The Two of Swords: Part 8 (6 page)

Maybe it’d be worth getting killed or beaten to a pulp, just for the sheer joy of breaking that beautiful straight nose. “You know. About what we’re here for.”

Axeo shook his head. “The specifics, no. All I heard was, watch out for an Eight of Swords and some hick boy; they’re running an errand up your way. They neglected to mention whether the boy was secure, so I thought I’d play it safe and act the big, bad bandit. Gave me the shock of my life when you started carving up my men. That’s taking being in character too far, I thought.”

“Who are you?”

Axeo smiled at him. “Sorry,” he said. “You’d need clearance for that. For all I know you’ve got it, but that’s the point, I don’t
know
, do I? Any more,” he added, “than I know who these clowns are. Except that they’re lodge; high cards, no trumps. At least, none I’ve been shown yet.” He broadened his smile into a grin. “I never did see the point of everyone being face down. I mean, I know the fundamental reasoning behind it, but it makes life so damned difficult sometimes. As witness this latest balls-up.”

The last line of defence. Defending what? Presumably that was face down as well. “You knew we were coming.”

“I got a notification, yes, as a matter of courtesy. Also,” he added, “we genuinely were out of food. Mostly because of traipsing about after you in the wilderness. I don’t know where you got your map from, but it can’t be any good.” He shifted the reins into his left hand, so he could scratch the tip of his nose. “Out of curiosity, where are you going?”

“Don’t you know?”

Axeo sighed. “I’ll say it again. I was told to look out for two craftsmen, keep an eye on them, make contact if necessary. As it happened, it was necessary, because we’d run out of food and we hoped you’d have some. I don’t know the purpose of your mission, and I’m not really interested. Right now, my priority is finding out who these lunatics with the big coach are. I mean, obviously they’re lodge, but nobody said anything about them to me. I should know that sort of thing, I’m responsible.”

“Big coach.”

Axeo nodded. “That’s right. They’re escorting a big coach to this Merebarton place.” He gave Pleda one of the big smiles. “You said that’s where you’re headed, but I’m assuming that’s not true.”

“Really.”

“Well, it can’t be, can it? Not unless you’re meeting up with whoever’s in the coach. And you seemed as genuinely surprised as I was.”

Pleda thought for a moment. “Do they really have doctors with them?”

“Oh, I should imagine so. Your boy will be fine, you’ll see. I saw far worse than that in the army, believe you me. Men like human porcupines, and they were up and about again in no time.”

A thought struck Pleda; as hard as the arrow had hit Musen, but in a more awkward place. “Your brother,” he said. “Is he lodge?”

Axeo stared at him then burst out laughing. “Are you joking? Of course he is. You don’t think he got to be rich and famous on pure musical ability.”

“I assumed—” Pleda shook his head. “It can’t have been easy.”

“It never has been.” Axeo said it as though it was nothing – time of day, what a lot of weather we’ve been having lately – but Pleda guessed that that was how you knew he was being truthful. Of course, Axeo probably knew that, too. Very like the boy in so many ways, with the obvious exception of intelligence.

“There we are.” Axeo pointed with his free hand. “At last.”

Pleda followed the line indicated, but he couldn’t see anything. Then something caught his eye, a square, too regular for anything in nature. He looked carefully and could just make out a drystone wall enclosing a patch of heather. At the far end was a low hill that was too straight and level. It brought back memories. An archery range.

“Good spot,” Axeo was saying. “Almost completely hidden by the contours of the combe; you could ride past here with an army and not know it was there, if they’d got the wit not to light fires. And then they go and build their butts on a hilltop, so they’re visible for miles around.” He shook his head sadly. “Soon as we’ve got five minutes we’ll grub out that wall.”

Not long after, they rode up a lane that followed the course of a broad stream which wound along the bottom of the fold between the sides of the combe. Pleda had some idea what to expect;
mere
meant marshy ground, where the run-off from the steep combe pooled on the flat – they’d have drained that centuries ago, of course – and
barton
meant land good and flat enough to grow barley, which you’d get in strips along the combe floor where the water had washed down silt from the hillsides. The houses were close together – there would have been a stockade once, for defence – which told him the villagers had originally been tenants rather than freeholders, though all that would have changed long ago, when all the great families were wiped out by wars and taxes. Sheep, he guessed, barley for bread, animal feed, thatch and beer; small gardens for beans and cabbages; they’d have to cart a long way for lumber and firewood, now that all the big copses that used to grow in these parts had been cut for charcoal for the war effort. But they’d have wool to sell, and there’d be pigs and poultry. People could live quite effectively in a place like this, if allowed to do so by their betters. He remembered that he hadn’t seen a sheep since they left Beloisa.

“Had our eye on this place for a while now,” Axeowas saying. “Passes, like this one, either end of the village, only real way in or out. You could block them off with a series of thick, low walls with narrow gates and still not be visible from the road. Vulnerable from above, of course, you always are in valleys, but the slopes are pretty steep, too steep for cavalry, and you’d have a really good field of fire, so you could make them pay through the nose for coming at you that way. The main problem would be if they dammed the stream, but we’re pretty sure there’s water not far down, half a dozen wells would be enough for an army. Plenty of good local stone. Timber’s a problem. We could plant on the far side of the hill, but a new plantation in the middle of all this garbage would be a bit of a giveaway. Other than that, though, it’s ideal, and, best of all, nobody knows it’s here.”

“Except the people who live here, of course.”

Axeo looked at him as though he’d said something stupid.

The street was empty, but there was a carriage drawn up outside a large house at the far end. In the City, particularly the district between the palace and the Wall, where the best people lived, it’d have been so normal as to be invisible. Here, it was absurd.

“We’ll level all this, of course,” Axeo said. “We can reuse most of the stone from the cottages, and it’s cutting and shipping materials that takes the time and costs the money. For now, though, they’re just camping out as best they can.” He drew up behind the gorgeous carriage. “I’ll drop you off here,” he said. “I imagine your boy’s in there, but, if not, just keep asking people till you find someone who knows what’s going on. I’ll drop the cart round to the stables when I’ve finished with it.”

Pleda could see why they’d chosen that cottage; it was either the forge or the granary, because a long single-storey building jutted out from it at right angles, which made it the biggest covered space in town. He watched his cart jingle away, then walked to the door and gave it a gentle push. It swung open and he went inside.

“Hello, Musen,” he said.

The boy was lying in one of five beds in the middle of the main room. Three of the other four were occupied, no doubt with casualties from the unintended battle. Musen was sitting up. There was a pack of cards on the blanket, but not laid out in any recognised pattern. The boy was holding one; he’d been gazing at it with a faraway look on his face.

Pleda came closer. “You all right?”

“I think so,” Musen said. He was swathed in clean bandages, and his broken arm was in a clean, neat new sling. “I thought I’d had it back there, but they say I’m going to be all right.” He lowered his voice. “It’s the brothers,” he said. “The ones who used to come here. I recognised two of them straight away, and they remembered me.”

On the far wall was a tall cabinet with long shelves, lined with jars and bottles, and a long oak table, with straps halfway down and at the end. On a rack on the wall next to it were surgeons’ tools. The floor was gleaming oak boards, not a trace of dirt anywhere. A tall barrel stood in the corner, and next to it a large copper cauldron, with a charcoal stove under it. Whoever ran this place knew what he was doing.

“Where is everybody?” Pleda asked quietly.

Musen smiled. “This used to be the forge,” he said. “So it’s fitting, really. Everybody’s gone. I asked them where, but nobody seems to know.”

Best of all, nobody knows it’s here. Not any more, at any rate. “What about your family?”

“Oh, they lived out of town a way, down the street and up the hill.” Lived, he’d said, and didn’t seem particularly concerned. “They’ve been telling me what they’re going to do here. It’s amazing. It’ll be a stronghold of the lodge, right here in Merebarton.”

The lodge is my family, always has been. Pleda decided to remember that he was here to do a job. “The brothers,” he said. “They’re the ones who—”

Musen nodded. “I haven’t said anything about why we’re here. But – well, it must be going to cost them a fortune, building a castle and a library and a school and everything.” He paused and frowned. “That big coach outside,” he said. “Do you know what all that’s about?”

Pleda shook his head. “That flash bastard knows, but he wouldn’t tell me.”

“This bit here’s the hospital,” Musen said, “but there’s more out back, where the smithy used to be. Of course, I haven’t seen in there. I think there must be another way in.” He grinned. “The smith who used to be here wasn’t a craftsman,” he said. “Can you believe that? It’s so stupid. Mind you, he was an idiot; you couldn’t have made him understand in a million years.”

Pleda looked at him for a while. The thing was, Musen was happy; you could see it all over his face. “Do you want me to try and find out where your family’s gone? Someone here must know. I could take a message.”

Musen shook his head. “I never liked them anyway.” He lowered his voice. “For a start, I don’t think my father was actually my father, if you know what I mean. He and I were always so different. I think—” He paused. “I think one of them, the brothers, was my real father. Maybe that’s why my dad never had any time for the lodge or anything like that. Dead set against it, always. And I think that’s why he killed my mother.”

Pleda hadn’t expected anything like this. “Your father—”

“Oh, nobody ever said anything. She died when I was a baby, and nobody ever talked about her. I’m sure he killed her, because of me. So you see, really they’re not my family, the lodge is.”

Difficult to find words. “Have you got any proof for any of this?”

Musen shrugged. “Not really. I don’t need any. I mean, I’m not going to
do
anything about it. I can’t be bothered, to be honest. Anyway, they’re probably all dead by now. It really doesn’t matter.”

Probably all dead. No sheep. Where would several hundred refugees go, in this country? It really doesn’t matter, said the son of the lodge. Cut their throats or turn them out on the moor, it’d come to the same thing in the end. They’d have died anyway, because of the war. Meanwhile, a choice piece of real estate, just right for the purpose—

“I don’t suppose anyone’s said anything,” Pleda said quietly. “But do you know why they’re doing this?”

Musen frowned. “Doing what?”

“Building a fortress. Here in the middle of the wilderness.”

“Oh, I see. Well, it’s for the war, I guess.”

That made no sense. “Don’t be stupid. The lodge isn’t in the war. We’re neutral.”

“Oh, not this war. This war doesn’t matter. They’re doing this for the next war. The important one. Us against them.
The
war.” Musen frowned at him. “You know that,” he said. “You must do.”

Pleda made a huge effort and kept his voice low and steady. “Where did you hear all this?”

“At the college, of course. You know, where I went to be trained. They told us about it. Not very much, obviously, we’re not secure, but just the basics, so we’d know. You know,” he added, with a touch of impatience. “
The
war. The one that this one’s clearing the way for. And I’m going to be in it,” he added, with a hint of wonder in his voice. “Me and all the other wild cards, it’s what they’ve been collecting us for.” He stopped, and looked closely at Pleda’s face. “You don’t know, do you?”

“What? No, of course, of course I know. I’m an Eight of Swords, remember?”

“You don’t know.” An accusation. “You don’t know anything about it at all. But I thought – getting you here, I mean. I thought that was what it was all
for
, to get you here. The emperor’s cards, I mean, and all that rubbish. To get money for the building, and to bring you here. I thought—” He stopped again. “I thought you were important. But you’re not, are you? They just wanted the money.”

Pleda took a deep breath. “What war?” he said. “Tell me.”

But Musen shook his head. “You don’t know,” he said. “So I can’t tell you. Don’t ask me any more. In fact, you’d better go away. I don’t know what I’m allowed to tell you, or anything.”

“Eight of bloody Swords,” Pleda said, in a low, harsh voice. “You’ll tell me what I ask, understood?
What war?
”

There was nothing on Musen’s face but contempt. “You don’t matter,” he said. “I’m home now; you can’t touch me. You’re not allowed to ask me questions. You might as well go and do what you’re here for, get those stupid cards. I don’t want to see you again, do you hear me?”

Pleda found the strength to smile at him. “Screw you, then,” he said. “And get well soon.”

He headed for the door, half expecting someone to stop him. What war? What war, and who against, for crying out loud? Clearing the way? There were the desert nomads, yes, the idiot Blemyans had stirred up a hornets’ nest there, and it would take the combined efforts of both empires to deal with them once and for all. Glauca knew that, and Senza Belot must realise it, too; and he imagined they weren’t stupid in the West, either. But
the
war, the one that this one’s clearing the way for— This war was certainly clearing the way; it had cleared sheep and men off every hillside from here to Beloisa, and from what he understood things weren’t much better anywhere else. But
the
war; for a war, you had to have armies. The way this war was going, it wouldn’t be long before there was nobody left. The Blemyans? That’d be a campaign, not a war, a paragraph in the official history.
What war?