The Hammer Part 11

He stood up, apologising to his body for the shocking state he'd managed to get it in. He looked across at the plateau. The further away from it he went, the more of it he could see. Yet more metaphor. f.u.c.k that. He turned round, and all he could see was the flat plain.

Some time later, he reached the dock. There was no ship.

The place was, in fact, practically deserted. There was just the one old man sitting on an upturned barrel with his feet dangling like a child's. He was looking down at his hands, and didn't look up when Gignomai's shadow fell across his face. But he said, "I know you. You're the youngest met'Oc boy."

Gignomai never understood how people he'd never met knew who he was, but he was gradually learning to accept it. "When's the next ship due?" he asked.

The old man lifted his thumb and stared at it. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with it. "Spring," he said.

"Oh."

The old man laughed. "Season's over, see," he said. "From now till spring, you can forget about going anywhere. Wind's all over the place, like the mad woman's s.h.i.t."

Gignomai took a moment to pa.r.s.e that. "No ships at all?"

"No." Now he looked up. "You in a hurry or something?"

Gignomai shrugged. "I've got business I want to see to back Home. Look, is there anybody with a ship here who'd-?"

The old man thought that was really funny. "n.o.body's got a ship," he said, "don't you know that? Term of the f.u.c.king charter, we aren't allowed any. So the Company keeps its monopoly, see? Even the fishing's owned by the Company."

No, Gignomai hadn't known that. "Nothing at all?"

"Nothing," the old man said slowly and deliberately, "with a sail, or capable of being fitted with a sail. That's the words, in the charter. It's the law."

"Fine," he said, "not to worry, I'll just have to make other arrangements."

The old man must have thought Gignomai was the funniest thing ever. "Other arrangements," he repeated, with a huge grin. "What, you going to walk walk to the mainland?" to the mainland?"

Some time later, Gignomai thought, after many travails. But no; he'd had quite enough of doing the impossible. "Thanks," he said. "You've been a real help."

The old man was looking at his thumb again. Gignomai really couldn't see what was so fascinating. "What are you doing here anyhow?" the old man asked. "Business, you say."

"That's right. Thanks again."

So he walked into town. By the time he'd got there, he knew he wasn't going to get much further. He just made it to Furio's place. He really didn't want to pa.s.s out on the front step, because that would be sheer unadulterated melodrama, but in the event he didn't have any choice.

"You're back, then," Furio said. He was grinning.

Gignomai lifted his head. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Furio stifled a yawn. That and the way he was sitting in his chair suggested he'd been there for some time. "Glad you came back."

"The sword," Gignomai said. Furio leaned back and lifted it off the floor. "It's all right," Furio said. "It's here, it's safe. That's what you went back for, right?"

"I need to see your uncle," Gignomai said. "Soon as possible."

"Now isn't possible." Furio frowned a little. "Teucer says you're too weak for visitors. She tried to chase me out, but..."

Teucer. Gignomai raised his left hand and stared at it. Four neat, perfectly s.p.a.ced little st.i.tches. He felt his stomach contract, and he had to swallow hard three times to keep from throwing up.

"Good, isn't she?" Furio was saying. "She's forgiven you, by the way. At least, she was so thrilled to have someone to practise on. Someone who kept still, on account of being dead to the world."

Gignomai lowered his hand, letting it droop over the side of the bed so he wouldn't catch sight of it. "Please," he said, "get your uncle. She doesn't have to know."

"All right." Furio went to the door, then stopped. "You know what," he said, "for a pampered son of the aristocracy born to a life of idle pleasure, you don't half get yourself banged up."

Stheno, Gignomai thought, hoeing turnips for nine hours in the murderous heat. Pampered son, idle pleasure. "I'm an eccentric," he said. "Now will you please get your uncle."

Furio's Uncle Marzo turned the sword slowly between his fingers. "Hold on," he said, and ground away a patch of caked rust with his thumbnail. "There's some writing here."

"Where?"

"On the rica.s.so rica.s.so."

How come a simple merchant knew the correct nomenclature for the parts of a sword? "Is there? Sorry, I've never looked at it that closely."

Marzo stood up and turned his chair to face the window. "I can't quite make it out," he said. "Eyes aren't quite as sharp as they used to be."

Gignomai grinned at him. "In my right coat pocket," he said. "I don't know if they got busted while I was fooling about."

Marzo retrieved the eyegla.s.ses and stood perfectly still, staring at them. "Are these...?"

"From Home," Gignomai said. "Quite old, I believe. I'm glad they didn't get all smashed up."

"I've heard of such things, but I've never seen one before."

"Try them on," Gignomai said. "The spring clip goes over the bridge of your nose. Should stay put of its own accord," he added. Marzo was holding the eyegla.s.ses in place with both hands. "Well?"

"Amazing." Marzo tentatively let go, like a father teaching a toddler to walk, then held his fingertips up to his face. "d.a.m.n it, I can see all the pores in my skin."

"They're also quite good for reading," Gignomai said. "Go on, try it."

Marzo picked up one of the stolen books-Callicrates on Mechanisms, the one that had lost its cover when Gignomai got wedged in the hole. "Unbelievable," he said. "I haven't been able to see stuff that clearly for ten years." the one that had lost its cover when Gignomai got wedged in the hole. "Unbelievable," he said. "I haven't been able to see stuff that clearly for ten years."

"Must be hard in your line of work, if you have trouble reading."

"Worst thing is my own handwriting," Marzo said. "Actually, I've never seen as well as this, not ever." He took the eyegla.s.ses off his nose but didn't put them down on the table. "I don't suppose you'd consider..."

"Selling?"

Marzo nodded hopefully.

"No."

"Ah well." Marzo laid the eyegla.s.ses down, but didn't quite let go of them. "Just thought I'd ask."

"You can have them. As a present." Gignomai laughed, as Marzo's mouth dropped open. There was someone he never thought he'd see lost for words.

"You're sure?"

"Of course. My way of saying thank you for your hospitality."

("You're mad," Furio said later. "He'd have paid a fortune for them."

"Maybe," Gignomai replied.

"No maybe about it. He hates not being able to read. He'd have given anything..."

"Which still wouldn't be enough. But I could tell he was determined to have them, even if he had to steal them or swindle me. Now I've got a friend instead of an enemy.") "So," Gignomai said, when he judged Marzo had had long enough to revel in his new possession. "What does the writing on the sword say?"

"Oh, right." Marzo bent close. "Hey, it's really easy with these. It says Carnufex in civ Pol Carnufex in civ Pol and then a date: 973. Carnufex," he repeated. and then a date: 973. Carnufex," he repeated.

"Oh, I know about him," Gignomai said. "My father's got a Carnufex, it's a really famous make. He gave us all a lecture about it when we were kids." He frowned. "I don't suppose he knew this one was a Carnufex too."

Marzo was turning the pages of a book he'd taken from his pocket. "Carnufex," he said. "Flourished AUC 962 to 981, premises in Foregate, value range A plus." He turned to the back of the book, then whistled.

"You've got a book of sword values?"

"Heirlooms, antiquities and objects of virtue," Marzo replied, showing Gignomai the cover. "Got it from a freighter captain year before last. G.o.d knows what I thought I'd ever need it for."

But Gignomai thought of Marzo walking out onto his porch each morning and looking in the direction of the Tabletop, that treasury of wonderful things from another place and time, and had a fairly shrewd idea. After all, one day the met'Oc might push their luck too far, and whoever was there to loot the ruins would need a buyer. Fair enough, he thought. People die, things move on. "What does the book say it's worth?"

Marzo hesitated; then maybe he felt the unaccustomed pressure of the spring clip on his nose, prompting him to be grateful and honest. "In good condition, thirty-eight thousand." His voice was a whisper, like an old woman at prayer.

"So let's knock off a third for the damage," Gignomai said briskly. "That's, what..."

"Twenty-five thousand, three hundred." Marzo said immediately.

"And you'll probably have to go halves with your buyer," Gignomai said calmly, "and I'll go halves with you. Say twelve thousand for round numbers. Deal?"

"I haven't got twelve thousand thalers," Marzo said.

"I know." Gignomai shrugged. "There isn't that much money in the entire colony. On the other hand, I'm stuck here till the spring, I can't go home, and everything I own is lying on that table." He paused for a moment, then said, "I'm sure we can come up with some sort of arrangement, don't you think?"

Marzo looked at him blankly. "You can stop here as long as you like," he said. "No charge. I thought you knew that."

"Because I'm Furio's friend?"

"Yes."

Gignomai nodded. "Let's just say I don't like being beholden. Anyway," he added quickly, "I'm not planning on staying here. No offence, but I'm not comfortable here."

Marzo kept his face straight. "I imagine it's not what you're used to."

"You could say that," Gignomai replied. "For one thing, the roof doesn't leak. For another, I don't have to share my living s.p.a.ce with my lunatic brother. I didn't mean comfortable in that sense." He stopped; he hadn't meant to say any of this. "I mean, I'm not comfortable being in the colony. Or up there on the hill. I want to go somewhere else else."

"Where?" Marzo was looking at him. "There isn't anywhere."

"Yes there is. Outside."

He could tell that Marzo was forming a diagnosis: bang on the head, exposure, and when had he last eaten? "You can't," he said. "There's the savages."

"Who've never done us any harm," Gignomai replied levelly. "Actually, I meant to ask you about them. What do you know?"

"Very little, now you mention it." Marzo frowned. "I mean, they're..."

"Savages." Gignomai nodded. "Which means, not like us. But I'm not like you, and we seem to be able to get along without violence."

"They're afraid of us, that's why."

"Hardly." Gignomai smiled at him. "How many men in the colony? Two hundred? And no weapons, thanks to the government back Home."

"There used to be a garrison."

"Years ago," Gignomai pointed out, "before you were born."

"Not quite," Marzo said. "They left when I was a kid. But-"

"They may be savages," Gignomai said, "but they're not blind. I expect they can count. And there's thousands of them, and I'm prepared to bet they've got weapons."

"Not like ours."

"We haven't got any. Apart from that," he nodded at the sword, "and Luso's box of toys, and the snapping-hens. If the savages wanted to wipe you out, it'd take them a day. But they haven't, not in seventy years."

Marzo shook his head. He looked unhappy about the turn the conversation had taken. "Because we keep ourselves to ourselves," he said. "Only for that reason. If you go trespa.s.sing on their territory..."

But Gignomai smiled. "You know," he said, "that's more or less what my mother used to tell me. Don't even think of leaving the Tabletop, she said. They hate us, the people in that town. You set foot on the plain and they'll tear you apart. You know what? She was wrong. Admit it," he added, with a gentle grin, "you haven't given the savages a thought in years."

Marzo scowled at him, then nodded. "You're right, of course," he said, "once I'd given up hope of ever being able to sell them anything. They're no use to anybody and they don't bother us. They might as well not be there." He ran a hand through what was left of his hair. "But that's a whole different matter from going and living with the b.u.g.g.e.rs," he said. "For one thing, they don't even stay put."

"Nomadic is the word you're looking for," Gignomai replied. "And I don't want to go and live with them."

"But you said-"

Gignomai shook his head. "I said I don't want to go back to the Tabletop and I don't want to stay in the colony. Since there's no ship till the spring, that just leaves Outside. That's a far cry from going to live in a cart with the savages."

Marzo shook his head. "As I told you," he said, "I haven't got twelve thousand thalers; there isn't that much money in the country. What did you have in mind?"

"Lumber," Gignomai replied promptly, "and provisions and some tools and other stuff. All things I know you've got."

"What for?"

"What for?" Furio asked.

Gignomai lay back on the bed. His head was hurting, and he found it hard to think. "My future," he said. "Basically, what I want to do when I grow up."