The Iron Ship (21 page)

“And you would imperil the safety of all ships that fly our nation’s flag for the sake of yours. We have a special relationship with the Drowned King. He watches over our ships, he favours our passage over others. It is a keystone of our naval policy. We are especially vulnerable to him if we anger him.”

“I am sure you are making our father very proud.”

Garten paused. “I do not take this lightly, Trassan. As a matter of fact, I spoke with father. He was not particularly enthusiastic about having our family name associated with a crippling blockade. I also got the impression he was not much in favour of your adventure.”

There were other reasons Trassan could not explain. The favouring of him over his brothers as inheritor of their father’s industries would split their fraternity apart.

“You could have spun that yarn differently.”

“Lied you mean?”

“No! The truth.”

“Truth is a matter of opinion. Brother, I am sorry. I truly am. But neither I nor Karsa can risk to indulge you. Vand has influence, as do I. The enquiry will be over quickly. There are many who are keen to invest in this venture. And it is in the national interest. But we must show the king his rule is taken seriously.”

“It will take months.”

“It might have taken a year. I will do what I can to hurry it along.”

“So useful having a brother highly placed in the Admiralty.”

“Not highly placed. Not yet. And if I do what you ask, I never will be. I shall do everything I can to help—”

“Except giving me the licence.”

“Lost gods hunt you down and tear you up!” said Garten, suddenly losing his temper. He leaned forward across his desk and jabbed a finger at his brother. “You can be a selfish little cock sometimes. Listen to yourself! This is my fucking job! This is what I do! I am not going to go against all my own experience and the procedures of this entire institution, dedicated as it is to protect one of the most valuable aspects of our entire economy in order to gratify your impatience.”

The door opened. The functionary nervously poked his head around the door again.

“Are you sure there is nothing wrong, sir?”

“Go away!” both brothers shouted simultaneously.

Garten took a deep breath, and regained some of his characteristic composure. He groaned softly. “You are one of the few people on this Earth, brother, who can rile me up so. Go back to your yard. Continue with the construction of your ship. With a careful play of your hand, and a modicum of luck, you will be away in the spring as you intended and then you will beat the Maceriyans to the Morfaan city. I wish you all the luck in doing so. You’ll have as much help as I can give.”

Trassan looked at the floor. “It won’t be enough.”

“Trassan, it will be fine.”

“Garten, we need the licence to continue work.”

“What?”

Trassan chewed his lip. “We are close to running out of money.”

“Preposterous! Arkadian Vand is one of the richest men in the western Hundred.”

Trassan became nervy. “I shouldn’t tell you this, and by our mother’s life you must swear not to tell another soul.”

“Go on.”

“Vand has put everything into this that he has. Between this and the excavations in Ostria, he’s got nothing left. Persin’s appropriation of his designs has virtually bankrupted him. His factories are not as lucrative as they should be because of that, and the disaster at Thrusea six years ago cleared out his coffers. We were going to use the licence to raise investment.”

“Vand close to bankruptcy? Hard to believe.”

“Blame Persin. He does, you would not credit the enmity between those two.”

“Well I am sorry, but you are going to have to come up with another way to raise your finances.” He got up from his chair. “I am going to have to ask you to leave now. I have a great many things to do. The High Legate’s illness has the entire government running around like dracons in a chicken yard. We are living in delicate times.”

He held out his hand. Trassan reluctantly shook it.

“I am sorry, Trass, I really am.”

“Save it,” said Trassan angrily. “I won’t forget this, Garten.”

“I was afraid you would say that.”

“What did you expect?”

Garten moved to embrace his brother, but Trassan moved away. “I’ll be seeing you.”

“Trassan, don’t be like that, wait!”

But Trassan strode across his brother’s vast office without looking back, his cheeks burning with fury.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Morthrocksey Mill

B
REAKFAST AT
D
EMION
Morthrock’s house on the Parade was a frosty affair. Katriona came down from her room, he from his. They ate stiffly in silence, sitting in their morning clothes, before retiring for the second dressing to change into their daywear. Morthrock glumly thought it was a pattern that looked to become set. Married life stretched out its miserable, rocky road in front of him.

He hurried his breakfast, and got up to go. “By your leave, my goodlady,” he said.

“You do not require my leave to go from your own breakfast room, husband,” she said. She did not lift her eyes from the newspaper. The front pages carried a large headline on the High Legate’s worsening sickness and the political manoeuvrings it had engendered. Trassan’s ship also merited many column inches. It had done ever since Vand had announced the discovery of his frozen city.

To these she paid cursory attention, however. She was a curious one, poring over the business notices for an hour or more every day. He attempted to break the ice, one last time.

“Would you prefer some lighter reading matter, wife?”

“No, goodfellow, I am content,” she said. A forkful of kedgeree hovered by her mouth as she scrutinised stock movements. Some fell onto her paper. She did not notice.

“Goodlady... I... Let me.” He said. He came to her side and scooped up the mess with a napkin, careful not to stand too close to her. He moved awkwardly around her to prevent their touching. She glanced up at him.

“Thank you,” she said.

He blushed. Closeness to her brought up a potent mix of emotion. The memory of their first night together embarrassed him. He had never expected her to fall willingly into his arms, but it had been so cold he had not attempted to share her bed since.

He made to go. She stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“You are timid around me. Why?” Her tone was unrevealing. Was she angry, challenging him? He could not tell.

“I am not a monster, Katriona,” he said. “I have never been much use at anything other than cards. And then not all the time. This marriage was of our mutual choice, but I am aware that your heart will always belong to Arvane. I... Perhaps I was a fool to hope otherwise. I will try to be a good husband to you. Gods know I’ve not been much good at anything else. I refuse to force myself on you.” Although, that was what he had done; it certainly felt that way. This was not how he hoped things would turn out.

She looked into his eyes searchingly. He could not tell if she found what she was looking for. He blinked stupidly.

“I shall make a proposal to you, Demion Morthrock. Let us try to get on. Let us try to make this marriage work.” She brushed a grain of rice that Demion had missed from her paper. “Gods also know that I have seen enough misery in marriage. I refuse to be a miserable wife. I acquiesced to your request for my hand because you have a gentle reputation. I have shared your bed.”Not very enthusiastically, he thought dejectedly. “Do you not think we should be friends?”

“Well, I, well, yes. Yes, I suppose we could be friends. We should be friends!” His heart quickened.

“And friends, especially husband and wife, should share in all things. Is that not what the vows we took said?”

“I suppose so...”

She smiled brightly at him. “Excellent. Then tomorrow you may show me the mill.”

The request threw him. “I... I’m sorry?” he stuttered. The napkin, stained with news ink and kedgeree, dangled from his hand.

“We are married, whether we want to be or not. We might as well enjoy it. Let us be friends. Let us share everything. You are supposed to be a man of business, a short trip for a happy wife. Show me our family industry.”

“Well,” he said. “Well.” It was all he could think to say. “Well.” He was such a fool!

“You do agree, do you not?”

There was nothing he could think of that made a reasonable argument as to why he should not show her the mill. She was his wife now, she shared his name. Why then did he feel as if he stood upon a precipice?

“It is a dreadfully noisy place,” he said doubtfully.

“I’ll survive. Surely you cannot hope to have missed that I find such things interesting? Why not tomorrow at half of the sixth bell, the workers will be already at their tasks. I would not wish to get in their way.”

“Yes. Yes, half of sixth. Very good.” He nodded, even as he questioned what the hell he was doing.

She returned to her paper. He had to remind himself he did not have to wait to be dismissed before he bumbled his way out of the room.

T
HE
M
ORTHROCK MILL
was in Karaddua. The name evoked a rural idyll, but the village it had once belonged to had been buried by row upon row of miserable grey houses. The city continued for a mile beyond Karaddua before the tattered fringe of the countryside began to break up the factories and slums.

The Morthrocks’ carriage clattered down a wide road of setts made uneven by subsidence. Six black dogs pulled it, fine drays. They wheezed in the unhealthy, chemical reek clinging to the district. Towering chimneys punctuated the rule-straight sentences of housing. Long banners of black, glimmer-tainted smoke streamed from the top of each. The sky around the horizon was clear, but Karaddua was lidded with a brown roil that crept lower to the ground with every passing moment, shutting out the blue.

A tram rattled past, bell ringing and dogs barking. Morthrocks’ team yipped in greeting. Katriona looked out on women labouring at their stoops and windows with scrubbing brushes. Their cleaning never ceased. One threw a bucket of grey water not quite in their path, and fixed the carriage with a hard eye. A small girl in a filthy dress and bare feet stood on a street corner. She held a hoop in her hand, but did not play with it. Their carriage, gleaming when it came out from the coachhouse, had accrued a layer of grime. Katriona looked through a haze of dirt.

“It is abominably filthy here,” she said.

Morthrock nodded. “Our family’s business is a dirty one.”

“And all these people live among the muck.”

“They come from far and wide for employment, my dear. It is necessary that they dwell close by their place of work. There is a living for them here that there is not in the countryside.”

“It seems inhumane.”

Demion banged on the carriage roof with his cane. He was surprised at his irritation with Katriona’s reaction. Rationally thinking, it was better this way. If she were shocked she would leave well alone and get on with being the good wife, and he was rather hoping for that outcome. But he found himself affronted. He realised that he wished her to be proud of his family’s enterprise, even though it had never interested him, and had left its running to others since he had inherited it.

“My father provided doctors, and schools for every child until the age of seven, employment for life thereafter, all benefits they still enjoy. These people are fortunate. They have the opportunity for advancement. They could be beholden to some old money lord and dwelling in a shack. Instead they have freedom here.”

Katriona looked again at the ranks of houses. Filth trickled along gutters.

“This is a poor form of freedom.”

“This district will soon be linked to the sewers. The embankments on the Lemio and the Var are in place. There is no flooding in the lower reaches any more.” He pointed to a lamp. “There is glimmer lighting, put in only this last year. I admit the people could have better lives, but every year brings new advances, new benefits. It will not always be this way. Industry enriches us all. Here is the opportunity to make something of oneself, if one but has the mettle.”

“My father says the same thing,” said Katriona. “I never believed it.”

“My father did a lot for them.” He awkwardly patted Katriona’s hand. He felt even more awkward when she did not withdraw it, but instead grasped his hand tightly.

“And what have you done for them, my dear Demion?” she said.

He wanted to retort, perhaps sharply. He wanted to ask what her father had done for anyone, growing rich as he had from factories and mills such as his. But he could not. He had always found it hard to speak whenever Katriona locked eyes with him. He had assumed this inability would leave him once she was his. If anything, it was worse.

“Ah, well. Yes.” The carriage slowed, saving him. “Aha! Here we are!”

A tall wall topped with a fence of spiked, cast iron wheels bounded the mill. Four sets of double gates pierced it, each decorated with moulded brick reliefs depicting scenes from pre-Iapetan mythology. All were open. Large wagons went in and out of two. A tramway came out of the third. The driver called out his commands to his team. The dogs barked and turned sharp left into the fourth gate.

They passed under the archway, and into the Morthrocksey Mill.

T
HE
M
ILL ENCOMPASSED
several blocks, a town in its own right clustered around the Morthrocksey stream. A wide main street divided it into two. On either side of the gate end were tall, modern buildings with large windows. In these were situated the mill offices and most delicate, recent machinery. At the far end, some five hundred yards away, were the foundries. From one of the three came a ceaseless stream of smoke, shot through with orange sparks, the others were cold. Down the left hand of the street ran the Morthrocksey. The river had been imprisoned in a straight channel of smoothly coursed masonry. For much of its length down to the Var it had been culverted. The plans were that it would be incorporated into the sewer system, but for the moment this brief stretch emerged still into daylight. What water that had not been sucked up by the factories was bright orange, a stinking trickle that ran through miniature rapids of rubbish. Where the refuse grew thick it dammed the oily flow, rainbow patterns on the surface there, crowned with extravagant mounds of dirty yellow foam rimed with brown scum. The smell of it was intolerably potent.