A Sterkarm Kiss (27 page)

“And peace,” Gareth said. “Eventually. For everyone. A lot of little Sterkarm kids will grow up in peace and prosperity because of this.”

“Is that what you tell yourself? A lot of Grannam children won't.”

“And wouldn't, either, if we just let this go on,” Gareth said irritably.

“The Sterkarms and the Grannams feud all the time anyway. They've been doing it for years—centuries, probably. So why this charade? Why the wedding—why pay out all that gold to persuade them to marry when you know you're going to break it up? I just don't—”

“For God's sake, because we had to know when it would all kick off,” Gareth said. “We weren't going to hang around, containing all their raids and shit, and hoping they'd start a feud sometime soon. What if they'd picked a feud with the wrong people? With the Yonnsenns or Dowglasses? We wanted them to feud with the other big powerful family, the Grannams, nobody else. Let the Sterkarms beat the Grannams out of sight, and there's going to be no trouble from the other little families, at least not for a long time. And hopefully, by then, they'll be so used to our rule … So. It was all set up. Bring the Sterkarms and the Grannams together, stage a ‘treacherous attack,' and then back the Sterkarms. You've got to admit it's clever.”

“Let me guess who thought of this,” Andrea said.

“James Windsor,” Gareth said.

“It's such a game,” Andrea said. “If you don't mind murdering people to further your five-year plan, why not just go to the Sterkarms and say, hey! How about if we massacre the Grannams for you?”

“And what if the Grannams won?”

“What?”

“Well, I've been told that the Sterkarms kicked ass in 16 A. You'd know, you were there. So you've got to be prepared. What if the Grannams won? If they did, and we'd openly declared war on them—well, that would be difficult. But if the Sterkarms treacherously attack them, and then use stolen Elf-Weapons to—” He was going to say “massacre the Grannams” but a memory rose up of exactly what that massacre had entailed. “To massacre the Grannams,” he said firmly, “then we're off the hook.” This was the hardening he needed, he reminded himself. You had to be able to keep the big picture in view and face up to what had to be done, like an adult.

Andrea still sat on the chest, staring into space. “So now you're going to set the Sterkarms on the Sterkarms. I suppose you're going to do the same to—the first Sterkarms—the other Sterkarms—”

“Sterkarms A,” Gareth said.

“You're going to do the same to Sterkarms A as you've done to the Grannams. Attack them with rockets and grenades. Wipe them out.”

“Impose peace,” Gareth said.

My Per, Andrea thought. Peace will be imposed on my Per. And my Toorkild—still alive in 16 A. And my Isobel, and my Sweet Milk, and Ecky and Sim and all the rest.

I can't bear this, she thought. It's surreal. Per killing Per. No.

“Why involve me?” she asked.

Gareth was rubbing his face. “Eh?”

“Why drag me into it? Why give me my old job back, just to drag me into this?”

Gareth sighed. “You were the candy, weren't you?”

“What?”

“Didn't you have an affair with Per Sterkarm in 16 A? I get the impression it was quite intense.”

“Ah—well—” Andrea felt her face warming.

“The long and short of it was: Make the Sterkarms top dog, but make sure the Sterkarms are led by somebody
we
can lead by the nose. So knock out all the experienced, older leaders—”

“Knock out?” Andrea said. “You mean murder.”

“Okay. Murder all the experienced leaders and set up a puppet leader—somebody young, inexperienced, easy to influence.”

“You mean
Per
?”

“Exactly.”

“You think Per is easy to influence?”

“Relatively speaking,” Gareth said. “Easier than Toorkild or Gobby. And we've been working on him, giving him lots of presents, taking him into Elf-Land, promising him things. Now that he's the leader, we'll be keeping him occupied with lots of shiny toys. You're one of them.”

“Come again?”

“Well, that was the plan anyway. You've cocked it up a bit, haven't you? But you were to be one of the presents to keep him sweet. A beautiful Elvish mistress. Windsor knew you were his type.”

Andrea was speechless.

“You were just supposed to sit around looking pretty.” Gareth sounded dubious about that. “And flirt. You weren't supposed to tell the Sterkarms that we shot Big Toorkild. What were you thinking of? Windsor's going to be furious when he hears about that.”

Andrea stood, waving her hands around her head, as if his words were so many buzzing flies. “Okay, I've heard about enough. I'm going.” She climbed down the ladder from Gareth's bower to the alley below and picked her way through the mud and muck heaps to her own bower. As she went, her brain hurried and sallied, turning back and venturing again, thinking: How do I get from here to 16 A? How do I warn Per—my Per? How? How?

20

16th Side: An Agreement

“We want to speak with Elf-Windsor,” Per said.

They were all in the great hall of the tower again. Per sat at the head of the table in the armed chair where his father had once sat. Sweet Milk was next to him, on a bench. Isobel was watchful nearby, on a stool; and as many others as could escape their duties were standing around the table, so they could tell their children and grandchildren that they were there. If they lived that long.

Andrea sat between Gareth and Patterson. She wasn't happy.

“Elf-Windsor be in Elf-Land,” Gareth said. After a good night's sleep, he seemed calm and spoke authoritatively. “I be his man here in Man's-Home. He has given me power to deal in his name. If you make an agreement with me, he will honor it, I promise you.”

Per conferred with Sweet Milk and some of the other Sterkarms, and glanced at his mother, but Andrea didn't doubt that he would agree. In the Sterkarms' world almost all bargains were agreed on a handshake and a promise. The Sterkarms were notorious, of course, for not keeping their word with other clans, but between themselves they did, and at the moment the Elves seemed to be considered honorary Sterkarms.

“We shall send a ride into Elf-Land,” Per said. “I shall choose my men from those who wish to come. Some wish to stay here and keep their own land.”

Andrea translated what he said, for Patterson and his men, while Gareth nodded his agreement.

Per, his fist clenched on the tabletop, said, “Elven will send Elf-Men to every tower here, with Elf-Weapons, to fend off Grannams when they come.”

Gareth nodded again. “That was agreed.”

“No more than two men to a tower,” Patterson said, after listening to Andrea's translation. Gareth translated that, and Per frowned and opened his mouth to argue. Patterson said, “With Elf-Weapons, you won't need any more. We'll have to draw up a list of towers, and we may have to send for reinforcements. That will mean a wait.”

Gareth translated. Per muttered things over with the men around him, and then agreed. Andrea sighed. This looked as if it would take ages.

“When we are in Elf-Land, we want Elf-Weapons,” Per said.

Gareth leaned across Andrea and conferred with Patterson. Then he said to Per, “There will be Elves with you, with Elf-Weapons. They will be men expert in their use. It would take a long time to train you to use them. You are wanted for your knowledge of—of raiding.” That was simpler than trying to translate “local terrain” and “local tactics.”

More muttering among Per and his men. Per said, “You could take us into Elf-Land and train us, and then bring us back here—or send us to the other Elf-Land—an eye blink after. No time would be wasted.”

Andrea suppressed a smile. Get out of that one, she thought. The Sterkarms had never been stupid, or slow to see where their own advantage lay.

Gareth and Patterson leaned across her and whispered again. Then Gareth said, “Elf-Weapons are costly, hard to use, and dangerous to those who be no Elven. It will be safer for your men if only Elven use Elf-Weapons.”

Per and Sweet Milk rose and went over to the far wall, to talk. One or two other Sterkarms joined them, and for a moment Isobel looked as if she would rise and follow. But although Sterkarm women had plenty to say for themselves, about everything, it was not the done thing for them to publicly discuss men's business, such as war. After an obvious struggle with herself, she remained on her stool.

The men came back to the table and seated themselves again. “We agree,” Per said. Andrea thought that they had probably decided to agree for now, for the sake of the promised booty, but the matter of Elf-Weapons would inevitably crop up again in the near future. “Payment,” Per went on. “All that we take on the ride be ourn to keep?”

“That was agreed,” Gareth said.

“And I want wee white pills for every man. Dicket-adicket-adicket for every man—”

An excited whispering and nudging broke out around the table at this scarcely imaginable number. Gareth had to lean to Andrea for a translation, as he'd never quite got to grips with Sterkarm counting.

“A thousand,” she said. “Ten times ten times ten.”

“For every captain,” Per said, “tayn-adicket-adicket-adicket.”

“Two thousand,” Andrea said, as the awed gasps filled the hall again.

“For me,” Per said, “tether-adicket-adicket-adicket.”

“Three thousand?” Gareth asked, and Andrea nodded. Per, she supposed, planned to give the pills to his followers as presents, to keep them loyal.

“I agree,” Gareth said. In the 21st, generic aspirin cost next to nothing.

Everyone around the table committed the agreement to memory.

“For every man,” Per said, “a pair of good, waterproof boots, a pair of jeans, and a good Elf-Coat.” He meant the warm, waterproof, windproof 21st-side coats, much coveted by the Sterkarms.

That would be a good deal more expensive, and Gareth dickered. A pair of jeans for every man; the jeans and the coat for the captains; but the boots only for Per.

There was an outcry of annoyance. The Elves were rich. Did they want the Sterkarms to fight for them or not?

Gareth offered to throw in a bolt of cloth for every man—gorgeous, shiny, close-woven Elf-Cloth. It would make a good present for wives and sweethearts.

The Sterkarms were not enthusiastic. Perhaps they were remembering that Joan Grannam's wedding dress had been made of such cloth and considered it an unlucky gift.

“A pair of good Elf-Boots for every man,” Per said.

Gareth didn't fancy presenting Windsor with the bill for so many pairs of high-quality walking boots. He offered to increase the amount of aspirins per man.

Per withdrew from the table again with Sweet Milk, and this time they went over to Isobel, to discuss the offer with her. Andrea could hear it being eagerly discussed among the crowd around the table. The Sterkarms were tempted. They had no reliably effective painkillers to combat their toothaches, head pains, rheumatism, arthritis, period cramps, and all their other ills. Aspirin was, to them, magical stuff.

“Two thousand wee white pills for every man,” Per said, coming back to the table. “Three thousand for the captains. Five thousand for me.”

“Five thousand?” Gareth said, tapping on an electronic notebook.

“Five thousand. And a pair of boots for every man. We'll forgo breeches and coats.” But the Sterkarms weren't going to let go of those boots.

“Come on, agree,” Andrea said. She was impatient to see a settlement made. Beside her, Patterson yawned. Since he could understand only a few words, he must have been even more bored. “You'll buy in bulk and get a discount. Be generous and throw in the jeans as well—cheap pairs. Windsor won't care. It isn't his money. He always enjoys a row with Accounts.”

Gareth considered, then said, “Right. Two thousand pills—three thousand—five for Per. A pair of jeans for every man, and a pair of boots.”

“Agreed,” Per said, and there were cheers, and beams on faces.

All those wee white pills! They were all going to be rich!

“Gold,” Per said.

“Gold?” Gareth hadn't expected this.

“Five pieces of gold for every man. Ten pieces for captains. Fifty for me.”

The Sterkarms, as ever, were pushing their luck. Andrea turned and whispered to Gareth. “For the men, nothing. For the captains, a gold piece each. For the Sterkarm leader, five pieces.”

While Gareth said this aloud, Andrea looked up and saw Per glowering at her resentfully. The sooner she was out of here, the better.

“Forty for me,” Per said. “Eight for captains. Three for every man.” He was driving a hard bargain, probably because Andrea had dared to interfere.

“Agree, agree,” she whispered to Gareth. What did she care, after all?

“Ten for you,” Gareth said. “Five for captains. One for every man.”

The Sterkarms consulted, and Per said, “Agreed.” There was a certain subdued exultation from those around the table. They couldn't repress it. A piece of gold each, in addition to the aspirins, the boots, and the breeches. It made them dizzy.

“Give us your word gold won't turn to leaves,” Per said.

“Or any trash,” Sweet Milk added.

“I give you my word,” Gareth said. “I will swear on anything you choose. It will be good, solid gold, no magic about it.”

“We want a hostage,” Per said.

Nonplussed, Gareth turned to Andrea. “A hostage?”

“They want a hostage,” she said. “As a guarantee that the Elves will keep their word. It's quite normal in the 16th.”

“But—a hostage. What will they do—?”

“The hostage will stay here, in the 16th,” Andrea said impatiently. “Whoever it is will be well treated and looked after, but if the Elves break their word—” She raised her brows. He looked blank. “They'll kill the hostage,” she said.

He looked aghast. “We can't agree to that!”

“Why? Aren't the Elves going to keep their word? Keep your side of the bargain and everything will be okay.”

But Gareth turned away from her and said to Per, “It's not the Elven custom to give hostages.”

Per leaned back in his chair. “Then we'll no ride for Elven.”

Putting her mouth close to Gareth's ear, Andrea said, “Agree to a hostage! Agree! Or we'll get nowhere!”

“Are you volunteering?” Gareth asked.

“Me? No! I—I can't.”

“Then you can hardly—” Gareth said.

Per spoke again. “Elf-May shall be sent back to Elf-Land. She be no welcome here.”

Andrea said, “I understand that. I will go as soon as may be. If Elven were to grant a hostage, who would it be?”

With a nod, Per indicated Gareth. “Elf-Windsor's man.”

Furiously, Gareth whispered to Andrea, “I don't want to be a bloody hostage!”

“You'll be staying here anyway, won't you?” Andrea whispered back. “What difference will it make? Or do you know that the Elves aren't going to keep their word?”

Gareth stared at her. “Of course we are!”

“Good. They don't want me here—”

“Lucky you!”

“Send me back 21st side, and I'll take a letter to Windsor. I'll let him know that you're a hostage for his good behavior. You trust him, don't you?”

Gareth's face flushed. “That's not the point—”

“Of course it is. I can also take the shopping list of aspirins, boots, and what nots. Anything you want him to know.”

Gareth saw the chance to send a memo, detailing all his successes, bringing himself to the notice of the men who counted. “Well …”

“Agree with them,” Andrea said. “They won't understand why you're havering over a hostage.”

Gareth hesitated a moment longer, but he felt the pressure of all the many Sterkarms, all around the table, all staring at him and waiting. “All right,” he said to Per. “I offer myself as hostage. And I will send the Elf-May home.”

Per rose from his seat and held out his hand—his right hand, although he was left-handed. Never shake hands with a Sterkarm. “Then we are agreed. We shall ride for you.”

Gareth rose, and they shook. The Sterkarms cheered, and Isobel rose from her seat to chivvy her maids into filling cups and passing plates of bread.