened his eyes, he saw Suidas standing over him, grinning and offering him a hand. The terrible thought, which had almost been washed away by the burst sluices of joy, swept back again. Suidas’ hand closed round his, strong as a wrench, and his mind was made up. He had to do it. There was no other way.

“Tell you what,” he heard Addo say somewhere behind him, “if my back’s still playing up when we get to Beal …”

“That was a hell of a throw,” Suidas said. “You’ll have to tell me how you did that. I really didn’t read it, not till I was on my arse on the deck. If you’d only remembered to move your feet, you’d have had me.” He was still grinning, delighted, pleased for a man he suddenly regarded as a friend and equal. But that was, after all, the purpose of the exercise: to promote friendship and understanding among deadly enemies, until the time was right.

Giraut fenced with Iseutz. She had trouble with the weight and length of the rapier: “But that’s fine,” she assured him. “When I go back to smallsword, it’ll feel light and quick.” Even so, she scored seven points to his six. He wondered if he was really trying, and decided he probably was.

“Just as well I won’t have to fight you for real,” he said, in a pause between points. “You’re good at this.”

“I’m taller and lighter than you,” she replied, “and muscle doesn’t matter a damn. Also, you stand too open. It’s because you’re always looking for a volte. As long as I can keep on your inside, you can’t reach me.”

He hadn’t considered that, but it was true. “Thanks,” he said, “I’ll bear that in mind. Again?”

They fenced three more points; Giraut won them all. “Told you,” she said, after the third. “Now, your turn. What am I doing wrong?”

“I’m sorry, I haven’t been watching,” Giraut confessed. “Too busy keeping out of your way. As far as I can see, you’re not doing anything wrong, exactly.”

“Then why did you just win three in a row?”

“I’m better than you, I guess.”

She scowled at him, and the next three points were very hard going. But he won them, just about. “I think I can see it now,” he said. “You’re trying too hard.”

“Excuse me?”

“Trying to force the pace,” Giraut explained. “You’re attacking when you don’t have to, even when my defence is strong. You should make me come to you a bit more.”

She shook her head. “Not my way,” she said. “I’m good at aggression but not so good at defending. So I attack.”

Giraut nodded. “And you give good advice but you don’t take it, and you can read your opponent but not yourself. Well, you did ask.”

“I didn’t want an honest answer, I wanted you to reassure me.”

“You’re doing fine,” he said, and in the next point she hit him so hard in the solar plexus that he had to sit down and catch his breath.

Later, when both pairs had worn themselves out and they were sitting in exhausted, contented silence on the window seats, Suidas said: “Do you suppose there’s any food in this place? I’m starved, and we haven’t had anything to eat all day.”

“I got the impression the kitchen staff were all under arrest,” Addo replied. “Isn’t that what Cuniva told you, Phrantzes?”

“And being interrogated by the Imperials,” Phrantzes confirmed. “In which case they’ll be in no fit state to go back to work for a very long time. Also, you wouldn’t want someone who’s just been worked over by the Blueskins handling food. It wouldn’t be hygienic.”

“Marvellous,” Suidas growled. “Some people have no consideration.”

“I don’t think the cooks got themselves tortured just to cheat you out of breakfast,” Addo said mildly.

“I didn’t mean them, I meant the guards,” Suidas said. “Why couldn’t they have let them at least bake the bread and then interrogated them? Wouldn’t have made much difference in the long run, and we wouldn’t be starving to death.”