The Hammer Part 2

Ah. The middle house door had been loose since spring, you had to prop it shut by jamming a branch under the one remaining hinge. Maybe that was why he liked the forge so much. Gradually, slowly, far too late but eventually, things got fixed here. It was the only place on the farm where things got better over time. "Looks tricky."

"It is," Aurelio said. "Quiet."

Gignomai knew why. Aurelio was waiting for the moment when the two pieces of iron he was intending to weld were almost melted. You couldn't always tell the moment by looking, but if you listened very carefully there was a sort of hissing noise. He heard it. Aurelio grabbed the tongs and s.n.a.t.c.hed the sun-white iron out of the fire and started tapping it with a hammer. It made a soft noise, not the usual hard ring. Gignomai waited until the hinge had gone back into the fire and asked, "Did it take?"

Aurelio smiled at him. "Just about. You could learn this, I reckon."

That was a rare compliment; also impossible. A son of the met'Oc couldn't learn a trade, though there was apparently nothing in the code of conduct about not doing menial labour, such as tending pigs, provided it was unskilled. "I'd like to," he said, "but my dad..."

Aurelio laughed. "Let me think about it," he said. "Now shut your face, I need to concentrate."

The fire provided light as well as heat, and he considered sneaking indoors for a book. But he wasn't nearly dry enough yet. But then, as he reached in his pocket for the wire, which he remembered he hadn't gloated over properly yet, he found something else: a roll of paper.

"Where'd that bottle come from?" Aurelio asked.

"What? Sorry. Found it. In the woods."

Fortuitously, at that moment a fat white spark drifted up out of the fire. It signified that the metal was starting to burn. Aurelio swore loudly, hauled the work out and started whacking it with his hammer. Under cover of all that, Gignomai took the paper from his pocket and examined it.

Paper, not parchment. Very occasionally, they made parchment on the farm, when Father felt the need to write one of his letters to someone back Home. For parchment you needed lamb rawhide, skived very thin, ground and polished (or else the ink soaked into it, and Father would lose his temper). Paper, made from rags, was beyond the limits of their technology. Gignomai shoved it quickly back in his pocket, hoping Aurelio hadn't seen. For some reason the old man indulged him to a quite extraordinary degree, but there had to be limits.

It seemed to take for ever for his clothes to dry, even in the forge where it was hot enough to make your skin feel tender. Eventually he reckoned he was dry enough to pa.s.s inspection. He thanked Aurelio for his hospitality (no reply) and scuttled back to his room, where he wedged the door shut with a broom handle before taking the paper over to the window. There was just about enough light. He'd have to read quickly, or else face the frustration of waiting for dawn. He unrolled the paper. There was a lot of writing.

THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW.

He raised an eyebrow. Furio, presumably. Who else could have slipped a roll of paper into his pocket without him noticing?

Furio Opello to Gignomai met'Oc; greetings.Every time I talk to you, I'm amazed at all the really basic stuff you don't know. Which is crazy, really, because you know all sorts of stuff I don't know. Different sorts of things. Well, you lend me books, so it's only fair. Anyway, this is some of the stuff you don't know. I hope it comes in useful.

Then a gap of a few lines. Gignomai paused to be astonished at the prodigality. When Father wrote letters, every last bit of s.p.a.ce was filled in, and Father could write really small. The paper, he realised, was a page torn out of a ledger.

1. History of the Colony 1. History of the Colony He felt a surge of annoyance, which he quickly and ruthlessly stifled. Things you should know, indeed. Things you should know, indeed.

The colony was founded seventy years ago. The plan was originally to mine silver, but there turned out not to be any. However, the first settlers found beavers and other furry animals whose pelts would fetch a lot of money back home. We still pay part of our rent in furs. The colony was founded seventy years ago. The plan was originally to mine silver, but there turned out not to be any. However, the first settlers found beavers and other furry animals whose pelts would fetch a lot of money back home. We still pay part of our rent in furs.When we arrived here, we didn't know the country was inhabited. The natives turned out not to be much trouble, though. They leave us alone, mostly. They don't plant crops like we do. They live off hunting and gathereing wild fruits and berries (He frowned, reached for his pencil and corrected the spelling.) and they move around all the time, so we don't seem to be in their way particularly. However, many people in the colony are frightened of what might happen if they decide to attack, since they outnumber us considerably. There used to be a permanent garrison here, to protect us (and keep us in order) but it was too expensive and the government at Home recalled them. Now there's just the militia, and the mayor (there isn't one) can call up any citizen for military service for a period not exceeding three months (this never happens).2. Economy and Society (He grinned. That was part of the t.i.tle of a book he'd lent Furio last year.) We grow all our own food here, but we have to import nearly all our tools and clothes and stuff from Home. Actually there are laws saying what we can and can't make here, to make sure we stay dependant (The pencil again.) on Home for everything we need, and to make sure we sell them all our meat and hides at cheap prices. We aren't allowed to trade with other countries. We supply salt beef and cured, untanned hides. My father and five other men handle all the trade between them.3. Your lot Your lot The met'Oc The met'OcObviously you know all about your family (Wrong.) but you might find it useful to know what the people in the colony reckon they know about them, if that makes any sense.Your family used to be great n.o.blemen back home, but they were on the wrong side in some war seventy years ago and had to clear out. They came here. We reckon they planned on takeing the place over. That didn't happen. There was still a garrison here then. Some people say there was some fighting. Your lot took over the Tabletop-that's what we call it, did you know that?-and made it into a sort of fortress. My dad says you have no t.i.tle to it. That means you don't own it legally, with deeds and stuff.Your lot aren't popular, obviously, because of all the cattle stealing, but it's actually not that bad. My dad says people tollerate you because you'll protect us if ever the savages attack. Don't know if this is true. He says you're the only ones with weapons (we aren't allowed to have them) and of course you've got the guns as well as swords and pikes and bows. Dad says that all you'd have to do is fire off a gun and the savages would run away. Anyhow, that's why people put up with Lusomai. Your dad and grandad did the same thing when they were younger. Dad reckons it doesn't actually matter that much if you just steal cattle, because people don't really own the cattle, not like they own pigs and chickens and sheep. They raise the cattle and get paid some money for them but they're not theirs. It's complicated, something to do with mortgages and quit rents and taxes. You might try telling your brother. Lay off the chickens.My uncle says your lot will never be allowed Home.

He lifted his head and looked out of the window. It was almost too dark to read now, and he made a deliberate decision to stop there and save the rest for tomorrow. He rolled the paper up tight and stuffed it right down inside his boot, then lay on the bed with his eyes closed, trying to think of something he could give Furio that might come anywhere close to being equivalent in value. It was, of course, the most extraordinary present he'd ever been given, and incomparably the best.

He didn't deliberately set out to ration the remaining sections, but that was what he ended up doing. The next morning, he only had time to read about Money Money (twelve quarters to the silver thaler, but money of account was different) and (twelve quarters to the silver thaler, but money of account was different) and Geography Geography (the colony is just the tip of a huge island six days' sail from Home) before he was called out to help round up escaped bullocks in the cabbage field. He was sent out with the pigs before he had a chance to go back to his room, and didn't get home till dusk. The next morning, however, he made the choice to read only one section. (Most of the colony are indentured. That means they paid for their pa.s.sage out by undertaking to work for the Company three days a week for fifty years.) The next morning, he was called out to feed the chickens while it was still too dark to read. When he'd finished and returned to the kitchen, Luso was waiting for him. (the colony is just the tip of a huge island six days' sail from Home) before he was called out to help round up escaped bullocks in the cabbage field. He was sent out with the pigs before he had a chance to go back to his room, and didn't get home till dusk. The next morning, however, he made the choice to read only one section. (Most of the colony are indentured. That means they paid for their pa.s.sage out by undertaking to work for the Company three days a week for fifty years.) The next morning, he was called out to feed the chickens while it was still too dark to read. When he'd finished and returned to the kitchen, Luso was waiting for him.

"Father wants to see you," Luso said, "in the library."

He tried to read Luso's face, but all he could get from it was a vague smugness; not a good sign.

"Now?" he asked.

"Now."

His conscience was relatively clear. The only major concern was breaking out, but if he'd been caught doing that, he'd have known about it straight away. He shrugged, went through to the front hall and started to climb the stairs.

Under other circ.u.mstances, the library was his favourite room. It was the biggest room in the house, with a dramatically high ceiling. All four walls were completely covered with books. The polished wooden floor was a desert. There were four old, carved chairs and a single ma.s.sive table, where the rosewood box stood, and that was all, apart from a small black pot-bellied stove in the west corner. Father was sitting in the biggest and ugliest chair. It was decorated with falconry scenes in deep relief. They'd been painted once, but only a few flakes of colour remained, in the cracks and combes between the figures. He wasn't reading. On the floor beside him lay a long, narrow box, figured walnut, with silver hinges.

"Happy birthday, Gignomai," Father said.

"Is it?" Gignomai blinked.

"Yes." Father didn't smile. "You weren't to know," he went on, "we don't bother with that nonsense much in this family. But it's your fourteenth, which makes it important."

Gignomai kept his face blank and his mouth shut.

"There are certain traditions," Father went on, s.h.i.+fting his head a little so he was looking just over the top of Gignomai's head, as though he was talking to where Gignomai should have been at age fourteen, if he hadn't turned out disappointingly short. "At fourteen, a son of the met'Oc receives a gift of great significance."

Gignomai waited, though he could guess what was coming. Big deal, he thought.

"First, though." Father adjusted the position of his head, like a scientist with a precision instrument. Now he was looking over Gignomai's right shoulder. "It's a trifle chilly in here, don't you think? Light the stove for me, would you? I worry about the damp getting into the books."

Everything was laid out ready for lighting the stove. Inside, a neat pyramid of slender kindling. Lying next to the stove, a tinderbox, dry moss and a roll of paper.

"Light the stove," Father repeated quietly.

His own fault, Gignomai told himself, for not reading the whole thing as soon as possible. No secrets in this house. He piled the moss round the base of the kindling, cranked the tinderbox, shook the burning shavings onto the moss; he considered trying to palm the paper and slide it up his sleeve, but Father was far too smart for that, even though he pointedly wasn't watching. He held the end of the roll in the smouldering moss till it caught fire, then pushed it under the base of the pyramid. He shut the stove door and stood up. but Father was far too smart for that, even though he pointedly wasn't watching. He held the end of the roll in the smouldering moss till it caught fire, then pushed it under the base of the pyramid. He shut the stove door and stood up.

"Your birthday present," Father said.

He went back to the middle of the room, and Father pointed at the box on the floor. Gignomai knelt down and lifted the two catches. They were beautifully made-pierced and chiselled work-and so stiff that he tore a fingernail. Inside the box, as he'd antic.i.p.ated, was a sword.

"Wear it with pride," Father said. "Use it with discretion."

It was, of course, Luso's old sword. The family had eight swords, plus the hunting hanger Luso had bought from Furio's dad. Luso greatly preferred it to the sword he'd been given (this one) because it had a cutting edge. The family swords were all smallswords, thin and triangular in section. You could kill people with them, but that was all they were good for. Gignomai wondered if his father had asked Luso before taking this one back. He doubted it.

"Thanks," he said.

"You will, of course, only wear it on formal occasions," Father went on. "Lusomai will teach you how to fence. An hour a day to begin with, then two hours a day once you've mastered the basics. I expect you to practise properly."

"Yes, Father."

"Make sure you do. I'll be testing you myself from time to time." Father hesitated, which wasn't like him. Usually he spoke like someone who knew his lines by heart. "That sword belonged to my father, who had it from his uncle, Erchomai met'Oc. He was chancellor of the empire for thirty years."

Gignomai guessed that he was supposed to pick the rotten thing up at this point. He looked to see if anybody had got around to straightening the knuckle-bow-Luso had bent it, throwing it across the room in a temper when Gignomai was nine. The bend made it painfully difficult to get your hand inside the guard. It'd take Aurelio about five minutes to straighten it. Needless to say, it was still bent. Fencing lessons with Luso, Gignomai thought. What fun.

Father was waiting for something. He knew he wouldn't say what it was, because Gignomai was supposed to know without prompting or hints, and the audience couldn't end until Father was satisfied. "Thanks," Gignomai said, but it wasn't as simple as that. "Thank you," he said. "I'll take good care of it, I promise."

Either that was it or Father was getting restless. "Mind you do," he said. "Put some logs on the fire before you leave."

Gignomai waited for as long as he could-six days-then broke out again. He took the sword with him. There weren't any guards this time, the perceived threat of reprisal having faded, and he went straight to Furio's house. He thanked Furio for his gift, gravely and seriously, then asked, "How did you know it was my birthday?" "How did you know it was my birthday?"

Furio looked at him. "I didn't. Was it?"

"Yes." Gignomai felt disappointed. "Well anyway, it was a great present. Thanks."

That was more thanks than Furio was equipped to handle. He looked away, keen to change the subject. "What else did you get?"

"This," Gignomai said. He'd wrapped the sword up in a big, slightly mouldy sack, to disguise what it was. "And now I've got to have fencing lessons."

Furio was staring at the sword as though he'd never seen anything like it. Well, of course, he hadn't. "That's amazing," he said. "Your family gave you that?"

He found the enthusiasm annoying. "Well, it's not really mine. I mean, Luso had it before me, but he didn't like it, so..."

"That must be worth an absolute fortune."

It hadn't occurred to Gignomai to think of it in terms of value. He couldn't imagine anybody wanting it. "Really?"

"You bet. Hey, Dad." Furio's father was pa.s.sing the stock-room door. "Have you got a minute?"

Furio's father was even more impressed than his son had been. "Extremely valuable," he answered, when Furio asked him. "I'm no expert, of course, it all depends on the maker and the condition."

"It's bent," Gignomai pointed out. "Luso bashed it against a wall."

Furio's dad had drawn two inches of blade out of the scabbard. He was gazing at the patterns in the steel, the slender, semi-abstract design of wreathed foliage chiselled into the rica.s.so rica.s.so. He stuck his hand in his pocket and produced a lens (who on earth carried something like that about with him?), through which he stared closely at the name engraved just below the pas d'ane pas d'ane.

"Well?" Furio asked.

"At least twelve thousand," his father relied. "Could be twice that. I don't know."

"Twelve thousand thalers," Furio whispered, as if in the presence of some dark angel. "Your dad gave you a present worth-"

Gignomai said it before he could stop himself. "Is that a lot of money?"

Furio's dad laughed. Furio scowled, and said, "You know the Glisenti place? Out on the south road. Freehold. It sold last week for eight hundred."

Worth more than a whole farm-Gignomai felt slightly sick. His first thought, he realised, had been, I could get a long way away with that kind of money.

"As I said," he said, "it's not really mine, it belongs to the family."

"I'm not saying you could get twelve thousand for it here here, of course." Furio's dad's voice had changed very slightly, and Furio was glowering at him behind his back. "I mean, n.o.body here's got that sort of money, and if they had, they wouldn't spend it on a status symbol. You'd have to find a merchant from Home, and of course he'd want his percentage, and then he'd probably pa.s.s it on to a specialist dealer. But definitely five thousand. Definitely."

Furio was getting angry, so Gignomai took the sword, gently but firmly, and put it back in the sack. For a split second Furio's dad looked very sad. Then he said, "If ever your family does think of selling..."

"They wouldn't," Gignomai said. "Not ever. We don't sell stuff. We keep it till it rusts, or we've forgotten where we put it."

Shortly after that, the bad thing happened, and Gignomai didn't break out again for a long time.

Seven Years After

"Do you think he'll like me?" she said for the fifteenth or sixteenth time, and Furio pretended he hadn't heard. He glanced sideways at the clock (for the fifteenth or sixteenth time). The hands didn't seem to have budged since he last looked.

"Do I look nice?" she said.

He nodded.

The clock was, of course, a joke. In a life dominated (as he saw it) by jokes, it was one of the biggest. It was the only clock in the colony, unless the met'Oc had one (and if they had, Gig had never mentioned it), and the function of a clock, surely, is to share a common truth, or at least a common belief, with other clocks. A solitary clock is the proverbial one clapping hand. No earthly good saying to someone "I'll meet you by the customs shed at ten minutes past eleven" if you've got the only clock in the country. It might have had some semblance of purpose if it had been set up in a tower in the square, but it wasn't. It lived in the back room of the store. While Father was alive, it had been on display in the store itself, but when he died, Uncle had moved it. He was afraid someone might steal it.

"Do I look all right?" she said.

"Yes, for crying out loud," he snapped. "You look absolutely f.u.c.king stunning."

Also (and this was something n.o.body knew, except him), the clock was wrong wrong. For the first sixty-three years of the colony's existence, it had been carefully tended, almost wors.h.i.+pped, first by Grandfather, then by Father. They wound it, thirty-six turns of the key, at six in the evening every day, without fail, and once a week they advanced the big hand two minutes. Anybody looking at it could therefore rely on the information it displayed. Here, or back Home, or anywhere at all, if the clock said it was six o'clock, it was six o'clock. It was a truth that bound them together and connected them, as if by some mystical bond, with the place they'd all come from. But when Mother died and Father got depressed for a while, he'd forgotten to wind it one day, and it had stopped. He'd set it next day by the sun, making his best guess at noon, and it wasn't far out. But the link had been broken, and now the clock was a lie. Or, as Furio preferred to interpret it, a joke.

"Where's Tissa?" she asked. "She should be here by now."

"Tissa's always late," Furio replied. "Sit down, can't you? You're giving me a headache, wandering about like that."

"Charming," she replied, and she perched delicately on the edge of a table, like a carefully arranged ornament.

Which, of course, she was. By universal consensus (and it was a subject much debated), Bonoa was the prettiest girl in the colony. She was also acknowledged to be clever, a good talker; she could be relied on to laugh at jokes; she even made jokes of her own, when appropriate. She'd been the obvious choice. She was clearly pleased to have been chosen. It was just a pity she was such a fidget. He wondered if that would matter, and decided probably it wouldn't.

The door opened, but it was only Tissa. She smiled at him. He grabbed her, gave her an absent-minded sort of a kiss and let her go. She moved away and started talking to Bonoa-you look nice, so do you stuff, a conversation to which he was thankfully irrelevant.

"He's not here, then," Tissa said.

Furio smiled at her. "Correct," he said. "How'd you guess?"

She flicked her hair away from her face. "You drag me over here to meet the legendary Gignomai and he's not here." She looked at the clock. Everybody did that, when they came in. It was remarkable how many people in the colony could tell the time. "He's late."

Furio shrugged. "Maybe he's had trouble getting out."

The girls looked at each other and, for some reason he couldn't be bothered to guess at, giggled. "Surely not," Tissa said, "not the amazing Gignomai. Didn't you tell me he can make himself invisible?"

"Or fly like a bird," Bonoa said.

"Or transform himself into a-"

"Quiet." Furio held up his hand. He'd heard a footstep outside. He scowled horribly at Bonoa, then glanced at Tissa and mouthed, "Behave." Then the door opened.

Gignomai was soaking wet. For a split second, Furio was bitterly angry with him for not making the entrance he'd expected of him. He dismissed the anger as ridiculous, grinned at his friend and said, "You're late."

Gignomai shrugged. "Luso called an unscheduled fencing session," he replied, and while he was speaking, Furio noticed a cut above and to the right of his left eye just starting to clot. Of course, he might have cut himself scrambling through the woods. "Anyway, sorry."

"You're all wet," Furio said.

"Had to swim the river. We've taken to posting a sentry to watch the ford. I had to go a mile upstream." Gignomai shrugged again, as if wriggling out of the subject of the tribulations of his journey. He'd glanced quickly at the two girls then moved his head so he couldn't see them. "Who...?"

Furio drew in a breath, not too deep. "I'd like you to meet Comitissa, and this is Bonoa."

There was a split second when Furio was sure the whole thing was going to go horrendously wrong. During that moment, he realised that he'd been working on a mere a.s.sumption-that Gig, trapped up on that G.o.dforsaken mountain with his weirdo family would necessarily want more than anything else in the world to meet girls. On that premise he'd arranged this meeting, working long, hard and patiently. Reasonably enough he'd taken it for granted that it would be better if it was a surprise, because there's nothing more awkward than a formal blind date prearranged in cold blood. For the first time, it occurred to him that it might have been a good idea to tell Gig in advance, rather than ambush him.