The Children of the Company (22 page)

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Authors: Kage Baker

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Science Fiction, #C429, #Extratorrents, #Kat

BOOK: The Children of the Company
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“Sir?”
“Come in, Bell-Fairfax.”
The boy entered the room and stepped into the light of the fire. Labienus studied him critically. It might have been young Nicholas, line for line.
Edward Bell-Fairfax at twelve years of age was already close to six feet tall. That he had grown a great deal since the beginning of the term was evident in the way his wrists stuck out beyond the cuffs of his jacket. Though the body was lanky and awkward, his face was still the smooth face of a child.
At this moment, he was white as a ghost. The pupils of his eyes were dilated, wide and black.
“What have you done, Bell-Fairfax?”
Labienus couldn’t see Nennius’s expression, but was impressed at his performance nonetheless. He sounded somber, regal, and infinitely wise.
“I think I killed Scargill, sir. His head’s split open.” The boy’s voice shook. “And I broke his jaw.”
“Why did you do this, Bell-Fairfax?”
“We were fighting, sir.”
“Obviously! The cause, Bell-Fairfax.”
The boy blinked. “A private matter, sir.”
“You are at school, Bell-Fairfax. There are no private matters here. Fifty other boys will have seen the fight, and at least three of the masters. I should prefer to hear your version of events, however.”
“It’s a private matter, sir. With respect.”
“Were you provoked? Scargill’s a bully.” Nennius lowered his voice. “And worse. Did he touch you?”
Edward flushed red. His mouth tightened and drew down at the corners. “I was provoked, sir.”
“I see. It means a beating, Bell-Fairfax, and I am sorry for it. You have grieved me deeply.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the boy cried. “I tried to stop. I didn’t think I could really hurt him. He’s so big and—and I thought it was a good idea if he was taught a lesson—and I couldn’t stop. And so I thought—”
“That you’d better finish him?” inquired Nennius.
“Yes,” said the boy, and then stopped, horrified at what he’d said. In the gentlest of voices, Nennius said: “It was fun, wasn’t it?”
The boy stared at him, unable to speak.
“My dear young man,” said Nennius, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t give in to fear, and certainly don’t lie to yourself. This is the primal appetite that drives every one of us. It is a natural element in the human character. Without it, we should never have survived in the savage world from whence we are sprung. Nor, I might add, would we now be able to defend our national interests abroad. Without this instinct, we should have no heroes.”
“But wrath is a deadly sin,” said the boy, trembling. “And it says in Scripture,’Thou shalt not kill.”’
Labienus shook his head, hearing echoes and ghosts.
“No, no; it says, ‘Thou shalt do no murder,”’ said Nennius. “Good heavens, boy, how would we make sense of God’s dictates to His people, if He
really forbade killing? What would you make of the book of Joshua, then? The Lord slaughters lustily, and we are after all made in His image. And aren’t they blessed who hunger and thirst after justice? They shall be satisfied. Christ Himself said so. If you enjoyed watching that cowardly knave’s blood run, you mustn’t blame yourself. Divine Providence put that joy in your heart.”
Edward looked bewildered.
“But it was wrong,” he said.
“Yes! Allowing yourself to be so carried away by an emotion that you lost control of your hands is certainly wrong. More so for you than for other boys, because you must be above these things.”
The boy blinked back tears.
“If Scargill dies, will I be hanged?”
“Are you afraid to die, Bell-Fairfax?”
“No, sir. But if I’m hanged, I will have wasted my life on nothing.” He looked at Nennius pleadingly. “I won’t have helped anyone! And after all you’ve told me about what I ought to do in this world—”
“I doubt very much whether Scargill will die. And even were he to do so, there are certain gentlemen of might and influence who would see to it that you live to fulfill your destiny. The question, Bell-Fairfax, is whether you will be fit for it.”
“Sir, I will be!”
“There is no question your heart is in the right place, my boy,” Nennius said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps the fault lies with me.”
“Oh, no, sir.”
Nennius held up a hand to silence him. “With me, I say. I have failed to take your growing strength and your natural temper into account.Your manly impulses ought not to be suppressed, because they are—as it were—a gift from God. But they must be guided, or you cannot fulfill the hopes of those to whom you owe everything.”
Edward was silent, watching him. Nennius appeared to think deeply.
“We have no arms master here,” he said, “but I know of a private tutor who may serve. I will arrange for the extra hours.You must be taught to shoot, to wrestle, to ride. Saber as well, I think. And he will set you to certain exercises that will teach you greater personal restraint. It will be a great deal of hard work, Bell-Fairfax, but it is your duty to excel.”
“I will not disappoint you, sir.” Edward looked desperately hopeful.
“See to it that you do not.” Nennius tapped him on the chest with the cane. “Now. Pain is unavoidable, my boy. If I sent you away with a whole skin, the other boys would whine that you were a favorite, and that is vile. Moreover, you must be punished for your outburst, in order to learn that you are never to lift a hand against another unless your blood is cold as the polar oceans.”
“Yes, sir.” Reluctantly, Edward moved to unbutton his trousers, but Nennius said scornfully: “We’re not in the nursery, Bell-Fairfax. You’re not here to be humiliated.You must be a man. The jacket and shirt off, if you please.”
“Yes, sir.” Hastily the boy pulled them off, standing bare to the waist.
“Face the fire and put your hands on either corner of the mantel. Keep them there until you’re ordered to take them down.”
“Yes, sir—” Edward obeyed, stretching out his arms. He gasped and squinted, turning his face from the heat.
“Face the fire! You can endure this. You will endure it. You have the strength, boy.” Nennius raised the cane and brought it down on Edward’s shoulders, with a crack that echoed in the room. Edward grunted and instinctively put his head down, but found he couldn’t brace it against the hot mantel. He twisted away, gritting his teeth. The force of the next blow drove him forward again.
“Consider Scargill’s pain, and how this balances the scales,” said Nennius, delivering another blow. There was nothing in his tone to suggest he was not a sorrowing father administering correction to a well-loved son.
“Yes, sir—”
“Face the fire!” Nennius struck him again, but spoke encouragingly. “You are the steel in the fire, young man, you are the blade being forged.Your pain is necessary.”
“Yes, sir—”
Whack!
“You must be strong, after all, to accomplish your life’s work. For nothing matters but the work, after all.”
Whack!
“Consider Blake’s edifying vow:’I will not cease from Mental Fight—’”
Whack!
“Yes, sir—”
Whack!
“Complete the line, if you please.”
‘“Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand—’” the boy gasped.
Whack!
“‘Till we have built Jerusalem,’” prompted Nennius.
“‘In England’s green and pleasant land!’” shouted young Edward Alton Bell-Fairfax, gripping the mantel till his knuckles were white.
Whack!
Thoroughly impressed, Labienus lifted his glass in a silent toast to Nennius.
By God, sir, that’s programming.
He glances now through the later images: the stern young man in the naval uniform, the urbane and smiling gentleman assassin he had become. What a lot Edward had accomplished for his masters! And here are two figures in one image, a kind of secular
Pietà:
an immortal woman howling her grief, cradling Edward’s body in her arms, her skirts soaked with his valiantly shed blood.
“Such a waste,” murmurs Labienus, considering the woman. She was a Preserver drone, a Botanist. He knew her well; he’d sat in judgment at her hearing and consigned her to official nonexistence, for having had the astonishingly bad luck to encounter both Nicholas Harpole
and,
in his time, Edward. Remarkable coincidence, really. Though such causal Mandelbrots were not unknown in the historical record …
Labienus closes the file and wishes, again, that he’d had Botanist Mendoza under his command, and that she’d been someone of more consequence. She’d had all the qualities he looked for in a recruit: inexhaustible rage, loathing for humanity, a proper appreciation of the untainted glories of the natural world. Under the proper conditions, she might have been a truly useful weapon.
But, then again, she’d had that fatal weakness. To have loved a mortal! And
that
mortal, among all men. What a security risk! Still …
Labienus despises love, but permits himself sentiment; it lends a certain zest to life, after all. He regards them now, the two lovers, and sighs selfindulgently. How well-paired they had been, Edward and Mendoza! Matched blades. Or flint and steel, with which he might have started an inferno that swept across the world …
He is aware that he feels a vague respect for the woman. Mendoza, at least, had never done the reasonable thing, never settled for less, but held to her one insane passion even as it had dragged her into the flames. Such a valuable quality in a pawn. Is it really too late? …
But Edward is dead, after all.
Closing the file, Labienus puts it aside. He rises and walks to the window, stretching, thinking that it is a pity one can’t have one’s cake and sacrifice it, too.
On further reflection, however, he decides that a disposable hero is infinitely to be preferred to the permanent model.
In Egypt, work had just commenced on the Suez Canal. Labienus was grateful he was a world away, in a region of glacier fields no mortal ingenuity could ever turn to profit.
He had walked a long time, following the vaguest hint of directions. After a few days there were no more trees, and the only green he saw was in the aurora borealis when it bannered against the stars. Labienus did not suffer the discomfort a mortal would have felt, but he would certainly have preferred the meeting to take place in a more convenient location. This place had only the advantage that it was in his own sector, and beautiful.
It wasn’t until the fifth night, as bright ghosts flared in heaven, that he became aware of a slight alteration in the crunching rhythm of his own footsteps. Two more steps and he was certain, and whirled around to behold Budu following him.
“Damn you! How long were you going to let me keep walking?” Labienus shouted.
The old Enforcer laughed. He stood straight and threw back his fur hood. He was heavily robed in polar bear fur, an immense whiteness on the white field. His breath steamed and froze, settling in icicles on his long beard and mustache. The light of the aurora glittered in his pale eyes.
“I could have taken you out five times by now,” he said. “You’ve grown careless.”
Labienus thought of telling him what he could do with his stalking games, but smiled instead. “I trusted you, father.”
“Have you brought the codes?”
Labienus glanced around involuntarily, though they were the only living things within miles. “Yes. And my report.”
“Good.” Budu inclined forward. Labienus set his index finger between Budu’s eyes and downloaded. When he had finished, he cleared his throat.
“We’ve penetrated the Bikkung office at last. Xi Wang-Mu is thoroughly motivated. Moreover, she has a promising second-in-command by the name of Hong Tsieh. They share our grievances.”
“Very good. What about Africa?”
“No progress, I regret to say.” Labienus shrugged. He preferred to look nonchalant when confessing failure. “Amaunet would be ideal. She has the perfect temperament, but she seems to be one of Aegeus’s circle, and she’s been posted to Eastern Europe. There’s no point in approaching Suleyman at all.”
“But you once trained his second-in-command,” Budu pointed out.
“Briefly,” said Labienus. “We didn’t get on. You won’t get at Suleyman through Latif, I assure you.”
Budu shook his head. “You make so many enemies, you Facilitators,” he said. “Such tempers and egos you have. One has to court you. Persuade you. Motivate you. My men knew what was right, and they did it.”
“Yes; I suppose even Marco thought he was right, when he disobeyed orders,” said Labienus acidly. Budu just looked at him.
“No,” he said. “Marco was an idiot. He thought he could frighten our masters into listening. And he did frighten them, and when they retired us because they were afraid of us, he wept like a stupid child. But you aren’t stupid.”
“Thank you,” said Labienus.

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