by Tim Stretton
“Mirko,” she said softly. “Mirko, say something, please say something.”
“I don’t know what to say, Catzen. I didn’t know what the second secret was; I suppose I thought you had killed someone. But this…”
She took her hand away. “I knew it,” she whispered to herself.
“Catzen… it’s just such a shock.”
She nodded, tears running down both cheeks. “I know you won’t denounce me to the authorities,” she said with a watery laugh. “If only because the authorities will kill you if they find you. But I was always more worried about losing you than being found out anyway.”
“Catzen…”
“You don’t have to keep saying my name every time I pause,” she said.
“Sorry — I — “
“You gave me an ultimatum this morning,” said Catzen. “It was unfair of you, and now I’m going to be unfair to you. ‘Now or never’. If you still want me, you have to say so now; otherwise I walk out of here and you won’t see me again. But if you want — us — then it really is now or never.”
Mirko looked at her and smiled. “There’s nothing to think about, Catzen: it’s now.”
He took in her arms and kissed her; she resisted momentarily and then buried her head in his neck. Mirko sighed; it wasn’t that bad. Whatever she was, whatever unusual abilities she might possess, she was still Catzen. She had thrown away her career and her objectivity to be with him, and all that had held her back was the fear — understandable enough — that he might reject her because of the Old Craft. But he had looked into his heart and thought: so what?
“It doesn’t matter, Catzen,” he said. “It simply doesn’t matter. Come on, tell me all about it. How terrible it must have been for you to keep it secret all these years.”
She kissed him again. “You can’t imagine how much I’ve wanted to tell you,” she said. “I wish I’d told you sooner.”
Mirko gave a modest shrug. “I am right sometimes.”
“It was the craft, of course, that launched me on espionage. It waxes with a woman’s fertility, so it is strongest when she is young, and gradually becomes weaker. My uncle Addacatzen knew, I think, that I had a Latency, and I began to find things out for him and Giedrus. I am certain that Giedrus never knew the source of my information, but I was so good at finding things out that he made more and more use of me until I was the centre of his intelligencers. I helped to keep him in Coverciano.”
Mirko gently stroked her hand, but now she was in full flow it was as if he wasn’t there.
“When I was about twenty-five I noticed that the clairvoyant effects I had achieved with ease were becoming more difficult; I had to concentrate longer and harder to see, and it took me longer to recover afterwards. By the time a woman reaches her change, the Latency is gone, and it is a long decline to reach that point. I realised that I was starting to lose my gift. From that point I made sure that I recruited good informants, and worked like any other intelligencer; although occasionally I would use the gift to check that my agents were as I thought them.”
“Did you use ‘the gift’ on me?” asked Mirko sharply.
She smiled dryly. “Occasionally. I won’t go into details. When you were captured by the Animaxianites and no-one could find you, I searched in my own way.”
“And saved my life,” said Mirko.
“As we became closer, I hardly thought it ethical to use the gift; and who knows, I might have found out something I didn’t want to know. They say eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves; well, clairvoyants see no good of themselves either.”
“I can see that the gift was a great excitement to you, but I am sure not everyone with a latency ends up in espionage,” said Mirko questioningly.
“When I was much younger, sixteen or so,” she said, “I had the latency, in an attenuated form, for precognition. I couldn’t see events with anything like the clarity of my main gift, but I was able to develop something stronger than an intuition for certain future events. Koopendrall was most eager to marry me off at that age; I was well-connected and more attractive than you might believe. I was introduced to potential suitors and experienced a strong foreboding against them all. Koopendrall was understandably impatient with what he saw as my excessive maidenly modesty.”
“Might he not have been right?” asked Mirko gently.
“These were by and large vile men,” she said, “and every normal feeling would have revolted against them — but my repulsion was much, much more. And none of the men I rejected have turned into anything worthwhile. My sister’s husband Saldiras, whom I rejected, is corrupt and loathsome beyond belief. As I grew older, this part of the gift waned, although I had a foreboding about my uncle Addacatzen’s death which he ignored to his cost,” she concluded.
“Do you still have these presentiments when you meet men?” asked Mirko with a smile.
“I know no more than anyone else now,” she said. “I just have to use my judgement as you do. Even my main gift comes hard now. If you think I look a wreck this morning, it’s because I’ve been trying to piece together what happened to Florian.”
“You don’t look a wreck.”
She smiled wanly. “My face has sunken in; it’s the colour of parchment: I would like to think I don’t look like this all the time. After a couple of hours’ sleep I’ll be much better.”
“And what did you find out?” asked Mirko, setting sympathy aside for a while.
“What I should have guessed long ago: Vaidmantas is the most duplicitous snake on the planet, a woe-fish in human form. I always knew he was unscrupulous, but I never understood the depths of his hypocrisy and villainy.”
“I am not surprised.”
“He has risen high in Giedrus’ counsels; this I well knew. What I did not know was that Giedrus had begun to stop trusting me — or at least believed that Vaidmantas was better suited to his more unsavoury operations. So he arranged for Orstas to set light to Serendipity (so he thought) and for his subsequent ‘accidental’ death. And as we now know, it was men loyal to him among the Peremptor’s Constables who set upon poor Florian.”
Mirko shook his head wonderingly. “A wicked, wicked man.”
Catzen gave a sour smile. “So much was taken as read, although I should have been alert to it earlier. What sets him apart is that he’s also working for Bartazan…”
“What!”
“He is Bartazan’s confidential agent in Coverciano.”
Mirko thought back to the mysterious figure in Bartazan’s chamber when he had been snooping there for Catzen. The height, the voice, the build — all fitted Vaidmantas.
“But why try to destroy Serendipity? Why try to kill Florian? Surely these harm Bartazan. Or were they botched deliberately?”
“Oh, no indeed,” said Catzen. “He is subtler than you think. He has worked for Giedrus and Bartazan with diligence and enterprise. He cannot lose: whichever man becomes Peremptor will owe him favours and loyalty. He doesn’t care which one wins.”
“You have to admire his clear-sightedness,” said Mirko. “Such a scheme would never have occurred to me.”
Catzen leant her head on his shoulder. “Of course it wouldn’t, dear Mirko,” she said. “You always get defensive when I tell you about your decency and integrity, as if they mark you out as some bumpkin — but they are the things I first loved about you.”
Mirko kissed her slowly and softly on the lips. “Maybe I can get used to being decent and honest,” he said with a half-smile.
She stood up and took his hand. “There is a summer-house at the back of the garden. It has a bed and linen, all maintained by the same Old Craft spell. I am going to lie on the bed for two hours and sleep, otherwise I will collapse; but then I will wake up, and I’ll still lie on the bed,” she said with a twinkle flashing through the tiredness of her eyes.
They went into the little wooden summer-house, which had barely enough room for a bed, a table and four chairs. Catzen went immediately to the bed an
d lay down, asleep almost before she finished stretching herself out. Mirko sat on the side of the bed and watched her breathe; her face relaxed and instantly she looked much younger, the maiden who Koopendrall had so assiduously tried to marry off. What a strange and difficult life she must have had, singled out by the Latency, valued by her family only as a bargaining counter for an advantageous marriage. Was it any wonder she was so unsettled by affection and emotion when she had been forced to insulate herself so securely against the world?
He lay down on the bed and stretched out next to her, nestling into an embrace. In her sleep she shaped herself to fit Mirko, and he watched her breathe in and out, in and out, until their rhythms grew to match and he too slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Mirko was woken by the sun, declining in the afternoon, slipping gently through the summerhouse window. Catzen stirred as he awoke and looked at him smiling.
“I didn’t dream this?” she asked. “I told you about the Old Craft, and you didn’t mind?”
Mirko kissed her on the forehead. “No, I didn’t mind. I judge people by what they do, not what they are.”
“We have a number of important practical questions to resolve,” she said, “such as who steers Serendipity tomorrow, and how you stay alive to reach the start line.”
Mirko nodded.
“But those can wait,” she said. “I’ve waited a long time for this,” and she put her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down towards her.
“Have you forgotten that we’ve done this before?” asked Mirko when she paused to breathe.
“That didn’t count,” she said. “I always thought you would go your own way when you found out about the Old Craft. But this — this is something different…”
Mirko found himself in no mood to disagree, and committed himself to the moment.
Night had fallen before Catzen announced that she was hungry. “Fortunately,” she said, “this magical summerhouse contains a magical larder. I take it that eating Old Craft food isn’t objectionable to you?”
“In the circumstances,” said Mirko, “I can hardly make any meaningful protest. In the first place I have worked up an appetite; and in the second, I am beginning to revise my adverse opinion of the Old Craft, my little witch…”
She rose from the bed, wrapped her cloak around her and padded back with a tray of bread, cheese and wine. “The garden’s creator didn’t mean to spoil us,” she said. “But this will do just nicely.”
“Catzen,” he said as they ate, “what am I going to do about Serendipity’s helm?”
“I understood that Bartazan had managed to secure Liudas’ services,” she said with a partly suppressed smile.
“Exactly,” said Mirko. “But it will be me Bartazan blames when we lose.”
“Luckily I have a better candidate,” she said. “You will agree with me in the end.”
“And?”
“I’ll do it.”
“Do what?”
“Helm Serendipity tomorrow. I never thought to race the Margariad, but lots of dreams seem to be coming true at the moment.”
“Ah, Catzen, just because I —”
“Oh, I’m not asking for special favours,” she said with an earnest smile. “I really am the best you’ll get. I can do this.”
“Catzen, have you ever helmed a galley?”
“Don’t you listen to me? I can remember every word you’ve ever said to me. Women are more attentive to these things. I used to helm Addacatzen’s galley Sunrise.”
“It’s one thing taking the helm on a leisurely practice round a calm bay; quite another to steer a race galley.”
“I even helmed Dragonchaser once; Drallenkoop had a fistula and I turned up to take practice one day. Drallenkoop was furious when he found out, and Koopendrall was little better. But the crew were complimentary afterwards. And Addacatzen said I was an excellent helm.”
“You don’t think he was being polite to his niece? Or that it’s relevant that this was fifteen years ago?”
Catzen frowned and scowled. “Be honest, it’s because I’m a woman, isn’t it? Why can’t a woman helm a galley every bit as well as a man?”
“Has a woman ever helmed in the Margariad?”
“Not as such, but this is a chance for us to make history. I know these waters, Mirko! Trust me — I have to be better than Liudas.”
Mirko looked long and hard into her eyes. He loved her; but he had invested his whole being into Serendipity this summer, and he couldn’t afford to be influenced by sentiment. On the other hand, Catzen had proved herself extremely competent at everything she claimed she could do; vainglory was not one of her weaknesses.
He nodded. “Don’t let me down, Catzen.”
Catzen bit back a smile with difficulty. “You are supposed to say ‘I will still love you whatever happens’.”
“As I will, Catzen; but I’d prefer to love you with a winner’s laurel round your neck.”
CHAPTER 33
M
irko was awake before dawn, conscious that, in so many ways, this was his day of destiny. He realised, although with surprisingly little apprehension, that he could well end it dead; while in itself an unappealing prospect, it undoubtedly lent savour to the mundane events of the day. Somewhere, Bartazan would be choosing his attire, uncertainty sapping at his energies; the prospect of Liudas helming his galley would not increase his confidence. In Coverciano, Giedrus would be surveying his apartments, wondering if it was for the last time; although no doubt deriving some satisfaction from the tribulations afflicting Serendipity. Vaidmantas too, would be looking at the day with an appraising eye. One way or another, he would expect to end it Lieutenant of the Peremptor’s Constables, whatever the outcome of the Election. Larien would be there, somewhere, too. Would she still want to see Dragonchaser come home at the head of the field? Or was her breach with Drallenkoop insuperable? It no longer mattered to him, but he realised that he hoped events were kind to her.
He turned at the sound of Catzen moving around the room. “We should be ready to go,” she said. “We are safe here, but we have to get down to the docks somehow. Vaidmantas will still kill you if he catches you. I’ll get the galumpher.”
Mirko occupied himself with a few lunges with his rapier, followed by a breakfast of modest quantity. He started to feel more confident. Who cared what Bartazan and Giedrus, Vaidmantas and Larien, were thinking? He had Catzen at his side, and he had a race to win.
“What are you smiling at?” asked Catzen, as she slipped back into the summerhouse in the breaking dawn.
“Nothing,” said Mirko. “I am just considering the potential outcomes for today.”
Catzen smoothed a stray hair off her forehead.
“Don’t worry, Catzen,” he said. “Things will work out.”
The air was crisp and chill with autumn as Catzen led the galumpher through the grounds of the palace. Mirko looked up at the sky. A lifetime watching the weather told him that it wasn’t going to be a factor today; breezy maybe, but no chance of a storm, and dry for the spectators. Around Coverciano servants moved sleepily about their business. The outcome of the Election was of no concern to these folk; it was the more exalted ones who had cause to fear a change of regime. Maybe some of the stable lads nursed hopes that a hated overseer would be replaced if Bartazan came to power, but indifference was the prevailing tenor.
The morning guard strolled languidly around the walls, looking little more concerned by events. If I were Peremptor, thought Mirko, I would introduce more urgency into my guards. For now, though, this indolence served them well.
“Good morning, my lady,” said the guard on the gate. “You’re out and about early.”
“Good morning,” said Catzen. “This is a busy day, you know. An Election, a race — and I want to get a good seat.”
The guard laughed. “Just so. I’ll be here all day; still we can see part of the course from the Walls — most of the run to the finish.”
Cat
zen smiled politely.
“You’ll be expecting your cousin to win, no doubt? I’ve ten valut on Dragonchaser myself, so don’t tell me I’m wrong.”
Mirko, who had been watching the exchange in silence, could not suppress a snort.
The guard turned to Mirko. “And who might you be? And what do you know, anyway, that my lady doesn’t?”
“Take no notice of him,” said Catzen with a flush. “The man knows nothing of galleys, and will most likely back Kestrel or Morvellos Devil.”
The guard continued to scrutinise Mirko suspiciously. “Your face looks familiar, fellow. Turn to face me.”
Mirko shuffled around while keeping his face partly averted; not an act calculated to defuse mistrust.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” said the guard, “but I don’t quite the looks of this fellow. Will you oblige me by waiting a few moments?”
Mirko shot Catzen an apologetic glance. “We’re in something of a hurry,” said Catzen, using a ‘grand lady’ mode of address he had not seen from her before.
Mirko’s attempt at a benign smile managed to be simultaneously vacuous and sinister; a considerable achievement, but not one calculated to smooth their exit from the palace.
“Ortem!” called the guard back into his hut. “See if you can find Vaidmantas! He wanted to know if there were any suspicious movements.”
Mirko’s heart sank at the mention of Vaidmantas; while it was conceivable he could be bought or otherwise suborned, he preferred not to make the attempt. He looked sideways at Catzen, who shrugged. It was signal enough. He brought his knee up into the guard’s groin; the man pitched forward and Mirko struck him behind the ear with the pommel of his rapier.
He lay still and Mirko stepped inside to deal with his colleague Ortem. But Ortem was too quick. “Help! Help! Murder! Mayhem! Help!”
Mirko cursed; he kicked at the man’s kneecap; there was no honour in killing an honest servant. A sturdy chop to the throat proved sufficient to incapacitate him, but the damage was done. The clatter of boots nearby, the brazen call of alarums, told him that the alarm had been raised.
