by Laure Eve
‘Talking and drinking is the only way people get to know each other here,’ said Frith. ‘How did our Talented group fare?’
‘As well as can be expected. Lufe was very comfortable in that context, but he comes from such a background. Lea also. I suspect they are having a relationship, or having something, at least.’
‘No surprises. Freya?’
‘Did not talk much, did not dance, complained to be taken home.’
‘Her usual self. Rue?’
Now it had come to it, White found he couldn’t hide it as well as he had thought. His throat constricted at the mention of her name, and he knew he had paused too long.
‘Vela Rue was a little too easy in her choice of company. I had to intervene at one point to save her from an embarrassment. Thereafter she behaved properly.’
‘White. You danced with her.’
Finally, there it was.
But there wouldn’t be shame and there wouldn’t be defiance. He would show Frith that his behaviour had been normal by treating it as such.
‘I did. Lea, her chaperone, left her. She knew no one and expected to see you there. When she realised that you would not be, she became upset. A boy had found her; he was taking her to the gardens.’
‘Was she refusing to go?’
‘He was giving her Esprit and telling her it was a harmless drink. His intentions were unfavourable, in the least.’
Frith sat back. ‘Then you were absolutely right to intervene. So why did you dance with her?’
The key was not to hesitate, but also not to let it all come out smoothly as if it were rehearsed.
‘She was alone and upset. She said that she wanted to dance. She needed a chaperone and so I decided to be such. I am not sure what it is that I did wrong.’
Frith laughed and White felt a twinge of nervousness. When Frith laughed, it was almost never out of genuine humour. And if he laughed when he was angry, the person in the room with him would do well to make an excuse to leave.
‘Either you are genuinely ignorant of what you’ve done, which I can’t really believe, or you’re attempting to play me, which has never been, is not, and will never be a good idea. White, how long has this been going on?’
If White believed enough in his own innocence, it would come across in his voice.
‘Of what do you speak?’ he said.
‘How tiresome. You won’t even give me the truth. Do you trust me that little?’
White felt a sudden flash of resentment. He knew that Frith had intended that, but he still couldn’t stop himself.
‘Trust you? How am I supposed to do that?’
Frith spread his hands. ‘How? Well, let’s see. When you came here alone, looking for help, for a reason to explain your betrayal of your country, did I turn you away? Did I treat you like a spy and torture you? Have I treated you since with anything but respect? When Wren betrayed us and you didn’t see it coming, when you didn’t tell me about what was going on until it was too late, when he nearly ruined everything for us, did I blame you? Did I punish you? Didn’t I take care of everything?’
Frith sat back.
‘And this is your response,’ he said, with a sharp-edged smile. ‘All this time, I’ve tried to prove myself to you, over and over. Did not one single thing I did mean anything to you?’
White listened to this speech with a mixture of surprise and irritation. He knew Frith was playing him with guilt. He knew it. But Frith seemed agitated; he wouldn’t stop gesturing with his hands, which was unlike him. Hands had never been a part of his conversation. And what was the right response?
There wasn’t one.
‘Well, apparently not,’ said Frith, after a moment. ‘However, let us forgo our usual pretence, just for a moment, and then we can forget that we were ever so candid, and go back to normal. So listen to me, because I can see what you won’t. You made a mistake at the ball, and now you must repair the damage. I’ll take care of public opinion, but you must see to your students. They’ve lost their respect for you. They laugh about you behind your back. Do you see?’
White suddenly realised why Frith was so angry. It was because he hadn’t known about it. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of it. Who knew the last time someone had been able to fool him so completely? It wasn’t triumph White felt at this realisation; it was relief. The jibe about his students should have upset him, but he found that he couldn’t care much about it, if he thought about her and the way her waist had felt in his grip.
‘You didn’t know,’ he said.
Frith, to his credit, shrugged it off beautifully. ‘No, I didn’t. In all honesty, I hadn’t thought it even credible. It’s happened before, of course. Students and teachers. It’s a time-honoured cliché. But I didn’t think it would happen with you.’
‘Why not?’ said White, genuinely curious.
‘Why?’ Frith replied, and laughed. ‘Of all the women you could pick, and there are some jewels in my acquaintance alone, why her?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Perhaps you should think on it. Work out what it is that attracts you, so you can get rid of it.’
‘What will happen if I do not follow your advice?’
Frith swilled his whiskie. ‘You have to ask?’
White’s heart pounded. He was pushing, hard, and something could break.
‘How could you stop it?’ he said. ‘It is not illegal.’
Frith changed his line of attack. ‘If this stems from unhappiness, speak to me. Tell me what has caused it. I’ll do my best to change things for you.’
‘I do not rebel,’ said White. He struggled not to show amusement. ‘It is very difficult for you to accept the only other explanation. Why is this?’
Frith did not respond. He looked around the room, as if appraising its condition. ‘This is a nice apartment. But I know being stuck in the old alchemy tower by yourself bothers you, though you’d never admit to wanting company. I could have you moved somewhere else, somewhere bigger. Still quiet, away from the big living halls. There’s a set near the research complex.’
‘This is a bribe?’ said White.
Frith looked at him. ‘No, just an option. Please don’t dismiss it.’
Silence fell.
‘I don’t want to sit here and call you stupid and tell you what you should already know,’ said Frith, after a moment. ‘But please, think. If you’re not serious about her, you’ll ruin her life and her reputation by dallying. If you are, you’ll do the same thing. What do you suppose people will think about your relationship? Do you think they’ll accept it? They can barely accept you. What do you think will be said about her? Do you see yourself marrying her? If you do, it won’t be in Angle Tar. You can’t even apply for citizenship, never mind a marriage licence. Perhaps you think you could leave Angle Tar together. But of course, you can’t go back to World now. They’ll lock you up without a thought as a treacherous spy; they may even kill you. And what do you think will happen to her then?’
‘You have spoken much this evening,’ said White, his voice thin with fury. ‘You must be tired from dispensing such a lot of advice. I will bid you goodnight.’
Frith got up smoothly, as if all were normal, and bowed.
‘I’m sure you’ll think on it,’ he said, his tone polite.
White tracked him to the door with his eyes. Watched him close it behind him.
What would his life be like, without Frith? Would it be better, without the constant feeling of unwillingly belonging so completely to another? Would there be someone else instead, controlling every part of his existence? Could there be someone else like Frith? White didn’t think so.
Once, a while ago, White had wondered in a vague, fanciful sort of way how hard it would be to kill Frith. Just once. Then, by chance, he had seen him in a fight. They had gone together to meet a contact from World in a fairly seedy part of the city. The contact had promised some sort of vague exchange of information deal. The reality had been no suc
h thing, and the situation had turned sour fast. The contact had pulled a rod, the kind of weapon inconceivable in Angle Tar, and there should have been no possibility of escaping that.
The impression White had had of a striking snake had never left him. Frith was horribly fast, but his true advantage lay in being able to predict exactly what you would do next. His ability was frightening. The contact had stopped before he had the chance to think about firing the rod.
Without Frith, White would still not be free. He’d heard that things had started to change after his departure from World, not least its covert acceptance of Talented people as useful rather than dangerous. Wren was proof of that. But they would always, always see White as a traitor and a spy.
Frith had a way of killing you with the truth. He used it as a weapon. White understood everything he had said already. Hadn’t he used the same arguments with himself over the last few weeks to try and reason a way out of his ridiculous situation with Rue?
But it was too late for all that. It was too late the moment she had put her hand in his. If there had been a way back, it would have been before that, in the weeks when he was sure she felt nothing for him. Now that he was not sure, he clung to the hope like a dying man to a miracle cure. Nothing he could come up with, nothing Frith could threaten him with, made him even consider the possibility of backing down. If she truly wanted him, he would do anything to have her.
It would be bad with Frith now. It would be bad because of so many reasons. Because White wouldn’t obey. Because he wouldn’t stay in his place. And because of a secret part of Frith’s soul that he had revealed to White, not so long ago. They had never spoken of it again between them; gone and forgotten, as if it hadn’t even happened.
But it had happened.
It had been a few months ago; the night before Frith had set off to the south west to recruit Rue.
White had been alone, as usual, sitting at his desk in his teaching room. His last student had just left for the evening, and the letter he had in his hands had been burning a hole in his pocket all day.
‘Bad news?’ Frith had asked. He stood in the doorway, lingering hesitantly.
White folded up the letter and put it away. It was from his sister, Cho. There might be a lot of trouble for both of them if her letters were ever intercepted. No need to panic and try to get it out of Frith’s sight as quickly as possible – it would only draw his attention to it.
‘You look very tired,’ said White. It was shocking how much concern he could force into his voice. Or was it more shocking that he no longer tried as much to feel friendship towards Frith, because now it was second nature? Frith was his friend. His only friend.
‘It was a long trip,’ Frith replied, mashing the palms of his hands into his forehead.
‘But successful.’
‘I suppose you heard. She’s older than I’d like, but already quite Talented, from what I hear.’
‘Who found her?’ said White.
Frith came forwards into the classroom.
‘Sedar, my youngest recruiter. He has an old friend in Border City who is acquainted with her father.’
‘Border City.’
‘You’d know it as New Lyon. Colloquially it’s called Border City, just as Capital should officially be Parisette. Or London, as some would have it. Take your pick.’
‘There have been a few from Border City, have there not?’
‘Second largest city after Capital – a higher probability.’
White watched Frith. He really did look tired.
‘Not very many this year,’ he said.
‘No. There doesn’t appear to be a reason for it, at least not one I can uncover and prevent. There’s another I’ve just heard of. Another girl, apprenticed to a hedgewitch I used to know. She sounds promising, but the situation is delicate.’
‘Why is this?’
Frith gave him a wan smile. ‘The hedgewitch despises me. It will need some careful handling.’
White had a glimpse of Frith’s past, a past he did not want to know about. It was one thing to try to puzzle Frith out based on anecdotes and stories – it was another to have it related from the man himself, when he wouldn’t even be able to understand Frith’s reason for telling him. Because there was always a reason.
‘What about this one that Sedar has found?’ White said, carefully attempting to sidestep. ‘She will come?’
‘God, yes. She can’t wait to get away. Fortunately for us, her home life is less than satisfactory. Her father is a drunken idiot who might possibly have ruined her. You will see if there is anything to salvage.’
‘Her name?’
‘Tresombres Freya.’
‘That is an old Angle Tar name, no? She must be aristocratic.’
‘It’s an Empire family. Unfortunately now fallen to disrepute and a faint sort of poverty. Their house is lovely, though. Almost as large as mine was, growing up. They live out of a tiny corner of it, and the rest of it is rotting away. It’s a shame.’
White leaned back in his chair.
‘Are you hungry? You may tell me of it over supper,’ he said.
‘No. Do you have a drink here?’
White leaned down and unlocked the deepest of his desk drawers. He kept a stunted bottle of flowered quintaine in there for fainting and vomiting emergencies – unfortunately not that uncommon, especially with students learning to Jump on their own the first few times.
‘I have only one glass,’ he said.
Frith produced a cap glass from his person in reply. White couldn’t imagine what he was doing with it. There was no possible reason you would walk around with a cap glass in your pocket unless you were an alcoholic.
White poured. Frith talked.
‘It was odd, at first,’ he said. ‘There we sat, attempting to tell this pickled fool what exactly the Talent is and why exactly he should let his only daughter go to study with us. It was much like talking to air. I didn’t have to tell him about the compulsory law, he already knew, and that was why he was being so unmoving towards us. Loss of power, you see, over her. Unfortunately, Sedar became emotional and pressed the issue. The father had thrown Freya to the floor and drawn a knife before the poor boy could finish his outraged sentence.’
Frith took another pull from his cap glass. He had finished the shot in two swallows, and White silently poured another. It was becoming obvious that Frith had been drunk when he’d arrived here. He was, of course, the sort of man on whom drunk sat as normally as sober. His only tendency, which gave it away, was to talk. White was starting to suspect that when he drank, it was because he wanted to talk, and being drunk was the only way he could do it.
‘What happened?’ he said.
Frith said nothing for a long moment. Then he shugged.
‘A bit of a fight. The man managed to get the knife almost to my throat before I disarmed him. We left him tied to the kitchen table. The maid would find him in the morning.’
White watched him.
‘That is very … unusual,’ he said. ‘That he got so close to you.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. I reacted too poorly; I had allowed my mind to be somewhere else that evening.’
Frith fell silent again, staring at his cap glass.
‘Will you visit the other?’ said White, after a pause.
Frith looked up. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘The other. The one in the care of the hedgewitch.’
‘Yes. Yes. I must do it. I’m going tomorrow morning.’
Frith stared into the fire.
White wondered. Frith had never hesitated in recruiting someone before. Neither had he ever mentioned some country hedgewitch with such apparent power. Frith had never been one to show his fear like this, or his weaknesses.
Out loud, he said, ‘What is her name? The witch apprentice?’
‘Vela Rue.’
‘You are finding more commons, these days.’
‘I suppose they were always there. My network is spread a littl
e thinner in the country, as you might understand. It’s more difficult to gauge out there – there are no recruitment halls, as there are in the cities. Communication is poorer. It’s a very different life.’
‘You sound like you know it well,’ said White, trying to lighten the mood. ‘I had thought you were from Parisette.’
‘Well, yes, but our main house was out in the country, though that’s not quite the same thing. But I used to summer in various backwater villages, on occasion. My mother had decided it would be good to broaden my experience of life. In other words, she wished me to live with common folk, to understand them better.’
White said nothing. He suspected the quieter he became, the more Frith would talk.
He was right.
‘And so, one place she sent me to, I would have been about sixteen, was a little village in Bretagnine. Do you know Bretagnine?’
White shook his head.
‘It’s an area in the far south west of Angle Tar. Its original name, back before the French, was Kernow. The village was called Tregenna, a very old name. During the French years it was officially changed to a French designation, as with everywhere, but the locals completely ignored the new name and it remained Tregenna. And probably will for ever after.
‘I had become used to these summers by now, if not happy about them, and I went for a month, which feels like a lifetime when you’re young. I lived with an old Kernow family – this family was particularly old, they could trace their lineage for many hundreds of years. If they had money they would have had the status of my own family, but they didn’t, so no one cared. My mother always placed me with such families, her thinking being that I would at least be mixing with the very best sort of commoner.
‘Poltern, that was their name. I helped on their farm – they had pigs, cows, chickens. Their produce was quite famous, locally – people visited most days to buy eggs, or dried ham, or milk and cream. It was very hard work. It was the first time I understood the gulf between those such as I and the rest of the population. How we depended on all these unknown people for our survival. That was the lesson my mother wanted me to learn, and I did.
