Chapter 44
Peter: “not even solitude in the mountains”
It was just after noon when he left the prison. When he arrived at his headquarters, he stopped at the infirmary on the third floor to check on Brutus.
“He's got a concussion,” the medic told him. “He should be okay in a day or two. We've had him under observation, but so far there seems to be no sign of permanent damage.”
“Can I talk to him?”
The man shook his head. “I wouldn't recommend it. We still have him on poppy extract for the pain, so he drifts in and out of sleep. He'll recover quicker if you let him rest.”
“All right. I'll be back tomorrow.”
A courier intercepted him on his way to the stairwell. “Message from Quintus, sir. He says this came in while you out this morning.”
He accepted the envelope and opened it. The message inside was brief, only seven words: WE KNOW WHERE THIS PLACE IS NOW.
He scowled at it. Stupid and redundant. Naturally Aria would have told them where the access point was. He already knew from Jeffrey that she had gotten away, thanks to the wizard's intervention. But they had to have their little joke.
We'll see who gets the last laugh.
Jeffrey was waiting for him outside his office. “Where have you been?”
“Visiting a prisoner,” he said, opening the door. “Why? Did I miss something?”
“We have to talk about Brutus,” said Jeffrey, following him in.
Peter sighed. “Let it go” he said. “We have more important things to worry about.”
“I disagree. The man's a disgrace. You need to court-martial him.”
He slammed the door, surprising his son. “I need?” He glared at the boy. “I really hate that way of speaking. When I was the Runt, I had a tutor who used to tell me 'you need to be quiet now', when I, in actual fact, was aware of no such need. What he really meant was 'I want you to be quiet now; but he couldn't make himself say that to me.”
Jeffrey's chin jutted. “What I mean is – “
“Oh, I know what you mean,” said the Honcho. “You want me to court-martial him, over some farmer family. Like that will bring them back to life somehow. Grow up.”
Jeffrey reddened. “This isn't about me. It's about your troops. You need to send them a message, to tell them that sort of thing is not acceptable. There's no use expanding if you don't hold onto what you conquer. And you can't hold onto territory if all the locals hate you, because of how your men act.”
Peter rounded his desk and dropped into his chair. “That might be good advice, in some situations,” he said. “This isn't one of them. You don't arrest your best commander on the eve of starting a war. Building a house takes more than nails and wood. You need a hammer, and Brutus Glock is the best hammer I have at the moment.”
Jeffrey scowled. “From what I've seen, he's in no shape to lead troops at the moment anyway.”
“And you are?” He shook his head. “Face it, the men don't know you well enough to trust you and follow you yet. And if you don't drop these charges against their commanding officer, they won't want to know you, either. If you ever want to accomplish something with your life, son, you're going to have to learn to pick your battles.”
Jeffrey didn't back down. “What kind of leader only fights battles that he's sure he can win? Some things are worth fighting for even if victory isn't guaranteed.”
“There's more than just winning,” his father told him. This is my fault, he realized. I've left too much of his training to others. “There's what comes after winning. There's no use punishing one man if it loses you an army. Brutus is a hero to them.”
“Not to me.”
“Take some time to cool down before we discuss it again.”
But Jeffrey didn't budge. “We have something else to talk about. Did you know that Pope Enrique's on his way over here today?”
“No, but I just got here myself. Any idea what he wants?”
“No idea, and I don't care. I just thought you should know you can't trust him.”
“We've already had this discussion. The TCC is useful to us. They maintain – “
“Lies. They maintain lies, Dad. They say they're against any use of the Gifts of the Tourists, but they use 'em themselves. That's how Pope Rodrigo was killed.”
“What are you talking about? Rodrigo was shot.”
“He sure was. But your alchemists didn't find any trace of gunpowder on that bullet, did they? That's because it was fired from a swizzle.”
Peter stared at him. “A swizzle?”
“Yep. Your men should have brought that wizard's staff back with them. It was a swizzle too. The first time we met him, he used it to shoot coals from the campfire at us. The last time, before the banger dropped him with an arrow, he used his staff to bounce a rock off Brutus's head. When I saw that, I remembered the hole in Rodrigo's head, and the whistle we heard just before he dropped dead.”
“I remember the sound. More of a hiss than a whistle.”
“It's the sound a thin swizzle makes when it's moving a lot of air. Don't you see? It moves whatever's in it. If there's air or water in it, the swizzle moves it. If there's a rock or a bullet in there, it moves too. Make it move fast enough and you've got a gun that doesn't need gunpowder.”
The Honcho had been about to stand up, but at this he sat down again. “So someone in the Church has access to swizzles, and they're using them as guns.” He thought about that. What else do they know that they're not sharing with me?
“For all we know,” said Jeffrey, “they have their own wizards who can make swizzles.”
“I thought only the Tourists could do that,” he objected. “If humans could do things like that, civilization would never have fallen. Things would have kept working.”
“Well,” said Jeffrey, “maybe some humans can. That wizard's staff, it looked like it was nothing but a stick until it started shooting red-hot coals at us. He must have had the swizzle inside it. But who ever heard of a swizzle covered with wood? From what I've read, they were used underground, where groundwater would rot the wood, and inside pipes and ventilation shafts where no one could see them. You know what? I think he made it himself. It's too bad your banger killed him. One wizard like that could make you a thousand swizzle guns.”
Yes, he thought. Too bad. But we do have his apprentice.
There was a knock on the door. “Yes?”
“Sir, His Holiness is here.”
“Already? Very well, show him into the meeting room. I'll be there in a minute.”
He looked at the Runt, seeing potential for maybe the first time. “What you've just told me is useful,” he said. “I think you should sit in on this meeting. But don't say anything, just listen to what he says and tell me what you think afterwards.”
For the first time that day, his son actually smiled. “I can do that,” he said.
Pathspace Page 44
