Sharps (50 page)

Iseutz gave him a scornful look. “Maybe the civil war changed his mind,” she said.

“Not much sign of it hereabouts,” Addo said. “Mind you, he hasn’t seen any of this. Otherwise, I’m fairly sure he’d want to fight tomorrow and then sign up for the most lucrative deal he could make. And good luck to him,” he added, “the poor devil’s desperate for money, and he could make a fortune doing exhibition bouts for those lunatics out there.” He shrugged. “I really don’t know. I hope he’s all right, naturally, and if anyone could walk home from here to Scheria, it’d be him.”

He was stiff from sitting still, something that had never come naturally to him. He was cold, though he’d learned to ignore that sort of thing. He’d stopped noticing hunger some time ago. Worst of all, he was bored. He tapped his fingernails on the blade of the messer; a dull pattering, like rain on a roof.

“Suidas Deutzel?”

The voice startled him; because it was unexpected, and because it was familiar. He held his breath, for no obvious reason.

“Suidas?” the voice repeated.

Well, he thought, and slowly stood up. It was, of course, too dark to see: no moon, no stars, no light even for his exceptionally keen night vision. “Over here,” he said.

A pause; then: “You know, that’s not particularly helpful. Where’s here?”

Now he could see him; a slightly darker blur. “Directly in front of you.” He waited for a moment until he heard a solid, chunky noise and a barely perceptible intake of breath. “Watch out,” he then said, “there’s a bank.”

“Yes thank you, I gathered that,” the voice said, rather ungraciously. “The hell with it, this’ll do. You can hear me all right?”

“Loud and clear,” Suidas replied. “Look, what the hell …?”

“You found it all right, then.”

“Yes, eventually,” Suidas said. “No thanks to the instructions.
A hill like an overturned bucket, you’ll know it when you see it
. I ask you.”

“Well, you found it.”

“They could’ve told me it was right up close to Beal,” Suidas growled. “It’d have saved me days of staring at the skyline. Which is littered, I might add, with hills like overturned bloody buckets.”

“Ah well,” the voice said, “that’s because we didn’t know ourselves, not till the last minute. We could only go on what we were told.”

“
You
could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t know either,” Tzimisces said reasonably. “Not till I was briefed. I’ve been as much in the dark as you were.”

Suidas breathed out heavily through his nose. “You might’ve mentioned you were my contact,” he said. “We’ve been sitting in the same damn coach for as long as I can remember.”

“It wasn’t going to be me, originally,” Tzimisces replied. “I’m a last-minute replacement. From which you can probably gather,” he added, “things are a bit screwed up. The man who was supposed to be meeting you got held up in Beaute, because of the riots. It’s mostly luck they were able to get a message through to me in time, or else we’d both be in Beal right now with absolutely no idea what we’re supposed to be doing.”

Suidas took a moment to dismiss the irritation from his mind. “All right,” he said. “So what exactly am I here for?”

There was a long silence. Then Tzimisces said, “You didn’t have any trouble getting away?”

Suidas laughed. “Define
trouble
,” he said. “I don’t know if you know, but a double company of Blueskins got cut to bits by Aram Chantat about four miles from here, day before last.”

“Oh, I know about that. Go on.”

“Well,” Suidas said, “we happened to see it. The others got in a panic about what to do. I made it look like I’d had enough; we were in a coach on the road, and I said we should dump the coach and walk to Beal. They weren’t having any, naturally, so I flounced off on my own.”

“Fortuitous,” Tzimisces said after a moment. “Good excuse.”

“Well, I guess it was a bit more convincing than hold-on-I-need-to-take-a-leak. Anyway, the hell with that. What’s going on, and what’ve I got to do?”

“Right.” Tzimisces’ voice dropped a little, though he was still perfectly audible. “You’re up to speed on the background situation, I take it?”

“I thought I was,” Suidas replied. “Now I’m not so sure.”

“There have been certain developments,” Tzimisces said carefully, “most of which I won’t bore you with, because they’re not really relevant. As far as you’re concerned, though, it’s basically the same as it was when we left Scheria. We have reason to believe that one of our party—”

“The fencers?”

“Yes. One of the party is out to make trouble. Your job’s to stop him. Or her,” he added. “We don’t know which one, sorry.”

“Don’t you?” Suidas sounded surprised. “You ought to, you know. Your lot picked the team.”

“Yes, we did,” Tzimisces replied. “And we thought we’d been really clever. But obviously not. We got a tip from an impeccable source. One of the fencers has a completely different agenda, which, if not prevented, will lead to disastrous consequences. That’s all we know, basically. I know it’s not much—”

“You could say that,” Suidas snapped. “So, what are you telling me? One of us is working for – who, for crying out loud?”

“That’s a very good question,” Tzimisces said calmly. “That’s the problem, so many interested parties have got reasons for wanting trouble right now, our side and theirs. I’m guessing that trouble in this context means another war, but even that’s just supposition on my part.”

“But if you got this tip before we left home …”

“Quite. Narrows it down a little bit. Unlikely to be the leaders of the current insurgency, since as far as we know there wasn’t an insurgency when we left Scheria; all that only started with the killing in Beaute.”

Suidas frowned. “Maybe that—”

“No, I don’t think so. Oh, sorry, I left a bit out. Whatever the big deal is, it’ll happen in Beal. That’s not from the original source,” Tzimisces added, “that’s from somewhere else, but we think it’s someone connected to the first source, if that makes any sense. In other words, whatever it is, it hasn’t happened yet.”

Suidas sighed. “Fine,” he said. “Couldn’t your lot have told me all this before we left home?”

“Ah.” Tzimisces sounded a little apologetic. “We’d hoped to have further and better information by now, which is why we set up this meeting. But we haven’t, or if we have it’s stuck in Beaute, which is why I’m here being not very much help, instead of the man who was supposed to be briefing you. Sorry about that. Not the intelligence division’s finest hour, I’m afraid.”

Suidas expressed an opinion about the intelligence division. Tzimisces laughed. “I quite agree,” he said, “and I’m the deputy chief. Still, nobody’s perfect, and to be fair, it’s not like we’ve got a lot to go on. About all we can say for sure is that the assassinations might’ve been planned before we left home but the riots were spontaneous and unforeseen; likewise the current situation.”

Suidas thought about that for a moment. “All right,” he said. “So why are the Aram Chantat carving up the Blueskins? What’s all that about?”

“Suffice it to say,” Tzimisces was choosing his words, “we think that some factions within the Aram Chantat – the Cosseilhatz, maybe, and quite possibly the Aram no Vei – are under entirely new management, so to speak; in anticipation of the expiry of their current contracts, they’ve found someone else to work for, and maybe they’ve started early.”

“That’s not very likely,” Suidas replied. “They don’t change sides till the contract runs out, it’s a point of honour.”

“Absolutely,” Tzimisces said. “But so are all the various blood feuds between the sects. It’s a shame we don’t know more about this sort of thing, because obviously it’s really rather important, but we
think
that where there’s a conflict, the obligation to pursue feuds overrides the duty to perform contracts until they run out. We think,” Tzimisces emphasised. “But if that’s right, it’s not hard to see how someone could manipulate the no Vei, for example, into having a go at the Chantat proper. Which would, of course, include their allies – in this case, the Imperials.”

“That doesn’t work. The Blueskins’d be the no Vei’s allies too.”

Tzimisces sighed. “It’s complicated,” he said. “It’s also the sort of infinitely fine point of interpretation that appeals to the legalistic nomad-horseman mentality. I’ve often said, if ever an outsider managed to get inside the heads of those bastards and figure out exactly how their minds work, he’d be one step away from ruling the world. My fear right now is that that might just possibly have happened. Who this evil genius might be, however, I admit I haven’t a clue. Probably by the time we find out it’ll be too late. Never mind, though, that’s not your problem. What you need to concern yourself with is which of our happy little band of pilgrims is about to fuck up the peace, and how, and how it can be stopped.”

There was a long silence; long enough for Tzimisces to say, “Suidas?” to make sure he was still there.

Eventually: “Has it occurred to you,” Suidas said, “that your secret traitor might be me?”

“You were the first one I thought of.”

“Thanks. And what made you change your mind?”

“I’m not entirely sure I have,” Tzimisces replied. “All I can say is, if it does turn out to be you, your Sontha will find it hard to pursue her theatrical career with no eyes and no tongue. The same goes, by the way, if you fail to deal with the problem. Oh, and we’ll kill you too, of course, but I don’t suppose you’re particularly bothered about that.” Suidas heard a faint rustle, as of a man standing up, but he couldn’t pinpoint it accurately enough to justify making a move; not with the bank in the way, in the pitch dark. “There’s a horse tied to a gatepost about a quarter of a mile down this bank. In the saddlebag you’ll find a bundle of maps and floor plans, and a list of the most likely targets, stuff like that. If you go now, you’ll be in Beal by daybreak. The others are at the Guild house. Give them my love.”

Suidas waited, but there were no further sounds, and nothing to be seen.

He found the horse. It took him a while. He went up the bank when he should have gone down, and when eventually he did find it, when he tried to untie it, it bit him.

They decided they wouldn’t train on the day of the match, in case of pulled muscles or similar injuries. The coach, they’d been told, would call for them just before noon. They passed the rest of the morning playing Snare.

“It’s a bit like chess,” Giraut explained. “I mean, you play it with a chess set, but the moves are different and you can play doubles. In fact, it’s better as doubles. We used to play it at school.”

Phrantzes didn’t want to join in, but Iseutz and Giraut badgered him until it was less effort to agree than to hold out. He sided with Giraut against Addo and Iseutz. They laid out Addo’s miniature chess set on top of a long rectangular marble thing that stood in the middle of the Senior Common Room, which was where they’d been put till they were wanted. There were only three chairs small and light enough to move, so Addo knelt on the floor.

“The main difference,” Giraut explained, “is white always loses. That’s the rule.”

“Oh,” Addo said. “Which are we again?”

“White.”

“Ah.”

“Yes,” Giraut said, “but it’s easier being white. Easier to win, I mean.”

“But I thought you said …”

“It’s
how
you lose,” Giraut told him. “It’s pretty simple really. Every time you take one of our pieces, we can take one of yours, only we can choose which one. If we take one of yours – in the ordinary course of play, I mean, not because you’ve taken one of ours – then we get an extra go. After ten goes each, if we haven’t won yet, we get back all of our pieces you’ve taken, and all our pawns turn into rooks or bishops. If we still haven’t won two moves after that, you lose all your pieces except the king. Then, if we still haven’t beaten you two moves after that, you lose automatically but actually you’ve won the game.”

There was a brief silence. “I don’t understand,” Iseutz said.

Giraut went through it again, practically word for word. “Being white’s fairly straightforward,” he added. “Just try not to take any of our pieces and play for time. It’s quite easy once you get the hang of it.”

Addo was smiling. “That’s a very strange game,” he said.

“Not really,” Giraut said. “If you’re white, the key to winning is not to score any victories. If you’re black, it’s more or less like chess, except the pieces don’t move the same.”

They played a game. Iseutz started off looking extremely dubious and saying, “That’s silly” every time something happened, but towards the end she got caught up in it completely. Addo proved to be a superb player, though he gave every sign of not taking it seriously. Giraut was trying to win, but Phrantzes kept making obvious mistakes. After fourteen moves each side, the white king was still in play.

“Does that mean we’ve won?” Iseutz asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” Giraut said. He wasn’t happy. “Well done,” he muttered. “You got the hang of it pretty quickly.”

“I’ve played something like it before,” Addo said. “Only the pieces are different and you play on an oval board. I can’t remember what it was called.”

“Let’s have another game,” Iseutz said. “Go on, Giraut. You two can be white this time.”

Playing black, Iseutz and Addo were utterly ruthless, and the game lasted a total of nine moves. “Being black’s easier,” Addo said, “but white’s more fun. One more?”

Giraut didn’t look keen, but before he could speak, Phrantzes suddenly said, “Why not?” and started to set up the pieces. “We’ll be white again, if that’s all right,” he said briskly. “I think I’m beginning to see how it works.”

White lost in eight moves. Giraut now looked bored; Phrantzes set the pieces up again. “One more,” he said, and it wasn’t a suggestion. “We’ll be white,” he said.

“But you’ve been white twice now,” Iseutz objected. “It’s our turn.”

“We’ll be black,” Addo said firmly. Iseutz scowled at him but didn’t say anything, and Addo made the first move. Phrantzes hopped a knight across his pawn wall. Iseutz brought out a bishop. Phrantzes put the knight back where it had come from.