The Hammer Part 34

The messenger nodded. "If the younger brother survives the widow," he said, "there would, under intestacy law, be an equal division of the estate. However, if Gignomai predeceased..."

Marzo smiled warmly. "Which he did," he said. "Luso, then Gignomai, then Pasi last of all."

The messenger's eyebrows went up. "You'd be prepared to certify that?"

"As Lord Chief Justice," Marzo said, "sure. In writing. We made a thorough investigation of the scene, and found incontrovertible proof that the deaths took place in that order. There's a report somewhere," he added, with a vague wave of his hand toward the stack of paper on the windowsill-receipted bills from the factory, as it happened. "You don't mind if I don't dig it out right now, do you? We're a bit behind on our filing, to tell you the truth."

"No, that's perfectly all right," the messenger said quickly. "All I need is a signed certificate from the Chief Justice."

"Lord Chief Justice," Furio murmured, as Marzo uncapped his inkwell and reached for the nearest piece of paper, turned it over and found it had been written on already and scrabbled about until he found a blank sheet.

"Of course," Marzo said, as he wrote, "there are certain implications. I'm sure I don't need to explain."

The messenger shrugged. "Just to clarify," he said.

"Of course." Marzo laid his pen down carefully. "You see, it occurs to me that this certificate I'm writing for you now won't actually mean anything in a court of law, for example, unless your government recognises its validity."

The messenger blinked. "I'm sorry? I don't quite..."

"Oh, I think you do," Marzo said. "Let me make it easy for you. If your government recognises that this colony is now an independent state, with the right to appoint its own officers, such as the Lord Chief Justice, for example, then this certificate is a valid instrument and can be relied on in a court of law. But if your government doesn't recognise us, and reckons we're still just a bunch of rebels, then this piece of paper is worthless and no use to you whatsoever."

The messenger nodded, very slowly. "I think I see what you're saying," he said.

"Now obviously," Marzo went on, "you're just a messenger, you haven't got the authority to recognise us as an independent nation. But it seems to me, if the met'Ousa take their inheritance claim to court, and the court accepts this as a valid certificate, then by implication, the court, and the government it represents, must also be recognising our independence. In other words, if your met'Ousa want the met'Oc money, we want this country for ourselves. Now that's fair, isn't it?"

The messenger hesitated for quite some time. "There's also the matter," he said, "of the met'Oc a.s.sets in this country. We were led to believe that these a.s.sets were quite substantial. Land, a house."

Furio and Marzo looked at each other. "I'm afraid you may have been misled," Marzo said. "The house burned to the ground, along with all the contents."

"I see," the messenger said quietly. "The land."

"Death duties," Furio said. "Just about covered what was due. It's now in public owners.h.i.+p."

"Of course," the messenger said, in a rather brittle voice. "You might just certify that as well, if it's no trouble."

"No trouble at all," Marzo said, and picked up his pen.

Later, when the messenger had gone back to his boat and was halfway across the bay, Furio said, "Do you think we ought to tell him?"

Marzo shook his head. "Better not," he said.

"I think we should," Furio said.

"Better not," Marzo repeated firmly. "Justice is all very well, but my job's keeping the peace. Besides, Gignomai belongs to us now. The less any of us dwells on the past, the better for everyone."

Furio looked at him, then nodded. "Yes, Lord Chief Justice," he said.

There was a particular kind of weed that grew well in ashes. It grew fast and tall, and was so bitter that even the rabbits and goats left it alone. It had a thick brown stem and a wispy pale red flower, and the site of the met'Oc house was covered in it, so that nothing was visible apart from the patch that Gignomai kept clear, where the bay window used to overlook the gates of the hall. There, to the remaining stub of wall, he had fixed five iron plates, with the names of his parents, brothers and sister, including all their t.i.tles and honours. It was his custom throughout his life to lay lavender blossom under these plates on the anniversary of the Great Fire, as it had come to be known.

On the fifth anniversary, he met Marzo coming up the track as he was coming down. Marzo was carrying a sheaf of flags and wild lilies, the kind that grew on the riverbank a couple of hundred yards upstream from the ford.

"Paying my respects to your brother," Marzo said. Gignomai didn't ask which one. He grinned.

"It's a free country," he said.

Marzo pulled a slight face. "You?" he said.

"Same sort of thing." In his left hand, he held the brush hook he'd been using to cut back the fire-weed. "I'm sure Luso would appreciate it," he said.

"I doubt that very much," Marzo replied cheerfully. "Still, he's got no say in the matter, so I can do what I like."

Gignomai smiled, then the smile faded, quickly and completely. "I hear there was a s.h.i.+p yesterday."

"That's right." Marzo leaned against a tree. He was short of breath from the climb. "The lads put a ball over her bows. Turned out they didn't want to land here after all."

Gignomai nodded. "Scarpedino tells me you had the captain over at your place for a while. Council was in session, too, so I heard."

"Coincidence," Marzo said. "Nice man, their captain. I sold him a few bits and pieces, just to keep my hand in." Which was true. All the met'Oc's gold and silver plate had melted in the fire, but gold and silver nuggets, even with chunks of slag and cinder in them, were still worth good money, and one day there'd be other s.h.i.+ps. "We'd have sent down to you, only we knew you were busy, and we didn't really want the s.h.i.+p hanging about any longer than necessary."

Gignomai dipped his head to acknowledge the validity of the reasoning. "They didn't need to take on water, then, or anything like that."

"They didn't ask," Marzo replied, "we didn't offer. I've got lads out watching, in case they try and put in down the coast some place. And I've put a guard on Boulomai's s.h.i.+p down at East Bay. Doesn't do to leave valuable stuff just lying around when there's strangers about."

"That's all right, then," Gignomai said. "No big deal."

"No big deal," Marzo confirmed. "How's Teucer, by the way? And the kid?"

Gignomai didn't like it when Marzo called young Luso "the kid," but Marzo never seemed to take the hint. "Oh, they're fine," he said. "Last time I looked."

Marzo pulled a sad face. "Things are still...?"

"We keep out of each other's way," Gignomai said.

"It's a shame, though, really," Marzo persisted. He could tell Gignomai wanted to be on his way, so he was determined to spin the conversation out a little longer. "She was really quite keen on you at one time, I always thought."

"Maybe," Gignomai said. "But we both knew what we were getting into. I needed an heir, for the family name and all that garbage. She wanted a husband so she could own property and generally have a life. So long as there's plenty of broken arms and bashed heads for her to fuss over, she's happy enough. And making money, too," he added with a grin. "Not sure I could afford to have her patch me up, the rates she charges. Chip off the old block there, I reckon."

"Thank you," Marzo said sincerely. "Coming from you, that means a great deal."

"Well," Gignomai said, injecting a little briskness into his voice, "I mustn't keep you. I expect you've got a lot to do. Give my best to Furio. Haven't seen him at the factory for a day or so."

"His youngest is teething," Marzo said, "poor b.u.g.g.e.r hasn't been getting quite as much sleep as he's used to. Of course, you'll know all about that."

Gignomai gave him a cold look. "Not really," he said. "We put Luso out to a wetnurse when he was at that stage. If there's one thing I can't be doing with, it's being woken up in the middle of the night."

"Me too," Marzo said. "Nothing more annoying, specially if you have trouble sleeping. Wouldn't suit me, though, sending the kid away like that. Still, it wouldn't do if all families were alike. I'll tell Furio you asked after him."

"Remind him I want a dozen men up here, day after tomorrow," Gignomai said. "We're re-opening the old clay pit, remember?" He sighed, and looked round. "Only thing worth having up here any more," he said.

"Oh, I don't know," Marzo said. "I heard somewhere you've got a nice flock of goats up here these days, and some pretty good pigs coming on, too."

Gignomai shrugged. "It's rubbish land," he said. "Goats and pigs is all it's good for, Stheno always said. He nearly killed himself trying to grow wheat up on Redside. That's all briars and nettles now," he added.

"No luck finding a tenant?"

"Who'd want to pay rent for that when there's all the good land you could ever want on the other side of the river, rent free?" He shook his head. "No, I don't think I'll be bothering with this lot any more after this year. I'm too busy, and what I'd get off it wouldn't pay the men's wages for working it. Might put it down to coppice some time, if I can make the effort. You can never have enough charcoal, after all."

Marzo smiled at him. He considered saying that it had always been a good spot for burning things, but he didn't want to push his luck. "That'd probably be best," he said, "if you can keep the deer out. But who knows, your kid might turn out like his uncle, and then you'd be all right."

Gignomai rewarded him with a faint grin. "Actually," he said, "there's not nearly as many deer up here as there used to be. Luso put a lot of effort into managing them, culling the weak bucks, that sort of thing. Also, the farmers shoot them, which doesn't bother me at all," he added brightly. "Means we'd be in with a chance if we do decide to plant it out with coppice. We'll have to see how we go, though. Can't see how I could spare the manpower any time this year, the way things are at the factory."

Marzo put on a sympathetic face. "I heard the hammer was down again yesterday."

"b.l.o.o.d.y thing," Gignomai said, with feeling. "Looks like the foundations have completely broken up, what with all the pounding they get. So that means dismantling the whole thing and starting again from scratch, which'll mean at least a week's lost production. If I had the energy I'd build another one, so at least there's be one running when the other breaks down."

"Good idea," Marzo said. "You ought to do that."

"It's time," Gignomai said sadly. "That's the problem. Never enough time to get things done, so you're always slipping behind. Then, when something breaks, you're screwed." He laughed quite suddenly. "I'm starting to sound just like Stheno," he said. "Still, I'm beginning to understand how he felt, poor b.u.g.g.e.r. He never did have it easy, my brother."

"I'll let you get on," Marzo said, and headed on up the hill, whistling.

After he'd finished at the Tabletop, Gignomai didn't go back to his house in town. He rarely went there these days-usually only when he had to preside at a council meeting, or deal with some other form of official business. He told anyone who asked that it was because he didn't like being around all the sick people who came to see his wife. It was a shame n.o.body believed him, because it was partly true. Instead, he walked back to the factory, where he slept on a mattress in the tiny back room of the drawing office. When he remembered about food, he ate in the canteen, usually after everybody else had gone back on s.h.i.+ft. A woman came down from town once a month with clean, ironed, folded clothes for him to wear. Most of them were still folded when she called again. It was, people said to him, a strange way for the richest man in the colony to live, at which point, he would smile politely and change the subject.

To his surprise, he found Furio waiting for him in the drawing office, sitting on the high draughtsman's stool, staring at the plans he'd been working on for the improved iron furnace. They were upside down.

"I never could make head nor tail of your drawings," he said.

"Don't see why not," Gignomai replied, throwing the brush-hook into the corner of the room and taking off his hat. "I taught myself to read this sort of thing, so you could do it too, if you wanted."

Furio smiled at him. "Can't be bothered," he said. "Presumably it all means something to you, and that's all that matters. What...?"

"The new furnace," Gignomai said. "Been having a bit of trouble joining the flue to the chimney hood. But I think I can see how to do it." He pulled the paper gently out of Furio's hand and laid it down flat on the desk. "What brings you here?"

It was always interesting to watch Furio trying to bring himself to tell a lie. Sometimes he struggled so hard that you really wanted him to succeed. The nearest thing to it that Gignomai had ever seen was a very old man pus.h.i.+ng a very heavy wheelbarrow halfway (and no further) up an impossibly steep, narrow ramp.

"Five years," Furio said, giving up the attempt.

"Ah." Gignomai nodded. "You want to talk to me about what happened five years ago." He shrugged, and sat on the edge of the long plank table. "Go ahead."

"We've never talked about it. I think it's about time."

"Sure," Gignomai snapped impatiently, "fine. Like I said, go ahead. You know your trouble, Furio? You're incapable of taking yes for an answer."

But Furio wasn't going to be rushed, fl.u.s.tered or bounced. Maybe Luso could've done it, in his prime, but Gignomai wasn't in his league. He folded his arms and looked so solemn that Gignomai wanted to laugh. "I never told my uncle," he said.

"I know. But he's guessed quite a lot, I think. At least," Gignomai went on, scratching the back of his head, "he's got a number of theories, and he sort of tries them out on me by needling me, ever so gently, every time we meet. Never goes too far, but always keeps up a slight, continuous pressure. I don't mind," he added, "I reckon he's earned the right."

"He worries," Furio said, "about what he did, what he was party to. Actually, he's asked me direct questions, once or twice."

"And you said?"

"Don't be so b.l.o.o.d.y stupid, or words to that effect. But it's like the way you ask a kid if he's done something, when you know he's done it. He wouldn't have asked me if he wasn't sure in his mind he knew the answer."

Gignomai smiled. "Your uncle is a shrewd man," he said, "but a pragmatist."

"Oh, sure." Furio shrugged. "He'd never pa.s.s on his suspicions to anybody else, he's too deeply implicated himself. He likes the way things have turned out. I'm just saying, I didn't tell him. In case you were wondering."

"Never crossed my mind," Gignomai replied. "You had your chance to turn me in, and-"

"I missed it. Because I was held up, killing a man."

Gignomai acknowledged that with a slight movement of the head and shoulders. "Not your fault."

"I'm grateful to you, actually," Furio said. "I never had to make the choice: intervene, or stand by and say nothing. You were kind enough to spare me that."

"Least I could do," Gignomai said. "After I'd used you, like I used everybody else. I'm not proud of that. In fact, I'm not proud of anything I've done, ever." Furio raised an eyebrow, so he went on, "Motive, you see. Always motive. It's like when someone's born particularly tall or very handsome-good things to be, and people will always like you for them, but you don't deserve the admiration because you had no part in it. You were born that way. Same with me, in a sense. I reckon I don't deserve blame or praise for what I did. Something happened when I was a kid that demanded that action be taken. For various reasons, I was the only one who could take that action. I did what I had to do. I did bad things and good things. I don't think we need to go through the bad things; the good things gave us independence, and a somewhat better life for the people of this colony. I didn't intend the good things any more than the bad. They were incidental by-products. So, no pride, no guilt." He grinned. "In theory, anyway."

Furio looked at him for a moment. "Is that why the richest man in the colony lives in a hut and eats cold porridge twice a day?"

Gignomai laughed. "That's incidental too. I live here because it's on site, I eat what I eat when I eat because I haven't got time for anything else, I'm too busy."

"Why? You don't need to be."

"Oh come on," Gignomai said. "Who else could run this place?"

"Only you," Furio said. "Only the last of the met'Oc. Is that it?"

"Partly," Gignomai said (he surprised himself with the admission). "Mostly because it needs doing, I'm good at it, there's n.o.body else and I haven't got anything better to do. Motive, you see. Always motive."

Furio sighed. "Motive doesn't matter a d.a.m.n. Only what happens matters." He stood up, as if he'd decided to make that his exit line, then he must have changed his mind. "Which is why I've never said anything, about what you did."

"Oh," Gignomai said. "I thought it was because we were friends."

"Really?" Furio scowled at him. "You didn't b.l.o.o.d.y well treat me as a-"

"No," Gignomai said, and although he didn't raise his voice, it was as though he'd shouted. "No, I didn't. But you're a better man than me. I expected more from you than I'd ever expect from myself." He smiled again, and said, "Also, you didn't have that one great big important thing you had to do, not like me. You had a choice. Makes a difference, that does."

Furio was still looking daggers. "Sorry if I disappointed you."

Gignomai's turn to frown. "Is that it," said, "or were there other issues you wanted to explore?"

There was a brittle moment, then Furio shook his head. "What the h.e.l.l did you marry Teucer for, anyhow? You never could stand her."

"That's overstating it," Gignomai said mildly. "But I needed to marry someone."

"To acquire a legitimate heir, yes, I know. But Teucer."

"Back Home," Gignomai said, "there used to be a fas.h.i.+on among the monks of the Studium for wearing hair s.h.i.+rts under their sumptuous robes of velvet and ermine. The reasoning was we don't give a d.a.m.n what people think about us, we certainly don't make a show of our true piety, so we dress up like spoilt rich kids and let everyone believe we're effete and corrupt. But underneath, we're who we are, and it's good if it itches, it helps concentrate the mind. And when a monk died and they peeled off the thousand-thaler sh.e.l.l, they'd find the body was rubbed raw with sores and abscesses, but they were sworn to secrecy, on their immortal souls, and n.o.body ever knew." He smiled pleasantly. "Teucer keeps me raw under the met'Oc," he said. "But don't tell a soul."