The Belly of the Bow (50 page)

As it happened, the battle was relatively short. The Leucanians were better armed and more experienced fighters, but the freighter’s crew outnumbered them three to one, making a successful opposed capture of the freighter virtually impossible. Having done enough damage to make sure the freighter’s men had other things on their minds beside boarding the coaster, they pulled out, struck the Loredan ensign and resumed their course back to the harbour. No one on either side was killed, and the only serious injury was accidental - one of the freighter’s crew was in such a hurry to scramble up into the rigging to avoid the boarding party that he lost his footing, fell to the deck and gave himself severe concussion, eventually leading to the loss of one eye. In the reliable accounts of the engagement his name is variously given as Horg Pilomb of Colleon, Mias Conodin of Perimadeia and Huil Laphin from the Island.

It was, in short, the sort of battle that gives proper, serious-minded warfare a bad name: confused, inconclusive and largely pointless. When news reached the Foundation on Shastel, they immediately issued a proclamation that no ships were to be described as in the service of the Foundation without prior consultation with and agreement from the Shastel Faculty of Navigation and Commerce, with the intention of safeguarding commerce by discouraging any repetition of the Leucas affair, not to mention their own reputation - after all, the battle would be remembered as the first in their war, and they didn’t really want that sort of foolish behaviour attributed to graduates of the Cloister.

 

The bench was uncomfortable and Bardas Loredan, who hated aimless sitting around under any circumstances, was tired and bored and wanted very much to get out of his wet clothes and warm up in front of a fire. He felt a strong urge to stand and walk away, but he couldn’t quite muster the energy and besides, he had nowhere to go and no money.

Eventually a clerk found him, his head lolled forward onto his chest like a man who’s died in his sleep, and woke him up.

‘She’ll see you now,’ he said.

‘Right,’ Bardas replied hazily. ‘All right, yes.’ He stood up and followed the clerk into Niessa’s office. She was alone.

‘Hello, Bardas,’ she said.

‘Hello, Niessa. Can I sit down?’

‘Of course you can, you don’t have to ask. Would you like some hot soup?’

It crossed his mind that he’d been kept waiting outside while his sister made the soup; but he was hungry, and said, ‘Yes, please.’ Niessa filled a wooden bowl from a ladle and handed it to him; he tilted the bowl back and swallowed a mouthful. It was a thick, spicy fish soup and quite palatable.

‘That’s good,’ he said.

‘Shastel recipe,’ she replied. ‘They have people who study
everything
over there.’

He nodded and drank some more. ‘How about some cider?’ she asked.

‘Fine,’ he replied, ‘though I’d just as soon have table beer, if you’ve got any. I’ve a headache from sleeping awkwardly.’

Niessa smiled and poured him a cup of weak beer. ‘Sweet dreams?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Bardas replied, ‘I can’t remember them. And the headache’s just from sleeping at an awkward angle, I’m sure.’

‘It’s your headache. So,’ she went on, sitting down behind her desk and steepling her fingers, ‘just what are we going to do with you this time, Bardas?’

He looked at her. ‘Don’t ask me,’ he said. ‘Nothing strenuous, if it’s all the same to you. That boat you sent was awful.’ He sneezed.

‘You’ll have to stay here in Town,’ Niessa went on. ‘After what nearly happened last time, I’m not having you wandering about on your own where some roaming band of halberdiers can grab you and drag you back to Shastel to be a hostage.’

Bardas nodded slowly and drank the rest of his soup. ‘That’s the explanation, it is?’ he said. ‘Well, I suppose it makes sense.’

‘It’s just as well I thought of it before they did,’ Niessa replied. ‘After all, if I could find you so easily, so could they. Home was an obvious place to look.’

Bardas sighed. ‘So tell me about this precious war of yours,’ he said. ‘You seem to be taking it very seriously, to go by what the men in the boat were saying. I take it it’s a bit more than just an escalation of the stuff I got caught up in.’

‘Six thousand halberdiers,’ Niessa replied. ‘Gorgas keeps insisting we can fight them; I have to keep reminding him that’s not the point. You remember the old story Father used to tell, about the old man and the barrel of pears?’

Bardas thought for a moment. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘no.’

‘Oh.’ Niessa looked surprised. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t Father then. Anyway, it’s a good story. There was an old man who had a fine pear tree, and one year he grew the best pears he’d ever seen. “I’m not going to waste these on the market in our village,” he said to himself, “I’ll take these to the City, where they pay top dollar for quality merchandise.” So he put the pears in a barrel, loaded it onto his handcart and set off. But he’d never been to the City and underestimated how long it would take him to get there, so he only took with him enough food for three days. Five days later, when it ran out and still he was less than halfway, he was starving and there was no sign of anybody living in the desert he was crossing; so he opened the barrel, chose the smallest and meanest pears he could find, and ate them. To cut a long story short, he reached the town all right, but along the way he’d eaten all the pears. Good story?’

‘It was all right,’ Bardas replied. ‘Not one of Father’s, though.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ Niessa replied. ‘Anyway, I don’t want Gorgas spending all our money and resources just to win a war; that’d be like the old man eating the pears. And business has been all right lately, but not wonderful. No point fighting a war unless you know what the objective is.’

‘Now I do recognise that,’ Bardas said. ‘That’s what Uncle Maxen used to say.’

Niessa shook her head. ‘He used to say it, but I made it up, when I was just a little girl. He came to visit once, do you remember? Well, of course you do; that was when you told Father you were going to leave home and join Uncle Maxen and the cavalry.’

‘I didn’t, though,’ Bardas replied, ‘not till Father died.’ He pulled up short, waited, then went on. ‘Anyway, he got that from you. Whatever. It’s still a good saying.’

‘Thank you.’ Niessa studied him for a moment, her head slightly on one side, as if he was a puzzle she was just about to solve. ‘Either you’ve mellowed or you’ve lost interest,’ she said. ‘I’d like to think it’s the former, but I can’t see it. I take it Home wasn’t what you expected it to be.’

Bardas shrugged. ‘In case you were wondering,’ he said, ‘Clefas and Zonaras are just fine. Clefas and Zonaras. Your brothers.’

Niessa frowned. ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘but I knew that already. I pay through the nose for a monthly report on exactly how they’re doing and what they’re up to. If you’d only asked, I could have told you and saved you a trip.’

Bardas looked up. ‘That’s interesting,’ he said. ‘Who’s your spy?’

‘It’s not spying, it’s looking after the family. And since you ask, it’s Mihas Seudan - you remember, he goes round with a cart mending pots and selling bits and pieces.’

‘Dear gods, is he still alive? He must be a hundred years old.’

‘Seventy-seven,’ Niessa replied. ‘Every month he calls in at the True Discovery at Tornoys, and he gives the report to the landlord, who passes it on to my courier when he comes back that way from Silain. I’ve been keeping an eye on them for years, just to make sure they don’t come to any harm.’

‘I see.’ Bardas thought for a moment. ‘So you knew all about the money I was sending them.’

Niessa nodded. ‘You never were terribly good with money, Bardas,’ she said. ‘Always inclined to throw good after bad. Like Mother used to say, you’d try and mend a leaking kettle by sealing it with water.’

Bardas shook his head. ‘Serves me right, I suppose,’ he said, ‘for assuming they could be trusted to do a simple thing like receiving money.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Do you remember the Witch, who used to live over at Joyous Beacon in that fallen-down old shed? Her son had been sending her money home for years, and she’d carefully buried it all under the floorboards, while she was living on turnips and gleanings and wearing old sacks. She reckoned she was putting it aside just in case she ever fell on hard times; and when she died and they dug it up, there was best part of three hundred gold quarters there, enough to buy a whole valley. I don’t know. Is that better or worse than squandering it all?’

Niessa clicked her tongue. ‘A peasant with money’s like a monkey with a crossbow - he’ll do no good with it, and probably a great deal of harm. Talking of family, by the way, you haven’t asked about Gorgas.’

‘No,’ Bardas replied, ‘I haven’t.’

‘Well, he’s been away for a day or so buying timber - masts for the commerce raiders he’s having built, and why I’m indulging him in that, gods only know; we can’t afford them, and I fail to see what good they’ll do when they’re done - but he ought to be back tomorrow for the next day. I want you here when he comes home. I’m not having any more of this daggers-drawn business between you two; I’ve got quite enough to cope with right now. I’m not saying you’ve got to love him; just don’t make any trouble, that’s all.’

Bardas smiled. ‘Me?’ he said. ‘Like you said a moment ago, I think I’ve lost interest. I tell you what; you make sure he stays out of my way, and I’ll stay out of his, and that way nobody’ll get hurt, fair enough?’

‘No, it isn’t.’ Niessa looked at him as if he was refusing to eat up his dinner. ‘I can’t afford to have him all upset and brooding, he’s got a war to fight. But we’ll deal with that later. One other thing, while I think of it. My daughter; she’s living with Gorgas now. We’re doing our best to make sure she doesn’t find out you’re here, but sooner or later she will, and then there’ll be more trouble. Oh, Gorgas says he can control her now, she’s much better than she was; but I’m her mother, I understand her, and she’s long past the stage where anything can be done with her. I don’t want to have to put her back in custody, but I can’t really see any other way. I’ll say this for her, she’s remarkably single-minded.’

Bardas rubbed his chin. ‘You’re going to lock her up,’ he said. ‘That’s interesting. How long for? Forever?’

Niessa looked at him impatiently. ‘For the time being,’ she said. ‘I’m just facing facts, she isn’t fit to be let loose. I shall have to organise something suitable this time. I admit I made a mistake putting her in prison; that was just feeding cream to a cat. No, I think she needs a nice quiet place with people to look after her, make sure she’s taken care of and eats properly, at least for now, so long as we’re here. As and when we move on, we’ll sort out something more appropriate. Anyway, provided you keep out of her way you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.’

Bardas nodded. ‘Everything’s under control,’ he said. ‘That’s all right, then. Can I go now, please?’

‘I suppose so,’ Niessa replied. ‘I want you here in the main building for now - the clerk’ll show you the way, it’ll take you a while to find your way around. I don’t know what you’re going to do with yourself, that’s up to you. You’re old enough to keep yourself entertained, I’m sure. But I don’t want you leaving the building without telling me, and you’re not to go sneaking out without a guard. Is that understood? It’s not too much to ask,’ she added. ‘You can see as well as I can that it’s for your own good as well as ours.’

Bardas sighed. ‘Whatever,’ he said. ‘But if it’s no trouble, I’d like to have somewhere I can work, and some tools and materials and such. Just enough to give me the illusion of doing something useful, you know.’

‘No problem,’ Niessa replied. ‘I’m sure Gorgas’ll say all contributions to the war effort will be gratefully received. He seems to think quite highly of your work, though I dare say he’s a little bit biased.’

‘I know,’ Bardas said. ‘He always was too soft-hearted for his own good.’

 

It was typical of the Islanders that they should build the grandest and most ornate council chamber in the known world, and refer to the assemblies they held in it as Town Meetings.

The Meeting House had been built seventy years previously, and it was the Islanders’ proud boast that every copper quarter of its cost had been raised by voluntary contribution. Quite how voluntary the contributions were in a society where failing to keep up with the neighbours was the greatest conceivable disgrace is another matter entirely; the fact remains that once the project was under way and there was no realistic chance of stopping it, the people of the Island dealt with it as they dealt with all their enduring problems: they enjoyed it.

More than anything else, it was this capacity for turning duty and obligation into pleasure that made them unique, and uniquely successful. Mostly it was a continuation of their obsessive need to compete; once one of them had given twenty gold quarters to the Meeting House fund, it was inevitable that the next contributor should give twenty-five, and the next thirty. It became a point of honour for every trader to bring back something for the project from every journey he made; a barrel of coloured mosaic chips, a bolt of red velvet, a silver candlestick, a load of beautifully figured yew planks, ten thousand Colleon steel nails, a Perimadeian stonemason. When eventually the Meeting House was declared complete, there were howls of rage and anguish from merchants who hadn’t yet had a chance to top their closest rivals’ latest offerings, and there were old rumours of cellars beneath the building crammed with unopened books of gold leaf, mildewed bales of samite, barrels of gesso set rock hard and crated frescos chipped off walls the length and breadth of the trade routes. Once it was done and the fun was over, interest shifted elsewhere and the flow of offerings slowed down and dried up, and these days nobody bothered to look at the dazzling mosaics or give the breathtaking span of the roof a second thought; the Meeting House had become an accepted part of daily life, as if it had always been there, and people thought of it simply as the place where meetings were held - an improvement on holding them in the open air, and that was all there was to say on the matter.