Colours in the Steel (24 page)

 

 

The enduring popularity enjoyed by the Patriarchs of Perimadeia with their fellow citizens was an aspect of their high office which they found baffling, endearing or infuriating, depending on how deeply they allowed themselves to think about it. Since the Patriarch was nothing more than the head of an order of philosophers and scientists engaged in research into an abstruse subject of no practical value whatsoever to the layman, there was no reason for him to be loved and admired, and that was baffling. The fact that his fellow citizens carried on loving and admiring him no matter what he did or didn’t do was certainly endearing. The discovery that his popularity was due to the universal misconception that he was some kind of official wizard whose job consisted of battling with the forces of darkness on the city’s behalf, averting swarms of malicious demons, outbreaks of plague and violent storms that might interfere with profitable commerce on the sea was invariably infuriating. After he’d been through each of these three stages, the Patriarch tended to put the matter out of his mind and think no more of it.

Nevertheless, when news of Patriarch Alexius’ serious illness became widespread there were any number of spontaneous demonstrations of public goodwill, no doubt from worried citizens who wanted him up, about and fighting demons again before anything horrible could happen. Flowers, fruit and a wide selection of good-luck charms appeared outside the doors of his lodgings every morning, well-meaning old ladies left gallons of warm, nourishing broth with the porters, and important officials of the Order who had better things to do with their time spent hours receiving delegations of smiling, noisy children bearing garlands of aromatic herbs woven by their own innocent, unskilled hands. Such was the inconvenience caused by all this unsolicited solidarity that as soon as he was well enough to stand up, Alexius was chivvied out onto a balcony and exhibited to cheering crowds in the hope that the well-meaning persecution of the last couple of months would now cease.

‘I think it’s rather moving,’ Gannadius commented as Alexius tottered back to bed, his arm cramped from half an hour of waving. ‘All these people you’ve never even met, standing outside the doors in all weathers, deluging the place with flowers—’

‘If someone could possibly explain to me how a cartload of scented weeds is supposed to cure heart disease, I could publish the cure and make a fortune,’ Alexius grunted, burrowing back under the blankets in search of any lingering traces of warmth. ‘As it is, I think I’d rather be universally loathed and get some sleep.’

‘Well, you can’t,’ Gannadius replied. ‘You have a duty to your fellow citizens, who need to love something, can’t love the government because nobody ever loves the government, and so have chosen you instead. You might at least have the good manners to be gracious about it.’

Alexius growled into his pillow. ‘You know what they’re saying?’ he retorted. ‘They’re saying I was locked in magical combat with malevolent unworldly creatures conjured up by our enemies, and that although I ultimately triumphed the struggle left me a gibbering wreck. All the effort I’ve gone to explaining that we’re not magicians—’

Gannadius smiled pleasantly. ‘Which of course makes them all the more firmly convinced that you are,’ he said. ‘Whereas if you strutted round the place in a long blue robe covered with mystic sigils, they’d dismiss you as a rank charlatan and throw eggs at you.’ He stood up. ‘You’d better get some rest. All this excitement’s making you more than usually bad-tempered.’

‘I know,’ Alexius replied. ‘Mostly I think it’s the frustration of being cooped up in here when there’s so much I should be doing—’

Gannadius frowned. ‘Nothing important,’ he said firmly. ‘Those bright-spark secretaries of yours are dealing with all the routine business - rather better than you used to, I might add - and reading up all the latest developments on the theoretical side so that I can explain them to you in baby language has meant I’ve nearly caught up myself. As for the other business—’ He looked Alexius squarely in the eye. ‘It does rather seem to have taken care of itself, now that those two have gone back to where they came from. I think we should just be grateful we’re rid of them and forget it ever happened.’

Alexius nodded slowly. The devastating reaction he’d suffered half an hour after the two Islanders had gone away was something he’d never be able to forget, but two months of lying flat on his back staring at those rather over-rated mosaics on his ceiling had helped him put the whole episode into proper perspective. With hindsight, it was fairly clear what had happened; an unfortunate coincidence of his own foolish experiments at remote cursing and the presence in the city of a natural, wielding extraordinary power within the Principle without having the faintest idea what she was doing and therefore by implication completely unable to control the effects of her interference. Once she’d gone, the reactions had stopped (just as well, or he’d unquestionably be dead by now) and it stood to reason that if there were no reactions, everything had somehow sorted itself out. As far as Gannadius’ discreet enquiries had revealed, Loredan the fencer was living a blameless and prosperous life as a trainer, the mysterious girl seemed to have vanished completely and so far at least there had been no visitations of plague or freak earthquakes. So that was all right—

(But it wasn’t, of course; however firmly he reassured himself that it was all over he couldn’t put out of his mind that terrifying feeling of being manipulated, so easily manipulated, by someone who handled every aspect of the Principle with the dexterity and confidence of Bardas Loredan with his favourite sword. And it wasn’t the girl herself, he was sure of that, and it couldn’t have been her rather ordinary brother, or anybody who lived in the city, come to that - so who could it have been? And, more disturbing still, why?)

‘I’ll be going, then,’ Gannadius said. ‘I’ll see you—Ah, here’s Delmatius with your letters. No rest for the wicked, after all.’

Alexius smothered a groan as his pushiest, most bustling young secretary entered the room. Gannadius, quite sensibly, fled and left him to cope as best he could on his own.

‘Nothing much to bother you with today,’ the young man chirruped, dumping a thick wad of parchments on Alexius’ lap and balancing the candle precariously beside him. ‘Encyclical letters to the archimandrites on the new doctrinal protocols—’

‘What new doctrinal protocols? And since when did we have doctrines? We’re scientists, not priests—’

Delmatius gave him a patient look, making it clear that Alexius was being suffered gladly. ‘I explained it all last week,’ he said. ‘About the general conclave resolving the synthesis-diathesis debate by simply reducing the agreed number of elemental principles from seven to six. It’s all quite...’

‘Marvellous,’ Alexius grumbled. ‘It’s perfectly all right to change the laws of nature provided it’s done by a democratic vote. I think it’s high time I got out of this bed and put a stop to all this nonsense.’

‘Don’t you even think of it,’ Delmatius replied with ferocious jollity. ‘You even set foot to floor and the doctors’ll skin you alive. Anyway, that’s them,’ he went on, separating one thick sheaf of documents and waving another under his nose. ‘This lot here’s just decretals and your private correspondence.’

While Alexius was sealing the letters and trying to concentrate on not setting his bedding alight with the candle, Delmatius told him the latest news.

‘They do say,’ he twittered, ‘that the clans are up to no good again. If you ask me, it’s high time something was done about them.’

Alexius, who had just spilt hot wax on the back of his hand, looked up. ‘Really? Such as what?’

‘Send an army,’ Delmatius replied. ‘Clean ’em out once and for all. I mean to say, it just doesn’t make sense, having hordes of savages right there on our doorstep.’

Six years ago, Alexius recalled, Delmatius had been on a boat crossing the Middle Sea from the unlovely city-state of Blemmya, along with a couple of hundred other refugees who’d been thrown out for having big noses and the wrong colour hair. To this day he was capable of getting lost between the Carters’ Bridge and the City Academy. It was pleasing to think that in six short years he’d recovered so completely from his nasty dose of human intolerance that he could now cheerfully recommend the mindless persecution of others. ‘I didn’t think we still had an army,’ he said mildly. ‘I’m sure I’d have noticed if we had.’

‘There’s the levy,’ Delmatius explained, ‘and the city guard, of course. More than enough to teach a mob of savages a good lesson. Apparently they’re playing some game or other upriver. Hauling great rafts of logs, would you believe. Load of nonsense, it goes without saying. I mean,’ he added, with a grin, ‘what would a lot of savages want with a riverful of logs?’

 

Loredan, having been asked roughly the same question, forebore to answer. He was mending one of the practice foils with sailmaker’s twine and glue, which gave him an excuse for not having heard.

‘Apparently,’ Athli went on, ‘there’s talk of sending out an expeditionary force, under that man - oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue.’

‘Do me a favour and put your finger just there - no, there, that’s it - while I slap some glue on this. Careful, it’s sticky.’

‘Maxen, that’s it. General Maxen. They say his name’s a legend out on the plains.’

Loredan frowned and dipped his brush in the glue pot. ‘He’s dead,’ he replied. ‘Been dead for twelve years now.’

‘Oh.’ Athli shrugged. ‘So who’s in charge of the army, then?’

‘Nobody.’ The glue was too thin. Loredan clicked his tongue, added another pinch of beads and stirred the pot. ‘And there isn’t any army either, unless you count the wall decorations they call the city guard. We haven’t had an army for twelve years. Good thing too, if you ask me. We should count ourselves lucky we don’t need one and leave it at that.’

‘Can I move my finger yet?’

‘Just bear with me a second till I’ve got this glue hot. So what are the clans supposed to be up to, according to your reliable sources?’

‘I don’t know, do I? Someone was saying something about large shipments of timber being floated down the river in this direction, but I thought the clans didn’t go in for that sort of thing; boats and sailing and rivers and stuff.’

‘They don’t. Or at least,’ he conceded, ‘they used not to. Maybe they do now. Given the rate we use timber in this city, perhaps they’re bringing it here to sell it. It’d be worth their while if they did.’

‘That’s probably it, then. Only I did hear it said that they’d declared war on us or something. Apparently the old chief’s died and his son’s a bit of a firebrand.’

‘Oh, that’s just bluster, probably,’ Loredan said, his eyes fixed on the join he was glueing. ‘When a new chief takes over, it’s traditional to make a bit of noise and rattle the bow-cases. Makes everybody feel good about being a mighty warrior. They don’t mean anything by it.’

‘Ah.’ Athli sneezed, the result of being close to the steaming glue. ‘You seem to know a lot about the clans,’ she said. ‘How come?’

‘Things I’ve heard. Soldiers’ stories, that sort of thing. You tend to meet a lot of old soldiers in grotty taverns. Right, you can take your finger away, thank you. Pass me the twine and I’ll get this served up.’

‘It’s a worrying thought, though,’ Athli went on after a short pause. ‘What if they did take it into their heads to attack us? If we’ve got no army—’

Loredan pulled a face. ‘If we had an army,’ he replied, ‘there’d be someone for them to fight. It’s the only possible way we could suffer a defeat; and they’re a tough proposition in a pitched battle,’ he added, ‘or so I’ve heard. As it is, all they could do if they did come for us is sit on the other side of the river and watch the grain ships sail into the harbour. You may have noticed the big stone things, we call them walls—’

‘All right, there’s no need to be cocky about it. I still think - well, we’re all brought up thinking the walls are guaranteed impregnable, but I don’t know the first thing about sieges and the like. How do we know if they’re impregnable or not?’

‘Well, the fact the city’s never fallen to a land assault’s a pretty good hint,’ he replied, as he patiently wrapped the twine thickly round the shaft. ‘Not for want of trying, either. If you were going to bust in here, you’d need the proper equipment; engines, siege towers, rams, bridging gear. That’s way beyond the capacity of the clans. No, the only way they’d get in is if someone opened the gate for them, and somehow I don’t see that happening.’

‘That’s all right, then.’ Athli stood up, wiping her hands on the piece of rag draped over the back of Loredan’s chair. ‘I guessed it was just a rumour, or else the Emperor’d be doing something about it.’

‘Well, of course. That’s what he’s for.’ He tied a neat, tiny knot and bit through the twine. ‘If you want to terrify yourself to sleep with the thought of foreign invasions, you’d be better occupied panicking about the Islanders.’

‘But I thought they were our allies,’ Athli objected.

‘So they are, up to a point. They do a lot of business with us, but that doesn’t mean to say they wouldn’t rather take without paying. More to the point, they’re the only ones with a fleet that’s even remotely strong enough. It’d take some doing, though, getting past the engines and the boom across the straits. I can’t honestly see anybody with half a brain trying to attack the city. There’s plenty of softer targets to pick off first. Right, that’s that done. Only the second one I’ve had to repair so far. Not bad going, if you ask me.’

He lit a candle and snuffed out the lamp. There was nobody else left in the Schools at this time of night; fortunately, he’d managed to talk the governors into letting him have a key to the side door. ‘Let’s go and have something to eat,’ he said. ‘It’s been one of those days.’

He had the key in the lock when someone called his name. He turned round and was surprised to see whatsername, the strange girl from his class. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘What’re you doing here at this time of night?’