The Son of Heaven nodded again. ‘And presumably the stempost and sternpost are scarfed to the keel,’ he went on. ‘As I said, I’m sorry to have to trouble you with this sort of detail, but we have had some rather unfortunate experiences in the past when dealing with civilian shipowners.’
‘I . . .’ Vetriz took a deep breath. ‘Offhand,’ she said, ‘I can’t quite recall. I would imagine they are. After all, my father was ferrying bales of cloth from Colleon to Scona in the
Squirrel
when you were still learning to walk; if she’s stayed in one piece that long, chances are she’s not held together with waxed paper and glue. However,’ she added quickly, as the Son of Heaven drew his breath in sharply, ‘I can get confirmation of that as soon as she gets in; or you’re welcome to look her over for yourself. I suggest we proceed on the assumption that she meets your requirements. What was it you said you wanted her for?’
The corner of Moisin Shel’s lip twitched slightly. ‘I didn’t,’ he replied. ‘Well, I think it would be best if I do as you suggest and inspect the ship myself when she gets back. Can you give me any idea when that might be?’
‘Hard to say,’ Vetriz said. She’d decided that she didn’t like Mr Shel very much. ‘A week, maybe two. It depends on several things, you see—’
‘Of course.’ Moisin Shel stood up. ‘I shall be here for another three weeks at least; as and when the
Squirrel
gets in, I’ll be in touch again. Thank you so much for your time.’
‘Um.’ Vetriz jumped up too. ‘If you’d just like to let me know where you’re staying, so that when she does get in—’
‘That’s all right,’ Shel said. ‘I’ll know. And I’ll be back then. Good day.’
When he’d gone, Vetriz leaned back in her brother’s chair and swore, something she didn’t often do. As a merchant and a natural daughter of the Island, she knew, she should be thrilled at the thought of a good deal like this (at least, she assumed it would be a good deal; now she thought of it, the subject of money hadn’t actually cropped up); but there was something about Moisin Shel that made her teeth ache. Not, she quickly assured herself, that Venart would have handled things any better - oh, he’d have smiled and fawned like an idiot, but she knew for a fact that her brother wouldn’t know a garboard strake if it bit him on the nose. Well, if the wretched man did call back, Ven could have the pleasure of closing the deal, and welcome. She shook her head, left the counting house and went through into the small room that had been her father’s office. There, if she remembered correctly, fifteen years ago there had been a small, fat, scruffy book with a name like
Vesano On Shipbuilding
; she might not have a clue right now what a garboard strake was, but by gods she’d know all about the wretched things by the time Ven got home; whereupon she could tell him, as if explaining to a small child - you know, Ven, the garboard
strakes
. I thought everybody knew
that
.
And find out she did; and remarkably boring it proved to be. But at least it meant that when Venart got home (the very next day, oddly enough) she was able to say, ‘the long planks on either side of the keel,’ as if she’d known that since before she’d started eating solid food.
‘Oh,’ Venart replied. ‘Then why not call them that, instead of having some bloody stupid fancy name? And what about “mortised to the keel rabbet”? No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. If I really need to find out I can look it up in Dad’s old book, same as you did.’
Vetriz frowned. ‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘What do you think?’
Venart’s look of annoyance faded into a smirk. ‘Money for old rope,’ he replied. ‘
Good
money for old rope, come to that; if they’re paying a quarter a ton per week, it’d be like finding a silver mine under the kitchen floor.’
Vetriz’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Goodness,’ she said, ‘that sounds like an awful lot. Is it?’
‘The
Squirrel
’s two hundred and fifteen tons,’ Venart answered gleefully, ‘do the sums. And you can forget about all that complying-with-specifications garbage. They’re taking on anything that can float, down to and including upturned barrels. Why the hell do you think I came scurrying back here in such a hurry?’
It was (he explained) all over everywhere, from Ap’ Imatoy to Colleon: the provincial office was getting ready to make its move against King Temrai, and the main invasion force was going to be carried round the Hook and through the Scona Straits to Perimadeia by sea, thereby avoiding a long and dangerous march overland and denying Temrai the chance of breaking up the attack with hit-and-run tactics. One consequence was that they’d patched up their quarrel with Shastel, whose waters they’d have to go through - aggravating, since he was now stuck with a shipload of overpriced Nagya cornmeal that he’d bought entirely on the assumption that the Shastel chandlers wouldn’t be allowed to ship the stuff to Berlya, but undoubtedly good for business in the medium and long term. ‘I’ll just dump the stuff in the harbour if I can’t offload it in the market,’ he added. ‘After all, with what we’ll be getting from the imperials, the cost of a few sacks of flour is neither here nor there. Although I suppose I could offer it to the brewers on South Quay; they do use the stuff, and—’
‘The Empire’s going to attack Perimadeia?’ Vetriz interrupted. ‘Since when?’
Venart grinned and poured himself another drink, ladling in a second spoonful of honey by way of celebration. ‘You should follow these things if you really want to be a trader,’ he said insufferably. ‘Think about it, will you? It’s all to do with Ap’ Escatoy, as anybody with half a brain ought to have worked out years ago. Thanks to our friend Bardas, bless his heart, the Empire’s finally managed to do what it’s been trying to do ever since we were kids - break through on to the western coast. Now they’re here - well, the sky’s the limit, really. Ironic,’ he went on. ‘Even if Bardas and the City people had managed to beat off Temrai and his lot, now they’d be facing the prospect of a full-scale invasion from the Empire - foregone conclusion, obviously.’
Vetriz frowned. ‘Except,’ she said, ‘if the City hadn’t fallen, Bardas wouldn’t have been there to take Ap’ Escatoy for them.’
‘Oh, well.’ Venart shrugged. ‘Broad as it’s long; if it hadn’t been him, it’d have been someone else. It’s always only been a matter of time. I mean, nobody beats the Empire, that’s a fact of life.’ He drank half his cupful and leaned back in his chair. ‘And now Temrai’s going to get a taste of his own medicine. Can’t say I’m heart-broken; he’s a bloodthirsty little brute, by all accounts. Still, you can’t help feeling just a little bit sorry for anybody who’s got the Empire snapping round their ankles. I guess it must be a bit like knowing you’ve got a fatal disease.’
‘Don’t,’ Vetriz said, with a slight shudder. ‘It’s rather horrid, when you come to think of it. I mean, all those
people
. And now you’re saying it was all pointless.’
‘I suppose you could see it that way,’ Venart replied. ‘Or you could say they were all for the chop sooner or later, so does it matter whether the plainsmen or the Empire actually do the business? Can’t argue with geography; if you’re mug enough to live on a strategically vital promontory, with the Empire bursting to get through a hundred miles or so to the south of you, it’s wilful blindness to imagine you’re going to live out your time in quiet and peace. I’m just thankful we live on a small rock in the middle of the sea.’
Vetriz looked up. ‘Really?’ she said.
‘Well, of course.’ Venart yawned. ‘The Empire hasn’t got a fleet; hence all this hiring ships business. Whatever happens, they’re never going to come bothering us. So that’s all right.’
‘Oh,’ Vetriz said, and changed the subject.
Alexius?
Bardas called out, but he didn’t appear to have heard.
Bardas had been having his usual dream, the one about the mines; and then suddenly, for no reason he could see, when the wall caved in he’d been standing at the back of the main lecture hall in the City Academy back in Perimadeia (a place he’d never set foot in, all the years he’d lived there; but he knew precisely where he was, and that he was actually there). On the rostrum at the front he could see his old friend Patriarch Alexius, wearing his best gown and academic robes; he was delivering a lecture to a huge crowd of students.
‘A case in point,’ Alexius was saying, ‘is the fall of Ap’ Escatoy, an incident with which you are all doubtless familiar. You will recall that in those days, the Empire had not yet penetrated to the western sea, let alone crossed the northern straits; hard to imagine, I know, but worth the effort nonetheless, since it’s vital to bear in mind that the whole world as we know it today was arguably shaped by the actions of one man, at one turning point in history.’
Bardas scowled, trying to understand. He knew beyond a shadow of doubt that this wasn’t a dream. He was standing in the Academy (which was fire-cracked rubble overgrown with bindweed now); but this was some time in the future, and here was Alexius, somehow not yet dead despite all his assumptions to the contrary.
‘One man,’ Alexius went on. ‘One quite unremarkable man, regarded objectively; certainly unremarkable enough to his contemporaries. A man who was never happier than when he was hedging and ditching on his father’s farm in the Mesoge, or building bows on Scona, or planishing breastplates with the other workers in the armoury at Ap’ Calick; hardly a man of destiny, you’d have thought. But consider; if Bardas Loredan hadn’t accidentally broken through into the enemy’s main gallery under Ap’ Escatoy and brought down the city walls, what would have happened then? Let’s imagine that the siege dragged on another year, or two years, even; then a revolt in a far province or a change in administration at the central finance office or a political squabble between factions at court - whatever - led to the siege being abandoned. So, Ap’ Escatoy hasn’t fallen - and the world is utterly different. One man. The different development of one moment in time. This, gentlemen, is the Principle. In that moment, in the darkness of the mines - and they were dark, I can vouch for that - everything changed. Everything was brought down, made small - so small that it fitted comfortably into a tiny cramped spur, hardly high or wide enough for a man to crawl down - and then enlarged again, made to expand like ripples in water. This is the action of the Principle for you; an effect that does away with all dimensions, a place where all places meet, a tiny pinhole at the end and the beginning, into which everything goes and out of which everything comes—’
Bardas found that he couldn’t hear any more; it was as if his ears were blocked up with wax. He could see Alexius still talking, but he couldn’t make out the words. When he stood up to shout out,
Speak up, we can’t hear you at the back
, he felt his head crack against the low roof of the spur, just as the walls began to buckle and come in on him, like a tin cup being crumpled under the wheels of a cart.
‘Sergeant Loredan?’
His head snapped up. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I was miles away.’
‘As I was saying,’ the adjutant went on, giving him an austere look, ‘the situation in that part of the world is deteriorating steadily. Imperial interests are being directly threatened. We can no longer guarantee the safety of our citizens. Accordingly, central command is drawing up contingency plans in case military intervention becomes unavoidable.’
‘I see,’ Bardas said, not having a clue what the adjutant was talking about. ‘That’s - disturbing.’
‘Quite so.’ The adjutant folded his hands on the desktop, leaned forward a little. ‘Now, as you will appreciate, first-hand experience of these people will be of great value in planning our response, both long-term and tactical. Since you have fought in several wars against them—’
Gods. They’re going to attack Temrai.
‘I see,’ he repeated.
The adjutant nodded. ‘At the moment,’ he went on, ‘you’ve been ordered to stand by, pending a detailed debriefing by senior staff; I have little doubt, however, that as the situation develops, you will be reassigned to a more active role in the war. There may,’ he added alluringly, ‘be a further promotion, depending on the nature of the duties you are called on to undertake.’
A promotion. Gosh.
‘In the meantime?’ Bardas asked. ‘As I said, at present you are to await orders and hold yourself in readiness. It would be in order, however, for you to conclude any unfinished business you may have here, and make arrangements for handing over to your replacement in due course.’
Bardas stood up. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’ll get on to it right away.’
Beats me why they don’t sling me out of this army
, he reflected as he walked back down the endless corridors.
Disrespectful, insubordinate, generally sloppy; ah, but I took Ap’ Escatoy for them. And now I’m going to take Perimadeia.
He stopped.
‘So you’re going to take Perimadeia, are you?’ the man said. Bardas couldn’t see him very well; it was a dark point in the corridor, halfway between two sconces, and he couldn’t make out his face; but he could smell coriander. He realised he’d stopped breathing, for some reason. Instinct, maybe.
‘They want me to,’ he replied. ‘I do what I’m told. If I do a good job, they’ll make me a citizen.’
‘They’ll make you a citizen,’ the man repeated. ‘Wouldn’t that be just fine? Imagine that; you, a citizen. Bardas Loredan, there isn’t a civilised society anywhere in the world that’d have you as a citizen.’
Bardas frowned. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘but do I know you?’
‘We’ve met. In fact, we’ve been here before - here or hereabouts. Don’t change the subject. You’re going to take Perimadeia. Why am I not surprised? Enjoy your work, do you?’
Bardas thought for a moment. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Well, it depends. I’ve done a lot of different things in my time. Some were worse than others.’
‘Such as?’
‘The mines,’ Bardas said. ‘I didn’t enjoy them at all. And serving with Maxen, that was pretty grim, most of the time.’