The Two of Swords, Volume 2

by K. J. Parker

  “Of course there is,” Genseric said. “Seems to me, if your boss here were to see sense, he’d send one of you two to give the order. Well? Yes or no.”

  The woman was in tears. “Yes,” said the no Vei. “That’d be me.”

  “Fine. So it’s not him I need to convince that I’m serious, it’s you. Look at me,” he said, taking a step closer. “Are you convinced?”

  The no Vei nodded quickly. “If I do it, will you let the students on the stairs go?”

  “I promise,” Genseric said. “Soon as we’ve got what we want, we’ll be off and out of your hair before you can say snap. Or the streets can run with blood. You decide. I really don’t care any more. I’ve had about as much of you people as I can take.”

  The Principal jumped up and started yelling; Genseric knocked him to the floor with the back of his hand, skinned his knuckles on the fool’s bony jaw. Trouble with me, he thought: I don’t know my own strength. “Ignore him, he doesn’t matter. It’s all up to you. I’m going to count to five.”

  “All right,” the no Vei said, before he could start. The Principal, on his hands and knees, was mumbling through a mouthful of blood and loose teeth. The woman looked like she was about to start screaming. Civilians, Genseric thought. No more idea than my mother’s cat.

  All but a dozen of the students obeyed the order to evacuate the staircase; the remainder weren’t hard to remove, with a little help from both ends of a spear or two. It was as the last of them were being bundled away that Genseric remembered a story his uncle had told him. He swore loudly, looked round for someone to give orders to, found nobody, broke into a run. This horrible place, all doors and corridors.

  More by luck than judgement he came out in the main quadrangle, where he’d posted two troopers and a sergeant. He was too blown from running to explain, so he grabbed the sergeant by the wrist and towed him like a barge, with the two troopers trotting behind like carriage dogs.

  In the ruins of the gateway he stopped, looked down the causeway, then up and down the rampart. Nothing. “There’s got to be another way on and off this horrible rock,” he said. “Sergeant?”

  He knew the man: smart, reliable. “Only the one place you can put in a boat, sir.”

  “Fine. So there must be another way down to the beach.” He screwed his eyes shut, trying to think. “There isn’t, is there?”

  “Wouldn’t have thought so, sir.”

  “My Uncle Aimeric,” Genseric said, “had the best collection of early Republican silver in the East. So what he did was, he built this vast, impregnable strongroom, bolts and bars and two-inch-thick doors. And he kept the actual stuff in a couple of apple barrels in the hay barn. She’s not in that damned tower, Sergeant. They’ll have her stowed in some broom cupboard somewhere, and a quick and easy way off the rock in case of trouble. Which means a sally-port and a watergate tucked away round the side somewhere, and hope they can keep us busy long enough for her to get clean away.” He took a deep breath. He was, he realised, utterly exhausted. “Get down to the ship,” he said, “tell the captain. They’re looking for something small and fast, on the shortest course to the mainland.” His mind had gone blank. “Which would be Blemya, God help us, and once she’s there we can’t do a damn thing. It’s probably too late by now, but it’s got to be worth a try.”

  It was the sloop from the main troop carrier that captured the prize, at the very last moment, with the golden blaze from the Blemyan lighthouse roof already in sight. The scholars’ pinnace was fast but the sloop was faster; they managed to grapple at extreme range and winch in close enough to board. There was an ugly little fight—four scholars dead, two marines—but the young lieutenant commanding the sloop found the girl hiding behind some barrels and dragged her out by the hair, whereupon the scholars gave up and were quiet. They scuttled the pinnace to save time, and picked up a fresh breeze back to Beal Defoir.

  Genseric had spent the time waiting for news of the interception exploring the tunnels that led down through the rock to the hidden landing bay, the whereabouts of which he’d extracted from the Principal with eloquent words and the toe of his boot. It was a remarkable piece of engineering; there was a winch-operated lift running up and down a sheer-sided brick-lined shaft (so even if an attacker knew about the watergate, he couldn’t get in to the fortress that way); you could get from the winch-head in the basement of the chapel to the watergate in just under ten minutes, and the whole thing was hydraulically powered by submerged waterwheels; just pull on a lever to engage the gear train and away you went.

  “We ought to clear this lot out and take this place for ourselves, sir,” Captain Orderic said. “It’s the most amazing fortified position; you could hold it indefinitely with a hundred men.”

  Genseric smiled. “They had a hundred. Hundred and twenty, in fact.”

  “I was meaning soldiers,” the captain said. “And you’d need a drawbridge on that causeway, and artillery. But it’s perfect. And just sitting here doing nothing.”

  Genseric considered explaining, but he didn’t have the energy. “Write a report,” he said, “I’ll see it’s passed on.” To join all the other reports, he didn’t add. He’d read them all before embarking on this horrible job. But none of them had mentioned a secret watergate. He felt rather pleased about that.

  All in all, it had gone off well. The scholars and marines on the boat had been the only lives lost; thirty-odd scholars had been injured, and twelve marines, but nothing too dreadful. The gatehouse was a complete write-off and there were a few smashed-up doors and broken windows. For his report, Genseric put the value of the damage at five thousand angels: on the generous side. The Principal had been stunned to hear that he’d be getting compensation. “Who from?” he’d asked, and Genseric had smiled and told him he wasn’t at liberty to say.

  He was marginally less pleased when the captain of the main transport told him where they’d put the girl: in Genseric’s cabin, because it was the only enclosed space big enough and comfortable enough for honoured guest quarters that could be guarded to the required level of security. Genseric, the captain suggested, might like to bunk in the mess hall, or share with one of his officers. “Couldn’t you put her in the cargo hold?” Genseric said; but, no, there were rats, and women don’t like rats, everyone knows that. So he had them rig him up a tent on the aft deck, and prayed it didn’t rain.

  He wasn’t looking forward to what came next, but it had to be done.

  She was sitting on what had been his bunk, reading the copy of Eleutherius that he’d neglected to take with him, and which he knew he’d never get back. She looked up at him and scowled.

  “Where’s Senza?” she said. “When can I see him?”

  “Sorry.” Genseric braced himself. “Wrong brother.”

  She went completely still.

  “It was your blasted Lodge that gave us the idea,” he explained. “Get hold of something they want, something they’ll give anything for. In their case, some religious artefact for that nutcase Glauca. Then General Belot—sorry, our General Belot, Forza—got to thinking. And of course, we knew exactly where to find you.”

  She looked straight at him. He felt cold all over.

  “The Lodge will crucify you,” she said. “You do know that, don’t you?”

  The same thought had crossed his mind; but it was much harder to dismiss it when she said it. “I obey orders,” he said.

  “That won’t save you.”

  “No, I don’t suppose it will.”

  She was quiet for a long time. Then she said, “Where are you taking me?”

  “Sorry, I can’t tell you.”

  “Do you know?”

  He shook his head. “That’s why I can’t tell you. I hope it’s not far. I’m sleeping in a tent on the deck.”

  Maybe he’d got used to girls laughing at his jokes. Not this one. Not that he’d expect her to. And it’s probably not a good idea to try and raise a laugh from the Angel of Death. “Well,” she said. �
�Don’t let me keep you.”

  He turned away. She called him back. “You’d have done it, wouldn’t you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Killed all those people. Just to get to me.”

  He turned back. “Dear God, no. And I wouldn’t have burned their precious library, either. No, if I hadn’t managed to bully that clerk, I’d probably have tried smoking them out—bit of a fire, open all the doors, throw on plenty of wet blankets. That place was a chimney. But I didn’t want to, in case the fire got out of hand and I burned down half the school.” He risked a smile. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said. “I don’t do massacres for anyone. Or human sacrifices.”

  “I expect you had orders.”

  Just a guess? Probably. But she said it like she knew. “Of course,” he replied. “And I carried them out, and nobody got hurt.” He paused. Worth a try. “Disappointed?”

  She gave him a look that convinced him it hadn’t been worth a try after all. “I hope the Lodge spares you,” she said. “I want Senza to deal with you.”

  He winced slightly. Not given to idle threats, by the sound of it. “I take what comes,” he said. “It’s my job.”

  “Senza’s got a bath,” she said. “He fills it with milk and honey. Anybody he doesn’t like goes in the bath, all tied up tight, and he leaves them in the sun for a day or so. The honey and the sour milk attract flies, and the flies lay eggs. He’ll see to it you get food and water, whether you like it or not.” She gave him a smile. “In the end, they strip you to the bone. The Lodge would just stab you in your sleep. Where’s the play value in that?”

  It took him a lot of effort to keep his voice steady. “I can see why he likes you,” he said. “If you need anything, just shout.”

  Two days of beautiful refreshing boredom, blue sky and calm sea. Then she sent for him.

  “I’m sick to death of being cooped up in this kennel,” she said. “I want to go up on deck.”

  “Your wish is my command,” he said politely. “I’ll ask the captain if it’s convenient.”

  “I want to go up on deck now.”

  “Of course.” He closed the door on her, then went and sat in the sun for a couple of hours, eating grapes and watching the flying fish. Then he went back down and fetched her.

  “You got that from my copy of Eleutherius,” he said. “About the bath full of honey. I knew it sounded familiar.”

  “I imagine that’s where Senza got the idea,” she replied. “He’s a great reader.” She pushed past him and came out into the light. “Been thinking about it, have you? What it’ll be like?”

  He took a couple of long strides to overtake her. Everyone on deck had stopped what they were doing. “Senza Belot doesn’t go in for macabre forms of torture,” he said. “He’s bound by the Joint Protocols of Conduct, same as everybody else. Glauca would have his head on a pike if he caught him doing something like that.”

  “You believe that? How sweet.”

  He let the crew stare. Either she’d enjoy it, which might sweeten her temper, or it’d embarrass her, which might take the edge off her self-confidence. He guided her well away from the rail; it was a calm day, but he was a weak swimmer.

  “A million angels, Major Genseric,” she said. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Indeed it is,” he said. “To put it in context, though, my great-grandfather once bet a hundred thousand on which of two snails would be first to reach the top of a wall. His son, my great-uncle, spent a quarter of a million on a palace for his wife, but she didn’t like the view, so he had the tops of the mountains cut off. My Uncle Theuderic—”

  “Your father was indicted for high treason and all his property was confiscated,” she said. He shivered. How could she possibly—?

  “True,” he conceded. “But my Aunt Segimer owns three valleys and a city; she’s unmarried and ninety-one. Besides, I’ve got my army pay. And if you insult me again, I’ll smack your head till it rings.”

  She gave him a startled look. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “That’s why I didn’t hit you.” He lifted his eyes just a little, over her head, to look at Captain Orderic, who was hovering just behind her, to her left. He took the hint and moved a little closer to the rail. “Now some of the officers and men on this ship aren’t quite so fortunate as me, financially speaking. I’ll ask you not to unsettle them by putting silly ideas in their heads.” He paused for a moment, then went on: “I get the impression you don’t like getting hit. Normally I wouldn’t dream of it, but according to you I’m a dead man already, so why the hell not?” He gave her his prettiest smile. “If Forza asks about the bruises, I’ll tell him you walked into a door. All my men will back me up. Do you understand?”

  She looked at him as though she’d recognised someone she used to know. “Perfectly.”

  “Splendid. Would you like some tea?”

  “No, thank you. I’d like to go back to my cabin now.”

  When he closed the door on her, he began to shake. That bothered him.

  “Pure poison,” Captain Orderic said. “We ought to throw her over the side.”

  “What, and kill all those fish?” Genseric poured himself a drink: a much smaller one than he’d have liked. “For the avoidance of doubt,” he said, “if anyone lays a finger on that woman, I’ll hang him. Pass it on, would you?”

  Orderic grinned. “Except you?”

  “Including me. I’ve never hit a woman and I don’t intend to start now. Unacceptable behaviour.” He sipped, and pulled a face. Should’ve looted the cellars of Beal Defoir while he had the chance. “No, I got the impression she knows all about being knocked around. Only weak spot I’ve detected so far. Therefore, I make empty threats.”

  “I’d sort of gathered that’s why she left Senza,” Orderic said.

  “Oh, you hear all sorts of stories.” Actually, the stuff grew on you, once you’d weathered the initial shock. “But I don’t think so. I think if he had, that’d have been it, finished. And she went back to him the first time, remember.”

  Orderic shrugged. “I wish I knew where we were going,” he said. “To be honest with you, I’m not great on boats.”

  “Landlubber,” Genseric said equably. “Nor me. My father had a ship when I was a kid; we used to all pile on board and go off visiting. Those aren’t happy memories.”

  He’d offered the opening, and Orderic accepted it. “What she said, about your father. Is it true?”

  “I assumed you knew. Yes. And, yes, he was guilty. That is, he was an idealist: he wanted the empires reunited. And he was stupid enough to think it could be done by men of goodwill discussing things in a reasonable manner.” He finished his drink. “I’ve got his skull somewhere,” he said. “A sergeant of mine stole it off the spikes above the arch at Cripplegate, thought I might like it. Hell of a nice thing to do, don’t you think?”

  “Who was that? Old Eusto?”

  Genseric shook his head, “No, it was a chap called Sirupat, before your time. We lost him at Antecyra Fords, poor devil.” He looked at the bottle. It was beautiful, but he was strong. “Aelian,” he went on: “they make the best sergeants, in my experience. Bear that in mind when you have a command of your own.”

  Orderic nodded briskly. “About her Ladyship.”

  “Oh, God, her.”

  “I was thinking,” Orderic said. “There wouldn’t be anything, well, sharp in that cabin, would there?”

  Genseric looked at him. “Yes, there is,” he said. “There’s my nail scissors, for a start, and we’ve been letting her have glass and pottery cups and plates. Just as well one of us has got a brain.”

  Orderic grinned. “I’ll see to it.”

  “No need to be tactful. Let’s see,” he went on, “someone on this ship’s bound to have lifted some of that fancy silver tableware back on the island. She can have that instead. And have them cut her food up small, so she doesn’t need a knife.”

  “When we were up on deck,” Orderic said, �
�I could tell she was thinking about it. What does she imagine Forza’s going to do to her, for God’s sake?”

  Genseric frowned. “My guess is, it’s more a case of what he might use her for. As in, he can’t trade her for anything if she’s dead.” He thought about that for a moment, then added, “Not that I think she’s in any hurry to do herself in, not if she can see her way round it. But let’s keep our eye on the mark, shall we, just in case?”

  She sent for him.

  He took a bottle of wine, a plate of honeycakes and two volumes of Idealist poetry with the Beal Defoir crest embossed on the tubes, which he’d confiscated from a lance corporal of marines. “No thank you,” she said. “I don’t read pornography.”

  “It’s thousand-year-old pornography,” he said, “which means it’s literature, so it’s all right. Suit yourself,” he added, putting the tubes back in his sleeve. “Can’t offer you anything else, I’m afraid.”

  “Those belong to the Lodge.”

  “I know, that’s why I confiscated them. They’ll be sent back in due course.” He smiled. “Though what all those scholars want with classic Euxentine erotica, I can’t begin to imagine.”

  “It’s literature,” she said.

  “Of course.” He offered her the honeycakes. She shook her head. “You wanted to see me.”

  “Yes.” She indicated the chair with a slight movement of her head. He sat down. “About your father.”

  “Mphm. Could this possibly wait? I’m rather busy.”

  “I knew him.”

  Genseric’s heart sank. “Oh, yes?”

  “Professionally.” She smiled viciously at him. “I thought you might like to know that.”

  “I don’t think I believe you,” he said. “He’s been dead ten years.”

  “Oh, I started young. Very young. That’s how he liked them.” She paused, taking stock of the damage she’d done. “If you still don’t believe me, I can tell you things about him.”

  “No,” Genseric said. “Please don’t.”

  “Why not? I’d have thought you’d have been interested. I’ll bet I could tell you about a whole side of his personality you never knew anything about. See this?” She rolled up her sleeve. Just below the wrist was a white, shiny scar. “Would you like to hear how I got it?”