by K. J. Parker
“What’re you going to do, Luso?” Gignomai asked. “Are you going to kill us all?”
(Which he could, of course. He had the strength and the skill, and the colonists were far too scared to fight, too frozen to run. There were technical exercises in Luso’s books that covered the single-handed slaughter of a section, a platoon, a company. The skill, according to the books, lay in achieving the slaughter using the minimum number of handstrokes.)
Then Luso spoke. He said, “Gig? Are you all right?”
Coming from a man half burned away, it was a ludicrous thing to say. “I’m fine, Luso,” he replied.
“You got out in time.”
“Sure.” Gignomai couldn’t feel scared any more. He realised, with a deep, sick feeling, that Luso had been worried about him; hadn’t yet figured it out. “I got out before the fire started. I started the fire.”
Luso shivered, but it wasn’t the pain. “Don’t say that, Gig. Not funny.”
“I started the fire.” He said it like a child almost, like a child taunting his elder brother from some place of safety, halfway up a tree or down a hole too small for a nearly grown-up to crawl into. “I planned it all. I brought them here. I came to your wedding so I could burn you all to death.” He tried to look at Luso’s face, but he couldn’t help watching the billhook blade. Too many hours of weapon practice: always watch the blade, not the man. “It was all me, Luso. So, what’re you going to do about it?”
And the forty or so men Luso had his back to just stood there and did nothing, while he faced a sharp edge, unarmed and unarmoured. I don’t care what happens next, Gignomai realised, whatever happens is just tidying up loose ends.
“You fucking bastard, Gig,” Luso said. “What did you want to do a thing like that for?”
It was as if he’d borrowed Luso’s bow and lost his favourite arrow, or galloped his favourite horse over the stones and lamed it, as though it was some act of thoughtless stupidity, but no malice. Gignomai sighed. He’d have to spell it out, then. “He tied her to a chair and sewed her mouth up, Luso,” he said, patiently, as to an idiot, “and you just stood back and didn’t do anything. All of you. So…” He shrugged. That just about covered it. What more needed to be said? “What’re you going to do?” he repeated. “Up to you. I really don’t mind.”
And that, he knew as he made himself look away from the sharp edge and into his brother’s one good eye, was no more or less than the truth. There was no anger left. Still, he thought, I’m also here as a witness. We might as well have the facts, while there’s still time. “Father?” he asked. “And Stheno?”
“Dead,” Luso said. “Stheno was trying to cut a hole in the roof, and a rafter fell on him. I was in the library, trying to beat out the fire. When I went down to tell them it was out of control, Father and Mother were dead in the smoke. So I thought…”
“You came to find me,” Gignomai said. “To see if I’d made it.” He waited, to see if he could gouge a reply out of the melted face. No chance. “And your wife? Your brother-in-law?”
“Smoke,” Luso said. “They’re all dead, except me.”
“It would be you, wouldn’t it?” Gignomai shook his head. “Well, you’re the head of the family now, Luso. You’d better make your mind up.”
Luso looked at him, and Gignomai realised that he didn’t understand. He still didn’t understand. But being left alive is worse, for him. Serves him right for being too awkward to die. “Well?” Gignomai said, and Luso opened his hands, letting the billhook fall. It missed his feet by an inch or so and clattered on the flagstones. Then, slow, sad and weary, Luso turned his back on him and walked away. The colonists parted to let him through like an honour guard.
Gignomai counted ten steps. Then, from his inside pocket, he took the miniature snapping-hen pistol, the last one Aurelio had made, no bigger than an outstretched hand, three-eighths bore, one-inch barrel. He drew back the hammer until the sear snicked into place, then levelled it, looking down the stupid little barrel at the middle of Luso’s back. He was fifteen yards away by now, an unreliable shot with a full-sized pistol, let alone a toy, and so far, Gignomai had never managed to hit what he’d been aiming at, not even at five yards. He concentrated, and pulled the trigger. The puff of white smoke from the pan blinded him for a moment. When it cleared, he saw that Luso had stopped. He was trying to turn round when he fell, like a sack of grain dropped from the hayloft door. He made an untidy pile of limbs on the ground.
Gignomai put the pistol back in his pocket and walked away.
He met Furio on the track leading down to the Doorstep. He was out of breath, plastered with mud all down his left side, and limping. Gignomai, who knew the signs, gathered that he’d recently fallen off a horse.
“Hello,” he said.
Furio stopped dead, shying like an animal. Energy seemed to drain out of him. “Hello, Gig,” he said. He’d seen the smoke from the house and soot on Gignomai’s face and clothes. “It’s all over, then.”
Gignomai nodded. “You missed it. Not that there was much of a show in the end.”
“What have you done?”
Gignomai felt his shoulders drop. He felt aimless with nothing left to do, no hurry. He could spare the time to stop and chat. “We nailed up the doors and set fire to the house. My family are all dead. Your uncle’s still up there, with the people from town. They don’t need me any more, so I thought I’d go on.”
A grin cracked Furio’s face. “You make it sound like a barn dance.”
“Hardly.”
Furio took a few steps back until he bumped up against a tree. He leaned back on it. “I was going to stop you.”
“Thought you might try,” Gignomai said. He found a tree of his own to lean against. He felt painfully weary, as though he’d been stacking cordwood. “Sorry.”
“I killed one of your guards,” Furio said.
Gignomai winced. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“You shouldn’t have done that to me.” It was a reproach, but a half-hearted one. “It’s your fault—”
“Agreed.” Gignomai shrugged. “I knew that if anybody was going to try and do something, it’d be you. I cheated. I couldn’t allow you to restore my faith in human nature.”
Furio let that one go. “Is my uncle all right?”
“No casualties on our side,” Gignomai said—he regretted his choice of possessive pronoun, “at least, not when I left. Luso’s thugs weren’t in the house when we torched it, but I imagine they’ll be realistic. After all, there’s only twelve of them.”
Furio was clearly shocked. “Twelve?”
“That’s right.” Gignomai nodded, grinning. “That’s all we could afford to keep. Luso always made it seem as though we had at least fifty. He was clever like that. I don’t anticipate any trouble. They’re not heroes. I expect Marzo’ll sort something out. He’s a practical man.”
Furio’s eyes were still wide. “What about your cousin’s men? I take it you killed Boulomai too.”
“Unfortunately,” Gignomai said. “But his people are my people now, I can handle them. They’re making good money. And they never liked Boulo much, anyway.”
“So that’s…” Furio sagged at the knees and slid down his tree, ending up squatting awkwardly on the ground, “everything pretty much covered, then,” he said. “You’ve done well.”
Gignomai closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s given me no pleasure, believe me. I just wish it could’ve been someone else, not me.”
Furio looked straight at him. “Is that right?” he said.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. If I could’ve chosen which side of the door to be on, I wouldn’t be talking to you now.”
Furio sighed. “I don’t believe—”
“Suit yourself,” Gignomai said, indifferently. “Fact is, I was just as guilty as the rest of them. I didn’t do anything when they sewed up her mouth.”
Furio pursed his lips. “You were just a kid.”
“C
ould’ve sneaked down there at night with a small knife,” Gignomai replied. “I knew how to get past the guards. I could’ve brought her here. Of course, it’d have meant war between Luso and the town, but that wouldn’t have been my fault. No, I’m every bit as guilty as Stheno or Luso, or my mother. And there’s today’s work to take into account, as well. Still,” he went on, “someone had to do it, and nobody else was going to. Really, all I can say is, I’m very sorry.”
“Sorry,” Furio repeated. “That makes it all right.”
“Of course not. Nothing’s going to make it right. Still, it’s done now. And I’m left over, at the end.” He looked up. “I gave Luso a fair chance,” he said. “He could’ve killed me where I stood. But he just walked away.”
“You said he’s dead.”
Gignomai nodded. “I shot him,” he said wearily. “In the back, naturally. Only safe way.”
Furio let out a long breath. “How very practical of you,” he said.
“Well, I did my best. Really, I did,” Gignomai said, with just a flicker of animation. “I faked all the attacks on the colony without actually hurting anybody. Using the savages was a pretty good idea, you must admit. I knew they’d want to fire those guns at someone, but they wouldn’t dare come close. It’d have been a miracle if they’d hit someone. And I really did work hard to make sure there was as little risk as possible, just now, up there. Considering what I had to do and what I’ve achieved, it could’ve been a hell of a lot worse.”
Furio took a moment to reply. “You’re a clever man, Gig, nobody’s going to argue about that. I just wish—”
“Yes,” Gignomai said. “But I’ve said I’m sorry. Unless you can think of something else I can do, that’s about it, isn’t it?” He smiled. “Don’t be shy,” he said. “I’m open to suggestions.”
Furio closed his eyes. “If I’d made it in time, what would you have done?”
“Nothing,” Gignomai said. “I guess I’d have had to let you talk to them. But I made sure that wouldn’t happen. It was cheating, yes, but when it’s important, you cheat. I’m sorry it had to be you. For what it’s worth, I feel very bad about the way I’ve treated you.”
“That’s all right,” Furio said reluctantly. “I mean, in context, it really doesn’t count for very much.”
Gignomai straightened up. “What are you doing to do now?” he said.
“I suppose I’d better go and find my uncle,” Furio replied. “He’ll be worried about me. Does he know…?”
Gignomai nodded. “I’m pretty sure he guessed,” he said. “I sort of implied you were a hostage. It was necessary, at the time.”
Furio started to say something, thought better of it. “He’ll be relieved I’m all right,” he said. “You know, he’s not a bad man, really. He does his best.”
“He’s a better man than me,” Gignomai said. “Not that that’s saying a great deal.” He waited for a moment, then added, “Are you going to tell them?”
It was clearly a question Furio had already considered. He shook his head. “What’d be the point?” he said. “It’s done now. It’d just make everybody feel really sick and guilty. And besides, you were right. About your sister, I mean. It was justice.”
“Oh,” Gignomai said. “That.”
Furio smiled. “Does it feel like you thought it would? Do you feel…?”
“Disappointed?” Gignomai shook his head. “I was never in it for the fun of it,” he said.
That seemed to satisfy Furio. Gignomai was mildly surprised. He’d expected more of him. “What about you?” Furio said. “What are you going to do?”
“I thought I’d go over to your place,” Gignomai replied. “It’s where they’ll end up, after they’re done here. They can crown me or lynch me if they want to. I just want to make myself easy to find.”
“I thought you’d go back to the factory.”
“No,” Gignomai said. “If your lot come for me with a rope, my people would probably defend me. Last thing I’d want.” He moved away from the tree. “Maybe Teucer can find me something to eat,” he said. “I’m starving.”
He walked away a few yards.
Furio said, “What you did. It was justice.”
He stopped but didn’t look round. “You know,” he said, “I’ve had about as much justice as I can take. From now on, I intend to adopt a more practical approach.”
“I killed a man today too,” Furio said. “For a moment there, I’d actually forgotten about it.”
“Ah well.” Gignomai turned slowly round. “It’s not often commented on, but when you stop and think, mercy is the biggest injustice of them all.”
Furio looked startled for a moment, then grinned. “If you say so, Gig,” he said.
He didn’t go to the store after all. He got as far as the edge of town, where there was a tall chestnut tree beside the road. He sat down under it, realising he was still wearing his ridiculous wedding clothes, with the boots that rubbed his heel. There was quite a substantial blister, and he hadn’t noticed it. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
When he woke up, it was just beginning to get dark. In the distance, he could see a body of men approaching from the direction he’d come. He breathed in deeply and got to his feet. No peace for the wicked. He walked briskly into town, and was sitting on the store porch with his feet up when Marzo and the war party trudged up the road.
Marzo was black with soot; he looked comical. He had a roll of cloth under one arm. “We were looking for you,” he said.
“I left early,” Gignomai replied, lifting his feet off the other chair. “Well, you’ve found me. All done?”
Marzo nodded. The war party had come to a halt behind him. They looked worried. Mostly they just wanted to go home, but they were afraid of splitting up.
“What happened to Luso’s men?” Gignomai asked.
“They saw reason,” Marzo said grimly—just the way Luso would’ve said it, Gignomai noted with approval. “I told them; You want to make something of it, now’s your chance. They counted heads and decided to be realistic.” He pulled a sour face. “You might have told us—”
“You wouldn’t have believed me,” Gignomai replied. “You’d have thought I was lying about the strength of Luso’s forces to persuade you to attack.”
Marzo shrugged; he wasn’t convinced, but it was a plausible excuse. “I gave them a choice,” Marzo said. “We’d string them up, or they could go and join your lot at the factory. They’ll be reporting to you in the morning.”
“Thanks ever so much,” Gignomai said. “Just what I need, my own private army.”
“If they don’t show up, you tell me,” Marzo said.
“Of course.”
Marzo sighed, seemed to deflate, as if he’d been possessed by some outside force, which had now left him. “Well,” he said, “I think that’s about it for today.” He turned to address his troops. “You might as well all go home,” he said.
“What about the savages?” someone asked. “They’re still—”
“We can round them up and slaughter them like sheep in the morning,” Marzo snapped. “Go home. That’s an order.”
First one, then in twos and threes, they broke up like melting ice and drifted away. Once they were a safe distance from the store, they started talking in low voices. Marzo hauled himself up onto the porch, then collapsed into a chair. “I’m worn out,” he said. “It’s been a hell of a day.”
“Where’s Furio?”
“He’ll be along in a minute,” Marzo said, his eyes shut. “He and a few of the others loaded all Luso’s men’s weapons on a cart. They’re dropping them off at the livery. Wanted to bring them here, but I said no. This is a store, not the town dump.” He frowned. “Talking of garbage and junk,” he said, and unrolled the bundle of cloth he’d been carrying. “Found this,” he said.
It was the sword, or what was left of it. The cast hilt had melted away, leaving the bare tang. The blade had warped into a curve in the heat. A good blacksm
ith might be able to make a dozen or so nails out of it.
“Sorry about that,” Gignomai said. “I needed a wedding present for Luso.”
Marzo looked at it, then dropped it on the floor. “Looks like we won’t be going Home after all,” he said.
Gignomai grinned at him. “There’s no Home any more,” he said, “not for any of us.”
“I guess not,” Marzo said. “Serves me right, I suppose. I should never have listened to you in the first place.”
“It’ll be fine,” Gignomai told him. “In case you’ve forgotten, we now have the factory. All the stuff you can sell. You won’t do too badly.”
“Neither will you.”
Gignomai made no effort to contradict him. “Nor will Furio,” he said. “This colony belongs to the three of us now. And it’s worth having, too. You’ll have me to thank for that.”
Marzo hesitated, then nodded. “I don’t get you, though,” he said. “Was it just revenge? You could’ve done it a simpler way, I’m sure, a clever man like you.”
“Why should a man have only one reason?” Gignomai said. “This way, I did what had to be done, for justice, and something good will come out of it. Justice and something good; they don’t usually go together.”
Marzo looked at him, suddenly hopeful. “You think it’ll work?”
“Freedom for the colony, you mean?” Gignomai smiled, and nodded. “I don’t see why not,” he said. “It’s a business decision, after all. If the Company can’t make money here, they’ll give us up as a bad job. A garrison of five hundred pikemen to keep us in order would be very expensive. Especially,” he added, “with people shooting at them all the time.”
Marzo frowned. “I thought all the guns were on the Tabletop,” he said.
“I can make them,” Gignomai said. He thought he saw a flicker in Marzo’s eyes, which would mean he’d said too much, but if he had, so what? “Give me three months, there’ll be a matchlock or a snapping-hen for everybody in the colony who wants one, free of charge, compliments of the mayor. Then nobody need worry about the savages, or the Company, or the government.”
