The Hammer Part 35

Furio looked at him. "You're..."

"Crazy?"

"Incorrigible," Furio replied. "Never occurred to you to wonder what sort of a life she has, being your hair s.h.i.+rt."

"True," Gignomai said calmly. "Well, no. First, when I asked her she could've said no, and she didn't. Second, because she's married to me, she can be a doctor, which is what she really wanted."

"By-products."

"Yes, of course." Gignomai shrugged. "I try and keep the inconvenience to others as slight as possible, but I do what I have to."

"What gives you the right?"

Gignomai grinned suddenly; he looked about twelve years old. "I'm a met'Oc," he said. "We were born with the right, along with the responsibility. If I could've chosen my parents, I'd have been a merchant's son, probably, I'd have made a fortune by the time I was twenty-five, and spent the rest of my life playing at being a country gentleman. No such luck. You, on the other hand..."

"Screw you, Gig."

"You, on the other hand," Gignomai persisted, "would have made a splendid met'Oc. Not in exile, maybe, but back Home you'd have done well. n.o.ble, honourable, principled. You'd have been a great First Citizen. And if you'd been my father's youngest son, you wouldn't have sat still and done nothing." He looked away for a moment, then back again. "And none of this would've been necessary. Ironic, don't you think?"

"And we'd still be ruled by the Company."

"Well, yes," Gignomai said. "It wouldn't have occurred to you to break the law."

Furio thought for a moment. Then, "The h.e.l.l with it," he said. "Serves me right for raising the subject in the first place."

"Agreed," Gignomai said. "A mistake you won't make again."

Furio smiled weakly. "Agreed," he said. "But there's one thing..."

"Oh for crying out loud. What now?"

"If the men who laid out the dead monks were sworn to secrecy, like you just said, how come you know about it?"

Gignomai laughed out loud, with relief that was almost joy. "Because the monks couldn't resist telling someone," he said, "because if n.o.body n.o.body knew, what'd be the point?" knew, what'd be the point?"

On his way home, Furio stopped off at Gignomai's town house, or the doctor's house, as everybody else thought of it. Teucer was sweeping up in the big room she used as a surgery.

"Oh, it's you," she said, when the maid showed him in.

He asked after young Lusomai, who was fine, thank you, and after Teucer herself, who couldn't complain (a lie if ever he'd heard one). Then he stood looking nervous for a while, until Teucer asked him what he really wanted.

"Why did you marry Gignomai?" he asked.

You could ask her things like that, but there was a price to pay. She could ask you things like that right back. "It's a marriage of convenience," she said. "I got all this. Back Home, I'd have spent my entire life planning meals and embroidering cus.h.i.+on covers."

"The real reason," Furio said.

"Because I love him," Teucer replied.

When Furio had gone, and he was sure he was alone, Gignomai unb.u.t.toned his s.h.i.+rt halfway down and slipped his hand inside. With his fingertips, he gently encountered the texture of the coa.r.s.e horsehair vest he'd worn for the last five years. It had been the only thing he'd taken from the house, just before he slipped out to join the colonists and start the fire. It had belonged, of course, to his father, who had worn it ever since he ordered his daughter's death (and n.o.body had known, except for Pa.s.ser, his wife, and Gignomai, who'd watched him undress once through the key hole), only once taking it off, as custom prescribed, for the day of his son's wedding, but leaving it neatly folded by his bed, to put back on as soon as the ceremony was over.

Teucer had asked him about it, once. He said it was for warmth, because he had a weak chest. She knew he was lying, but didn't say or do anything, at which point, he knew she was well suited to be a met'Oc.

He rebuked himself for the indulgence, which was a sort of pride, and b.u.t.toned up his s.h.i.+rt to the neck.

extras [image]

meet the author K. J. PARKER is a pseudonym. Find more about the author at is a pseudonym. Find more about the author at www.kjparker.com.

introducing If you enjoyed THE HAMMER,.

look out for THE FOLDING KNIFE.

by K. J. Parker Ba.s.so the Magnificent. Ba.s.so the Great. Ba.s.so the Wise. The First Citizen of the Vesani Republic is an extraordinary man.

He is ruthless, cunning, and above all, lucky. He brings wealth, power, and prestige to his people. But with power comes unwanted attention, and Ba.s.so must defend his nation and himself from threats foreign and domestic. In a lifetime of crucial decisions, he's only ever made one mistake.

One mistake, though, can be enough.

On the morning of the day when Ba.s.so (Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Severus, the future First Citizen) was born, his mother woke up to find a strange woman sitting at the foot of her bed.

Her husband was away somewhere on business, and the servants slept downstairs. The woman was dirty and shabby, and she was holding a small knife.

"h.e.l.lo," Ba.s.so's mother said. "What do you want?"

Over the woman's shoulder, Ba.s.so's mother could see that the skylight had been forced. She was shocked. It had never occurred to her that a woman could climb a drainpipe.

"Money," the woman said.

Ba.s.so's mother a.s.sessed her. About her own age, though she looked much older; a foreigner, most likely a Mavortine (blonde hair, short, fat nose, blue eyes); there were always Mavortines in the city at that time of year, seasonal workers. She was wearing the remains of a man's coat, several sizes too big.

"I'm terribly sorry," Ba.s.so's mother said, "but I don't have any. My husband doesn't let me have money. He does all the..."

The woman made a strange grunting noise; frustration and annoyance, all that work for nothing. "I'm sorry," Ba.s.so's mother repeated. "If I had any money, I'd give it to you." She paused, then added, "You look like you could use it."

The woman scowled at her. "What about downstairs?"

Ba.s.so's mother shook her head sadly. "All the money in the house is kept in my husband's iron chest," she said. "It's got seven padlocks, and he carries the keys about with him. The servants might have a few coppers," she added helpfully, "but it's nearly the end of the month, so I doubt it."

The woman was holding the knife rather than brandis.h.i.+ng it. Ba.s.so's mother guessed she'd used it to work open the skylight catch. It was a folding knife, an expensive item, with a slim blade and a gold handle; the sort of thing a prosperous clerk would own, for sharpening pens.

"If you're that hard up," Ba.s.so's mother said, "you could sell your knife. It must be worth a bit."

The woman looked at it, then back at her. "Can't," she said. "If I went in a shop, they'd know it was stolen. I'd be arrested." She gasped, then burst into a noisy coughing fit that lasted several seconds.

Ba.s.so's mother nodded. "So jewellery wouldn't be much use to you either," she said. She was feeling sick, but managed to keep her face straight and calm. "All I can suggest is that you help yourself to some decent clothes. The dressing room's next door, just there, look."

The woman was looking at her, considering the tactical implications. "Shoes," she said.

Ba.s.so's mother wasn't able to see the woman's feet. "Oh, I've got plenty of shoes," she said. "I think a pair of good stout walking shoes would be the most useful thing, don't you?"

The woman started to reply, then broke out coughing again. Ba.s.so's mother waited till she'd finished, then said, "I'm sorry about the money, but at least let me get you something for that cough. How long have you had it?"

The woman didn't answer, but there was an interested look in her eyes. Medicine clearly didn't feature in her life. Ba.s.so's mother pushed back the sheets and carefully levered herself out of bed and onto her feet. She didn't bother putting her slippers on.

"Rosehip syrup, I think," she said, waddling across the room to the table where her apothecary chest stood. She took the key from the little lacquered box and opened the chest. "There's a jug of water on the stand beside the bed. Would you mind?"

The woman hesitated, then brought the jug. Her feet were bare, red, nearly purple; quite disgusting. "While I'm fixing this, have a look in the shoe closet. It's just there, look, on your left."

Not that the woman would be able to read the labels on the bottles. Ba.s.so's mother poured a little dark brown syrup into a gla.s.s and added water. "Here," she said, "drink this."

The woman had already pulled out two pairs of boots; she was clutching them, pinched together, in her left hand. The knife was still in her right. She hesitated, then threw the boots on the bed and took the gla.s.s.

"When you've drunk that," Ba.s.so's mother said, "I'll ring for some food. When did you last have anything to eat?"

The woman was staring at her, a stupid look on her face. Ba.s.so's mother counted under her breath. On five, the woman staggered; on seven, she flopped down on the floor. Usually it was at least ten before it had any effect at all.

Later, Ba.s.so's mother decided she must have given her too much (understandable, in the circ.u.mstances). Also, the woman may have had a weak heart or some similar condition. It was sad, of course, but just one of those things. Ba.s.so's mother paid for a coffin and a plot in the public cemetery. It was, she felt, the least she could do.

Whether the shock induced early labour the doctors couldn't say. In the event, there were no complications and the baby was perfectly healthy, though a little underweight. Ba.s.so's father had bars fitted over the skylight. A better catch would have done just as well, but he was that sort of man. Ba.s.so's mother tried not to notice the bars, but they were always there in her mind after that.

The woman must have dropped the folding knife when she fell over, and knocked it under the bed. A maid found it and put it away in a drawer. Ba.s.so's mother came across it some time later and decided to keep it; not quite a trophy, but not something you just throw away. Besides, it was very good quality. When Ba.s.so was ten years old she gave it to him. He knew the story that went with it, of course.

Back home his name was seven syllables long, but here, in the army of the Vesani Republic, he was Aelius of the Seventeenth Auxiliary, the youngest captain in the service, kicking his heels in barracks in the City when men with half his ability were s.h.i.+pping out to the war in charge of a battalion. He was checking supply requisitions in his office when a fl.u.s.tered-looking sergeant interrupted him.

"We've arrested a boy, captain," the sergeant said.

Aelius looked up. "And?" he said.

"He beat up a sentry."

The culture of the service demanded that enlisted men addressed officers as rarely and as briefly as possible. Aelius thought it was a stupid rule, but he observed it rigorously. "You'd better bring him in," he said.

A boy, sure enough. Fourteen rather than fifteen, Aelius decided, mostly on the evidence of the face; on the tall side for his age, but still only a kid. "And this child a.s.saulted a sentry?"

The sergeant nodded. "Broken arm, broken jaw, two cracked ribs and knocked out a couple of teeth, sir. Unprovoked attack. Two witnesses."

The boy didn't seem to have a mark on him. Correction: skinned knuckles on his left hand. "This boy attacked a grown man for no apparent reason and broke his jaw," Aelius said. The boy was looking past him, at the far wall. "Well?" he barked. The boy said nothing. "I'm talking to you."

The boy shrugged. "I hit that man, if that's what you mean."

Aelius nodded slowly. "Why?"

"He spoke to my sister."

"And?"

The boy frowned. "He made a lewd suggestion."

Aelius managed to keep a straight face. "So you beat him up."

"Yes."

Aelius looked sideways at the floor. Bringing charges was out of the question. A soldier of the Seventeenth beaten to a jelly by a child; they'd never live it down. The face was vaguely familiar. Not a pleasant sight: his nose was a little concave stub, and his enormous lower lip curled up over his upper lip, smothering it. "What's your name?"

"Arcadius Severus."

That made Aelius frown. The boy wasn't dressed like a gentleman's son, but he had a formal name. The voice was completely nondescript, and Aelius hadn't been in the Republic long enough to distinguish the subtleties of cla.s.s from a man's accent. Harder still with a boy with a tendency to mumble. "That's a big name for a kid," he said. "Who's your father?"

The boy felt in his pocket, produced a copper penny and held it out on his palm, heads upwards. "He is." is."

No wonder the face was familiar. "Sergeant," Aelius said, "get out."

As the door closed, Aelius leaned forward across his desk. The boy was watching him, to see what would happen next. He wasn't afraid, he wasn't smug. That alone was enough to confirm that he was who he said he was. "What kind of lewd suggestion?" Aelius asked.

"None of your business."

Aelius shrugged. "Fine," he said. "All right, you can go."

The boy turned towards the door, and Aelius rose smoothly to his feet, s.n.a.t.c.hed his swagger stick off the desk and slammed it against the side of the boy's head, hitting him just above the left ear. He went down, started to get up, staggered, recovered and got to his feet.

"Can I go now?" the boy said.

Aelius nodded. "I think that makes us all square," he said. "Do you agree?"

"Yes," the boy said. "Yes, that's fair."

Fair, Aelius thought. Not the word he'd have chosen, but surprisingly appropriate. "Then go home," he said. "And maybe you'd like to think about the relations.h.i.+p between the military and the civil authorities. Ask your dad; he'll explain it to you."

Outside, the boy's sister was waiting for him. She was flanked by two sentries; not physically restrained, but held in place like a chess piece that can't move without being taken. "It's all right," the boy said. "They let me go."

She said something to him as they walked away. He couldn't make out the words-his ears were still ringing from the blow on the head-but he didn't really need to. His sister wasn't happy at all.

"You won't tell Father," he said.

She scowled, then shook her head. "I ought to."

"I settled it with the captain," the boy replied. "You'll only make trouble."

She made a tutting noise, like a mother reproving an infant. "They'll know something's happened when they see you like that," she said.

"I fell out of a tree."