Colours in the Steel (27 page)

Standing beside him, for some reason, were Bardas Loredan the advocate, Vetriz and her brother and a man he didn’t know; another Islander by his rather appalling taste in clothes, but a city look to him nevertheless. They were staring out at the clouds of dust like spectators at a horse race or a lawsuit. After a while, Vetriz nudged her brother in the ribs.

‘Two gold quarters on this lot,’ she said.

Her brother pulled a face. ‘No chance,’ he replied.

‘Give you ten to one.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t take sucker bets,’ he said.

‘But on past form—’ Vetriz started to say. Venart shook his head and grinned. ‘Oh, well,’ Vetriz said, smiling angelically, ‘it was worth a try.’

The curious thing, Alexius couldn’t help noticing, was that the dust clouds were now rising up out of the sea—

(
‘Gannadius? Is that you?’

—And that they were not so much dust clouds as sails; thousands of grey-black sails, fat in the harsh wind that was now blowing directly in Alexius’ face, making the sails crowd in at terrific speed; and the woman Vetriz was saying, ‘Three gold fives at twenty-five to one,’ and was finding no takers.

‘This is most bizarre.’ Bardas Loredan was talking to him, though he was looking straight out to sea. ‘I know you, of course, by sight. I suppose almost everybody in the city does. But why am I having a dream about you? I suppose you must symbolise magic or something.’

‘With respect,’ Alexius replied, ‘I’m the one having a dream about you. And it isn’t magic, it’s philosophy.’

‘Oh.’ Loredan shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, but all that stuff’s way above my head. Gorgas is the mystic in our family, aren’t you?’

The man Alexius didn’t know stared straight ahead, and nodded. ‘And for your information,’ he added, ‘this is my dream and you’re just figments of my—’

Vetriz woke up with a start.

Light was beginning to seep in through the shutters, and the face beside her on the pillow was glowing pale gold, the intensity of the light showing up the marks and flaws on the skin. With his eyes shut and the frown that people tend to wear when they’re deep asleep, he looked older, somehow rather cruel. Vetriz yawned and brushed the hair out of her eyes.

‘Gorgas,’ she said.

‘Go ’way.’

‘Gorgas. It’s time to get up.’

‘Mbz.’

Vetriz slid out of bed and opened the shutters. Below the window, the sea was dark blue, almost black, with a smudge of red and gold where the clouds joined the water. From her window, Vetriz could look directly down on her and her brother’s three ships, moored slightly apart from the other ships in Haya Morone, the best anchorage on the Island. She struggled into her gown, knotted the belt and pulled a comb through her hair.

‘Gorgas,’ she said, ‘you really do have to get up now. Venart’s ship’s in the harbour. He could be here any minute.’

The big, thickset man in the bed opened one eye. ‘You silly cow, why didn’t you tell me?’ he snapped, swinging his legs out and groping for his clothes. ‘Didn’t I tell you—?’

‘Hurry.’ Vetriz turned away from him, wondering what the hell she’d seen in the man the night before. It wasn’t, after all, the sort of thing she usually did. ‘And there’s no need to be rude. He’s got to get through customs and see to the unloading, anyhow. You needn’t
panic
,’ she added scornfully.

Gorgas Loredan didn’t say anything to that; he was preoccupied with pulling his boots on over his extremely large feet. Vetriz didn’t want to look at him now. Last night’s wine jug was on the windowsill; she tilted it, but it was empty.

Her head hurt. Served her right for behaving like a slut.

Not that she was afraid that Venart actually might get violent if he came back early. In the unlikely event of the door flying open to reveal him standing there with drawn sword and a face like thunder, all she’d have to do was giggle or say, ‘Ven, what
do
you think you’re doing with that thing?’ and he’d get frightfully embarrassed and back away, growling, like a dog from a red-ants’ nest. And besides, if he came right in and killed Gorgas Loredan in front of her eyes, it wasn’t exactly likely to ruin her life. What she couldn’t face was the prospect of Ven nagging and rebuking and drawing his breath in through his teeth in a pained manner for the next six months, and insisting on taking her with him or leaving her in the charge of their gods-accursed aunt.

‘Are you dressed yet?’ she said. ‘I thought it was women who were meant to be slow in the mornings.’

‘It’s all right, I’m going,’ the voice behind her replied. ‘Is there a side door to this place?’

‘I’ll show you,’ Vetriz replied. ‘Come on.’

And yet last night, it had all seemed so
meant
, somehow; at the dinner party, where she’d been boasting about how she’d met the Patriarch of the city - such a strange man, though really quite sweet - and been to a real swordfight in the lawcourts . . . and her neighbour had nudged her in the ribs and pointed to the top of the men’s table and said, ‘Don’t look now, but see that big, chunky one at the end? His brother’s a swordfighter in Perimadeia.’ And then she’d said the name, and it was the same man she’d seen,
and
the same man who’d been in that very funny dream she’d had at the Patriarch’s palace, or whatever it was called.... And the wine had been passed round three or four times too often, and the man she’d gone with had been dying to give her the slip and go off with that Morozin trollop (good luck to both of them) and then . . .

Well. It hadn’t been that bad
then
, but now she wanted it over, done with and put away neatly. She closed the door after Captain Gorgas Loredan - nearly trapped the hem of his cloak in it, now that’d have added a redeeming touch of comedy to an otherwise rather dreary episode - and went through to the courtyard to have a bath.

It was nearly midday when Venart finally came home, looking tired and rather cross.

‘I know we’re descended from pirates,’ he grumbled as he kicked off his boots, ‘and I’m all for keeping alive old traditions. I just think the customs office shouldn’t feel obliged to rob me blind just out of a sense of cultural identity, that’s all. Is there any food?’

‘Of course there is,’ Vetriz replied. ‘What do you think I’ve been doing while you were away, throwing wild orgies?’

‘You might as well,’ he said, massaging his feet. ‘Better to blow the lot in dissipation and decadent frivolity than see it all go down the throats of those sharks down at the pool. I’ll be lucky to break even on that malted barley, what with the tariff they stung me for.’

‘Bread, cheese and an apple do you? Or are you going to insist on hot soup?’

‘Anything that isn’t fish,’ Venart said, with feeling. ‘If any fish comes in this house for the next six weeks, I’m leaving. There is nothing, I repeat
nothing
, to eat in Psattyra but raw bloody fish, unless you count the raw yellow fungus stuff as food, which I don’t.’

‘You poor lamb,’ Vetriz said absently. ‘Have a lie down for an hour while I get you something.’

The headache wore off quite quickly, helped on its way by willow bark steeped in rosewater and an orange, and the bath more or less removed Captain Loredan’s fingerprints from her person. Even so, she felt tired and listless - not enough sleep, only yourself to blame. No wonder you had nightmares, mixing mead, cider and strong wine.

Not exactly nightmares. A proper nightmare would have been better, somehow.

 

Bardas Loredan woke up sweating and cursing, saw the light through the shutters and scrambled for his clothes. His head was splitting; filthy, rotten, cheap, industrial-grade red wine on an empty stomach. Now then; if he really hurried, he could get to the Schools in time to be only a quarter of an hour late. Damn that wretched, weird, crazy girl for making him need a drink.

In the event, he was only ten minutes late; rather an achievement, all things considered, and he should have received the congratulations and admiration of his class rather than all those frosty stares.

‘All right,’ he said, ‘settle down, sorry I’m late. Now then, the footwork of the Old fence. Positions, please; not like that, Master Iuven, not unless you intend to confuse your opponent by falling over. Front foot in line with the blade, back foot square, come on, we’ve done this a hundred times . . .’

The girl, the sullen, unnerving pain-in-the-bum who was the cause of all this, was fencing magnificently today. Her movements were beginning to take on that deadly, graceful poise that all the best advocates had, something he’d seen in others but never himself. He’d always tended to associate it with a perverse pleasure in the act of killing and he didn’t really hold with it, but it certainly boded well for the girl’s future in the profession. For his part, he’d always fenced exactly like what he was, a highly skilled and intelligent coward who knew that his only way of staying alive was to kill someone else.

‘Hello.’ Athli had materialised behind him while he was watching the class do semicircles. ‘How did your tête-à-tête with little Miss Hatchet-face go last night? Did you still respect each other in the morning?’

‘Please don’t be arch at me, Athli, I have a slight headache. And for your information, you couldn’t have been further from the mark if you tried. I don’t know what that bloody woman’s after, but I’m delighted to say it’s not me.’

‘You sure about that?’

‘Convinced. As far as she’s concerned, I’m just someone who’s teaching her how to carve people up. Talking of which, you just watch her this morning. I hate to say this, but she’s going to be good.’

‘Teacher’s pet, huh?’

‘Oh, go away and count something, there’s a good girl.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘There’s one thing you could usefully do,’ he added. ‘Go and smile bewitchingly at Governor Modin. He doesn’t love me any more, and I can’t be doing with aggravation from the likes of him. You could do that little girl standing on one foot and twirling a lock of hair between your fingers act, like you used to do for that dirty old man from the palm-oil people.’

‘I never—’ Athli sounded offended, then relaxed. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Quits?’

‘Quits. But if you could try soothing Modin for me, it’d be a help. Apparently I’ve been abusing the governors’ trust by doing individual coaching after hours without permission.’

Athli nodded. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell him a dying-grandmother story and offer to pay money.’

‘Just so long as you don’t pay money.’

Athli grinned. ‘Trust me,’ she said, ‘I’m a lawyer.’

It was quite true, she reflected after she’d sorted out Governor Modin, about the standing on one leg and twirling a lock of hair (and fancy him having noticed). I shouldn’t really do that sort of thing, only it does make things easier sometimes, when there simply isn’t
time
to win an argument or make a case on its merits. I suppose all’s fair in love and litigation . . .

‘Excuse me.’

She turned round and managed not to squeak with surprise. She wanted to say, ‘Should you be up?’ or, ‘Oughtn’t you to be in bed?’ but of course she didn’t. What she did say was, ‘Patriarch, what can I do for you?’

‘I’m sorry to trouble you,’ the Patriarch said, ‘but are you Master Loredan’s clerk? The man on the door pointed you out to me.’

‘That’s right,’ she said. So the rumours had been true, she said to herself; he must have been ill, because he looks awful, poor man. ‘Would you like to see him? He’s teaching a class right now, but I’m sure it’d be no problem if—’

The Patriarch smiled. He had a nice smile. She was taken aback; usually he seemed so dignified and grand when he was taking part in some ceremony or civic function. But then he would, wouldn’t he?

‘That’s all right,’ he said, ‘it’s not urgent. Would it be in order for me to wait until the midday break?’

‘If you’re sure you don’t mind . . .’ Athli felt rather flustered. She now had the responsibility of keeping a frail dignitary amused and comfortable for the next hour. Would she have to stand there making small talk, or would he rather just sit in a quiet corner and read a book? Always assuming she could find him a chair; further assuming he wanted to sit down. Damnation, Athli thought. My mother didn’t raise me to be a diplomat.

‘No, not at all.’ The Patriarch gestured for her to lead the way. (If he opens doors for me I’ll die of embarrassment.) ‘I do hope I’m not being a nuisance. I’m afraid I’m rather ignorant of the workings of this establishment.’