The Proof House Part 11

Good armour takes the blow, Bardas repeated to himself, bad armour pa.s.ses it on. 'So this is what you do here?' he said.

Anax grinned from ear to ear. 'I know,' he said, 'it's a b.l.o.o.d.y funny way to earn a living. I mean, take yourself, you're clearly an intelligent man, you've been around, been in the wars, I dare say - well of course you have, you're a hero, I was forgetting. You look at that -' he pointed to one piece of sc.r.a.p armour '- and then you look at that.' He indicated another, just as badly mangled. 'And you say to yourself, they're both busted, I guess they both failed. Wrong. It's a philosophy, you see,' he went on, wiping his nose on the inside of his wrist. 'It all fails, you see; there's nothing, no piece of munitions-grade plate in the whole world, that can stand up to Bollo here and the big, big hammer. It's how it fails that matters. And that's what I can't get them to understand, ' he added, a tiny spurt of anger showing in his pale eyes. 'Because unless you're me, or someone else who's been destroying and wrecking stuff day in, day out, all his life, long as he can remember, you can't even understand there's a good way to get smashed into sc.r.a.p, and there's a bad way. Your generals, now, and your bra.s.s in the provincial office, they say, we want a pattern that won't fail, period. And I say, all right; I can tell them how to make it, specifications, gauges and angles and heat treatment and all the rest of it, but you couldn't afford it and n.o.body could ever wear it. You want practical armour, you've got to come to an understanding with Bollo here and the number-four felling axe. And he'll sc.r.a.p it, every time.'

Bardas nodded, trying to look as if he'd understood something. 'And you say it's the sound it makes?' he said, but the old man just looked impatient.

'That's just one test,' he said. 'One criterion for one test. Believe me, we don't just bash on the stuff with hammers and axes. Oh no. We shoot at it with longbows and crossbows, we squash it between rollers, there's the puncture test, the shear test, the breaking-strain test, the crush test, the flex test - you don't want to know all the different ways we can prove a piece, if anybody ever gave us a piece that got that far. And the point I'm trying to make is, it always fails - if it didn't fail, it'd be a pretty useless test. We deal in extremes here, Mister Hero; otherwise there wouldn't be any point.'

Anax suddenly stopped talking; he was staring at something. 'What is it?' Bardas asked.

'Duff copper rivets,' Anax replied, as if drawing Bardas' attention to a widening crack in the sky. 'Look at that, will you?' He pointed with a long, brittle-looking finger. 'See there, the rivets in that cop. Shorn off.'

Bardas made a show of looking. 'All right,' he said. 'What's the significance of that?'

Anax sighed. 'It's the whole point of copper rivets,' he said. 'Your copper rivet, when you put it under a strain it can't handle, it stretches - look, here, like this.' He prodded a derelict gauntlet with his toe. 'That's what it's meant to do. Now look at these here, on the cop. Torn the heads off. So that lot's no good, not that anybody's going to want to know that. It'd mean junking the whole batch, probably a hundred thousand rivets; if we do that, there's some clerk in an office in Procurement who'll have to answer for it. But he doesn't want to do that, and n.o.body really believes me anyway, so they won't take any notice. I tell you, if this wasn't what I do, I wouldn't do it any more.'

Bollo, who'd been standing by with the axe over his shoulder, seemed to have lost patience; quite unexpectedly, he whirled the axe round and brought it down on the point of the Iron Man's shoulder.

'Sharp clunk,' Bardas said. 'Not good?'

'Terrible,' replied Anax sadly. 'But what they'll do is, they'll issue double padding to go inside the pauldron cup, and then it won't seem so bad; at least anybody who wears the stuff won't wind up with a smashed collar-bone. But it'll be wrong. And I'll know.'

'I suppose so,' Bardas said evenly.

'Well of course,' Anax said. 'I always know.'

Theudas Morosin had found a s.h.i.+p; that is, he'd spoken to a man, a dealer in bulk almonds, who'd been talking to the captain of another s.h.i.+p a week or so before, who'd happened to mention that once he'd found a buyer for his cargo of ebony bal.u.s.ter-rail blanks from Colleon (he had no idea how he'd come to have a hold full of thirty-inch sections of ebony suitable for making bal.u.s.ter rails out of, a.s.suming you had a lathe and a market for ebony bal.u.s.ter rails; price had been a part of the equation, but there'd been more to it than that) he was going to use the proceeds to buy a consignment of seven hundred sacks of duck-belly feathers he'd been promised by a man he knew in Ap' Helidon; the deal being, he'd have to go to Perimadeia (what used to be Perimadeia) to collect them. 'Although,' (he'd said, apparently), 'it may not be that much of a deal, at that, because who's to say how big a sack is?' The man Theudas had been talking to had then asked this other man, he didn't say how big the sacks were? And the man had replied no, but it can't be that important, because unless he was saying sack when really he meant bag, seven hundred sacks, at that price, is still a lot of feathers.

'I see,' Gannadius replied when his nephew had finished explaining all this. 'And you're hoping that when this man, the one who's buying the feathers, comes to collect his cargo, he'll take us with him.'

'Yes,' Theudas said. 'And then we'll be home again. Well, what do you think?'

Gannadius considered his reply. 'It depends,' he said. 'If they're small sacks, maybe he won't bother. If they're big sacks, there may well not be room for us on the boat. And didn't you say all this depends on him finding a buyer for a s.h.i.+pload of ebony stair-rods?'

'Bal.u.s.ter rails,' Theudas amended. 'Oh, come on. I'd have thought you'd be pleased.'

Gannadius scratched his nose. 'I'm just trying to tell you not to get your hopes up, that's all. And didn't you say this man comes from Ap' Helidon? I don't remember you saying he was going to take the feathers to the Island when - if - he got them. I don't really want to go to Ap' Helidon, if it's all the same to you. If it's where I think it is, it's part of the Empire. We'd be worse off than we are here.'

'No, we wouldn't.' Theudas folded his arms and looked away. 'Anywhere would be better than here. Here is nowhere.'

Outside the tent somewhere a man was singing, while a couple of other men accompanied him on a pipe and some kind of stringed instrument. The words didn't seem to make much sense - Gra.s.shopper sitting on a sweet-pepper vine

Gra.s.shopper sitting on a sweet-pepper vine

Gra.s.shopper sitting on a sweet-pepper vine

And along comes a chicken and he says, 'You're mine'

- but the music was fast and cheerful, and the men sounded like they were enjoying making it; there were worse noises, both outside and inside Gannadius' head. 'There'll be a s.h.i.+p,' he said sleepily, 'sooner or later. We've just got to be patient, that's all. What we don't want to do is go blundering about the western seaboard just for the sake of doing something. For one thing, I might die, and how are you going to explain that to Athli?'

That just made Theudas more irritable. 'I don't see what that's got to do with anything. And what's all this stuff about dying? You aren't even ill, you're just lazy.'

Gannadius smiled. 'That nice lady doctor wouldn't agree with you. She says I still need plenty of rest, after what I've been through.'

'Oh really? And what was that, exactly? I don't seem to remember anything all that dreadful. I mean, I was there too, and I'm not lying on my back groaning all the time.'

'All right,' Gannadius replied, laughing. 'All right. If your duck-feather man really does show up, and if he's going our way and if he agrees to take us and if there's room on his s.h.i.+p, we'll go. It'll be a comfortable ride, sitting on all those feathers.'

Theudas stood up. 'I'm going for a walk,' he said, 'before I lose my temper.'

It was bright outside the tent; so bright and hot that n.o.body was moving about. Instead, they were lying in whatever shade they could find. The three men who'd been making that awful noise had stopped now, thank G.o.ds; they were lounging in the shadow of a large timber frame they'd been working on, pa.s.sing a big jug of some sort of drink from hand to hand, and eating nuts from a pot.

'Your friend,' one of them called out as Theudas walked past. 'How's he doing?'

Theudas stopped. 'Oh, he's all right,' he replied awkwardly.

'That's good.' The man was beckoning him over; it would be difficult not to refuse. Hate them quietly, Gannadius had said. Theudas went over and sat beside them. 'Is it true what they're saying?' the man asked.

Theudas stiffened a little. 'I don't know,' he said. 'What are they saying?'

The man laughed and handed Theudas the jug. 'That he's a wizard,' he said. 'One of the Shastel wizards. Well, is it true?'

Theudas nodded. 'Though really they aren't wizards,' he said. 'Actually, there's no such thing as wizards. They're scholars.'

'Whatever.' The man seemed to regard the distinction as trivial. 'Then it must be true, what I've heard,' he went on. 'The Shastel wizards are going to help us win the war.'

Theudas frowned. 'What war?'

'The war against the Empire,' the man said. 'King Temrai and the Shastel wizards are forming an alliance, so that when the Empire attacks one of us, the other joins in too. It's about time,' he went on. 'I mean, fun's fun, but it's high time somebody took this thing seriously.'

Theudas' frown grew deeper. 'I didn't know there was going to be a war,' he said.

'Of course there's going to be war,' said one of the other men, the one who'd been playing the pipe. 'Because they've taken Ap' Escatoy at last. Now they're coming after us.'

'Or Shastel,' the third man interrupted.

'Or Shastel,' agreed the piper. 'Which is why we need to make an alliance with the wizards. n.o.body else is going to help us, after all. n.o.body else is left.'

Theudas handed the jug to the piper, hoping n.o.body would notice he hadn't drunk any of what was in it; cider, he suspected, and he'd always hated cider, ever since he was a boy. They'd drunk nothing else in Perimadeia, and now the plainsmen had taken to it as well. 'What's this you're making?' he asked, hoping to change the subject.

The men looked at each other. 'Oh, come on,' one of them said, 'it doesn't really make any odds. Besides, anybody with an eye to see can look at it and tell for themselves. It's a trebuchet,' he went on. 'Like the ones we made when we took the City. Same design, in fact; well, they worked all right then, so let's hope they'll work just as well against the Empire.'

'A trebuchet,' Theudas repeated. He could remember the day the trebuchets had appeared; the day the plainsmen appeared under the walls, on the other side of the narrow channel, with their barges of pre-shaped timbers, and all the noise and bustle of a.s.sembling the engines. n.o.body had known what to make of them, whether they were a joke or a threat or both. 'And this is because of Ap' Escatoy,' he added.

The man who'd played the guitar-like thing nodded. 'Because of that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Loredan,' he said. 'He thinks long, that b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

'Loredan? You mean Bardas Loredan?'

The guitar player nodded. 'Planned the whole thing, everybody knows that. Went away after the Fall, joined the Empire, took Ap' Escatoy for them so they'd come after us next. He's the one we should be looking out for. G.o.ds, he must hate us a lot.'

There was an awkward pause. Then the man who'd been singing said, 'Well, fair enough. It was his city we burned down, of course he wants to get even.'

'But we burned it down because of what he did to us,' the piper answered. 'Him and his uncle Maxen. That's why Temrai had to do it. And now he's come after us again, only this time he's got the Empire with him. He won't rest easy till he's killed us all, you'll see.'

Theudas looked down at the ground. Irrational; but he had the feeling that if they saw his face, they'd know. Also, he had a terrible, painful feeling of guilt - the things they were saying about Bardas, who wasn't like that, they were making him sound like the angel of death or something and he wasn't, he was a quiet, lonely man who just wanted to keep out of the way of trouble - but trouble would keep following him around, like a dog sniffing the trousers of a sausage-seller. But he knew that the last thing Bardas wanted was to get even, and that none of it was his fault.

'I've got to go,' he said, standing up. 'Thanks for the drink.'

'Don't worry about it,' said the banjo-man. 'And hey, calm down. He hasn't got us yet. And he won't, you can count on it.'

'I know,' Theudas said, and walked away.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

'Well,' said Gorgas Loredan, 'you're pretty quiet. What do you reckon?'

Poliorcis thought for a moment. 'It's beautiful,' he said. 'Very green.'

'Green,' Gorgas repeated. 'You know, I'd never thought of it like that before. Yes, it's certainly green all right.'

The rain was slowing up; just a summer shower, more or less a daily occurrence at this time of year in the Mesoge. Rain dripped in fat splodges from the thatched eaves of the old linhay they'd taken shelter in; a typical Mesoge building, half derelict, probably been that way for a hundred years, probably be in more or less the same shape a hundred years hence. A little stream of muddy water trickled through the open doorway, across the floor and away into a damp patch in the far corner. Even inside, the walls were green with moss.

'So,' Gorgas went on, 'that's all there is to it, really. My work on Scona was over, I'd done my best, things hadn't worked out the way I'd planned, but there was no point going all to pieces over it. So I came home.'

Poliorcis nodded. 'With an army,' he said. 'And seized power. And set yourself up as a - excuse me, I don't mean to sound rude, but it's an awkward concept to put the right word to. King's not right, somehow, and warlord has such dreadful connotations. Military dictator, perhaps-'

Gorgas smiled. 'Prince,' he said. 'That's how I like to think of myself, anyway. Prince of the Mesoge. You're right, it's not big enough for a kingdom. I thought about duke, but that has overtones of being somebody's subordinate.' He yawned, then bit off another mouthful of cheese. 'So I guess that makes this a princ.i.p.ality. Seems suitable to me, in terms of scale. Bigger than a county, smaller than a country; what do you think?'

'Whatever,' Poliorcis replied. The barrel he'd been sitting on all this time was wet, too (everything was wet in this - this princ.i.p.ality). 'Now, I'll be straight with you, the thing that I couldn't understand was why you met with so little resistance. Please, don't take this the wrong way-'

Gorgas waved away the niceties of diplomatic language. 'No problem,' he said with his mouth full.

'Thank you; but for a - oh dear, vocabulary again - for an adventurer like yourself to come barging in, with only a few hundred soldiers to back him up, and take charge of a country that's never really had a ruler or a government before: you must admit, it's enough to make one curious. But now I've seen it for myself-'

Gorgas nodded. 'Apathy,' he said. 'Or you could call it being fatalistic, or demoralised (except that suggests there was a time when they were all moralised, and there wasn't, far as I know); basically, it's not giving a d.a.m.n one way or another. You see,' he went on, breaking up a strip of dried meat with his fingers, 'all this lot, ever since it was first settled, the whole country was planted out as estates by rich City families - Perimadeians, absentee landlords, naturally - and the poor b.l.o.o.d.y peasants who actually grew stuff and lived here, we were only ever tenants, or hired men; no tradition of owning the land, you see. I suppose the City bailiffs were the government, which is to say that they'd come round and tell you what to do and you'd do it; not that they bothered us much, we didn't see them from one year's end to the next. Apart from that, we just got on with things.'

'Quite,' Poliorcis said. 'And the sort of things governments do - courts of law, for example, justice-'

Gorgas laughed. 'Weren't any. Didn't need any. You'll have noticed, there's no towns, no villages even; just farms. And on every farm, a family. If there's any ruling to be done, the farmer does it, same as he does everything else.'

'I see.' A rat scuttled across the floor, stopped, looked at Poliorcis critically, as if he was a picture hung slightly crooked, and vanished behind a barrel. 'And disputes between neighbours? Feuds, presumably, and long, drawn-out petty bickering.'

'That sort of thing,' Gorgas said. 'Usually quite harmless; and if not, well, n.o.body else's business. Besides, mostly there just wasn't the time or the energy.'

Poliorcis shook his head. 'So,' he said, 'the only question that's left is, why should anybody want a place like this?'

'It's my home,' Gorgas replied. 'And when the City fell, there was a gap; no more landlords, no shape to anything. People like to know where they stand. It's one of the things that makes life possible.'

Poliorcis didn't feel like replying to that. 'I think I've seen enough,' he said. 'And the rain's eased off. Shall we go back to Tornoys?'

'I was thinking we might go to my farm,' Gorgas replied. 'It's quite close. We can stay there tonight, and go back to Tornoys in the morning.'

'Very well,' Poliorcis said. 'Is there anything to see there?'

Gorgas shook his head. 'It's just a farm,' he replied. 'My brothers look after it while I'm away. They've always been there, you see.'

There was something that Poliorcis couldn't quite place, but he saw no point in making an issue of it.

Half an hour's ride from the linhay they came to a bridge, or the remains of one. The middle of the three spans was missing.

'd.a.m.n,' Gorgas said. 'We'll have to double back to the ford.' He frowned. 'It's a nuisance, this sort of thing. Somebody needed some blocks of masonry, so they broke up the bridge. I'll have to send someone to fix it.'

At the ford there was a gibbet, with a body hanging from it. Gorgas didn't comment, and Poliorcis didn't feel like asking. The body looked as if it had been there for a couple of weeks.

'One thing I've got to do when I have the time,' Gorgas said, as they rode over the ford, 'is to have these roads made up. It's pointless expecting people to do it themselves; all that happens is, they fall out with their neighbours over who's responsible for which part. I gather you have expert road-makers in the Empire, people who do nothing else. I'd be interested in hiring a few.'

An hour on from the ford, the road petered out in the middle of a crop of barley. It wasn't much of a crop; the rain had beaten down flat patches, and the pigeons and rooks had come in and trodden down as much again. Gorgas sighed and rode down the middle until he came to a tall thorn hedge. There was a gate, but it was tangled up in thirty years' growth of thorns and briars.

'I thought it'd been a while since I last came this way,' Gorgas said. 'Now you see what I mean about proper roads.' He jumped down from his horse and started slas.h.i.+ng at the hedge with his sword; but the briars were too springy to cut. 'Sorry about this,' he said. 'We'll have to head back to the lane and go round through the farmyard. And while we're there, I'll give them a piece of my mind about this gate.'

Poliorcis sighed. 'As you like,' he said. 'I think it's coming on to rain again.'

It was dark by the time they came to what Poliorcis a.s.sumed was the farm; too dark to see anything except the silhouette of a roof and a vague smudge of branches against the sky. He heard his horse's hooves clatter on a paved yard, and Gorgas shouting; a thin wedge of light spilled out as a door opened, very pale, yellow light, the sort that comes from thick lard and sparingly trimmed wicks. Certainly, the place smelt like a farm. As he got off his horse, he felt his feet splash in a puddle. He wiped rain out of his eyes with his sodden cuff and followed Gorgas towards the light.

'There's nothing grand about it,' said Gorgas cheerfully, 'but it's home. Come on in, you'll soon dry off.'

Gorgas was right; there was nothing grand about it at all. The glow from the tallow-lamp was too dim to let Poliorcis see what he was walking on; it felt like old, sodden rushes, and it didn't smell terribly nice. In the large room he'd been led into there was a large plain board table covered with wooden and pewter dishes, each containing a few sc.r.a.ps of crust or rind. Two men were sitting beside it, each with a big horn cup in front of him. They didn't seem to have noticed he was there.