Colours in the Steel (25 page)

‘You told me I needed to practise the arm’s-length hold,’ she replied, sounding as if she was offended that he’d needed to ask. She looked tired; her forehead was shiny with sweat and her fringe was spiky. ‘If you can spare me the time, I’d like it if you could watch me through it. Is that all right?’

Loredan raised both eyebrows. ‘I suppose so,’ he said dubiously.

The girl looked at him, then at Athli. ‘If there’s an extra charge, I’ll be happy to—’

‘Standard rates plus a quarter per hour for individual coaching,’ said Athli firmly. ‘I’ll put it on your bill.’ She flicked a glance at Loredan which read,
Watch yourself, this one fancies you
. Loredan interpreted it correctly and shook his head slightly.

At least, he didn’t think so. But she was
odd
, no doubt about that. It wasn’t that she didn’t have a personality; quite the opposite, he was sure. But there was this screen up all round it, like the painted silk screen that was supposed to hide the Emperor whenever he gave an audience, so that his person would not be defiled by the eyes of commoners. Or something like that. Anyway, she was odd. ‘You going to hang around?’ he asked Athli, slightly nervously. She shook her head.

‘I’m off home,’ she said. ‘Nobody’s paying
me
time and a quarter.’

He let her out and locked the door. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Since we’ve got the place to ourselves, we might as well use the exhibition hall, where we can have some light.’ He gestured vaguely in the direction of the tall arch opposite where they were standing. ‘Bring a torch and we’ll light the sconces.’

He didn’t know why, but he had an uncomfortable feeling as they walked into the big empty arena. It had been built as a close copy of the courtroom itself, the idea being to get students used to the feel of the big occasion, the spectators’ benches and the peculiar acoustic that could be extremely offputting if you weren’t accustomed to it. They hadn’t quite got that right - nowhere else did the noise of two swords clattering together sound quite so loud and brittle - but it was near enough to make Loredan feel uncomfortable.

‘We’ll light the place up properly,’ he called out, glad to hear his voice sounding loud and confident in the empty darkness. ‘Might as well, we’re not paying for the wax.’

She didn’t reply, and he felt rather foolish for chattering away, as if this was some social occasion.
Why did I agree to this?
he muttered to himself.
Maybe Athli’s right and I’ve been lured here to have my honour compromised
. He thought of the girl’s face. It had never occurred to him to notice whether she was pretty or not. Considered objectively she was, in an angular kind of way, but . . . No, he couldn’t see that at all. Not that sort.

‘All right,’ he said, putting the last candle back in its sconce, ‘let’s get on with it. Use the sword in the red bag. Careful with it, mind. That’s my Spe Bref.’

She nodded and untied the knot.
She bites her fingernails, I hadn’t noticed that
. In her hand the sword looked strangely unfamiliar, as if its loyalty might be in question. She let the bag fall and held the sword out at arm’s length, moving her feet and shoulders into position and straightening her back.

‘That’s almost it,’ Loredan said, trying to sound encouraging. ‘The left shoulder a bit further back, right foot in line with the blade. That’s better, you’ve got it. Now hold that.’

Under his breath he started to count, while he untied the second bag. For some reason his fingers were clumsy, and he caught his fingernail on the hard cord. ‘You’re making it hard for yourself,’ he said, drawing the cut-down cavalry sword out and fitting it into his hand. ‘You’re gripping the hilt instead of letting it sit in the slot. Here, watch me.’ He took position opposite her, slowly raising his right arm and the sword until the two blades formed a single continuous line. ‘See, I’m letting my fingertips and the base of my thumb do all the work. That’s the whole point of the exercise; a soft grip’s much surer than a white-knuckle job, and you can move more freely. There now, that’s much better. Keep it going, you’re doing fine.’

She didn’t seem to be listening; or rather, she didn’t give a damn about his encouragements and explanations. It was that feeling he’d had before, that she didn’t
want
to learn, she
had
to learn, as if this was some loathsome but necessary task.
Oh, well, takes all sorts. And her motivation is none of my business, I’m delighted to say.

‘All right, rest,’ he said after a full minute. The girl frowned at him, as if she was going to argue, then lowered the blade. ‘In a moment, we’ll do that again and try for two minutes, but this time start off with the grip like I told you, and we’ll take it from there. All right?’

She nodded. The slight movement of her head was a very precise, efficient communication, designed to limit the contact between them to the barest minimum. It was like the exchange of nods at the start of a fence, when the judge had given the word; the way two enemies communicate when they have nothing left to say except,
Now let’s try and kill each other
. The recognition shocked Loredan a little.

‘Right. And, now.’ They raised their arms at precisely the same moment, and Loredan found himself looking into her eyes over a causeway of steel. It was an unpleasant moment, just like being in court again, only worse. In court, when he looked the other man in the eye, he could always see that little residual glow of fear, and of course the other man would always see it in him. It was the last exchange of shared humanity, the one final thing they had in common at the very end. There was no fear in the girl’s eyes, only a rather unpleasant absence of anything.

Never again
, he promised himself.
And to hell with the money
.

He was counting; one minute forty-five, one minute fifty, and she hadn’t wavered at all. An impressive performance, this, for someone who’d consistently muffed the manoeuvre in class. Somehow that worried him - maybe she’d been muffing it deliberately to engineer this session, though why in hell she’d want to was beyond him. Unmistakable, nevertheless, this feeling of being manipulated, combined with a distinctly spooky notion that they were being watched.
Come on, Bardas, you’ll be seeing pink frogs next. Let’s get this over with and go home
.

One minute fifty-eight - the girl’s sword-tip wiggled, just the tiniest amount, and she made a little grunting noise, which Loredan recognised as pure agony. He could sympathise with that; his shoulder and bicep were cramped something awful, though he had the experience to keep going. Her sword-tip wobbled again, and again; a wider, more uncontrolled twitch this time.
That’ll do,
Loredan decided; then, on impulse,
Let’s try her on the next stage, recovery from guard. She deserves that for doing this so well
. He checked his line quickly and then lunged at her. She got the idea and parried, and they fenced two or three returns (
natural ability there, no question about that; I’m jealous
) until he knocked the sword out of her hand with a short, hard flick of his wrist that jarred the muscles right up to his elbow. The pain made him catch his breath; he bent almost double, hugging his forearm and swearing under his breath.

The girl looked furious with herself, and said nothing.

‘If it’s any consolation,’ Loredan gasped, ‘that was really quite impressive. You’re getting the hang of it just fine.’ He massaged the muscle on top of his forearm, bitterly regretting the urge to show off, which had done him an injury and embarrassed him in front of a student. She didn’t seem to be interested in that, though.

‘I failed,’ the girl grunted back. ‘I let you beat me.’

For some reason, that remark made Loredan feel distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Be fair,’ he said, trying to sound jovial. ‘I’m supposed to be your instructor.’

‘Being good isn’t enough,’ she replied, and Loredan had the distinct impression that she wasn’t really talking to him. ‘You can be very good and still die, if the other man’s better.’

Loredan shrugged, trying rather hopelessly to lighten the atmosphere. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I’m so glad I retired when I did. If there’s one thing I could never stand, it’s perfectionists.’

The girl looked at him resentfully, her arms crossed over her chest, her fingers clawing her shoulders. Loredan had seen women do that before, and had a vague idea what it meant. He didn’t know what was going on, and he rather hoped he wouldn’t have to find out; even so, he felt he should say something.

‘Sorry if I’m being personal,’ he said, ‘but why does this matter so much to you? You’re making really good progress, you know, well in advance of where the others...’

She turned her head slightly away, as if trying to get out of the way of his words. ‘I want to do well,’ she said.

‘Well, you are. You’ve got a natural gift for it, which is something not many people have.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘Runs in the family, perhaps?’

‘My uncle was a fencer.’ She was looking straight at him now, as she had before, except that there were no two yards of steel to keep them apart. ‘Maybe you’ve heard of him; Teofil Hedin.’

Loredan frowned; it rang a bell but nothing more. ‘I’m hopeless at names,’ he replied. ‘I never forget a face, but names just go in one ear and out the other.’ He grinned, rather sourly. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘in this business you quite often get to meet people only once, so there isn’t all that much point.’

‘I can see that.’ She picked up the sword and held it by the blade, just under the hilt. ‘Can we practise that one more time?’

Oh, no, do we really have to?
‘Yes, why not?’ he said, as cheerfully as he could. ‘I won’t join you this time, though. Costs me money if I sprain my wrist.’

She nodded, took the sword by the hilt and extended her arm, bringing the tip of the blade down until it touched the hard floor. ‘This time I’d like to try for four minutes.’

Loredan shrugged. ‘If you like,’ he said. ‘All right. And, now.’

She raised the sword; the point was directly in line with the hollow at the base of his throat, the perfect Old fence guard. He turned away, counting under his breath, and put his sword back in its case. When he looked back, she hadn’t moved at all. Very impressive, even if she is a nutcase.

‘When you’re practising on your own,’ he said, ‘start off with one minute and work your way up; don’t try doing three or four straight from rest. It’s better for you and does more good.’

Her eyes never left him; or, more precisely, that square inch of his throat which constituted the target. It was as if she’d been doing this all her life, he reflected, and the thought crossed his mind that if she moved now - a slight bend of the right knee, a slight shift of weight and balance - she could run him through before he had the slightest chance of getting out of the way. He felt sweat in the hollowed palms of his hands, and an urge to take a couple of steps backwards. But that would be—

‘Three minutes,’ he said. ‘Trying for four.’

And then he felt it again: an oppressive feeling of being under observation, like an exhibit or a scientific experiment. Something ought to be happening now, he was certain of it. But the girl was as still as a statue, almost as if some god had frozen her in the act of making ready for the lunge. The urge to get out of the way was becoming hard to control -
instinct
. Loredan told himself;
after ten years in the racket, every reason why I should feel jumpy having someone point a sword at me
. It was starting to bother him more than it should; apart from the sweaty hands, he discovered that he was getting what promised to be one hell of a headache. Three minutes twenty-five, and still not a twitch from the blade.

Three minutes fifty-five, and his eyes were starting to play tricks on him. He knew the girl hadn’t wobbled at all, but it was as if he could see the present and the future as well, the sword-tip hanging motionless in the air and also lunging towards him, perfectly on line.
If she does lunge
, he thought wildly,
I’ll only have myself to blame.

Three minutes fifty-nine . . .

Behind him, the sound of someone clearing his throat. Loredan turned sharply, at the precise moment when the girl bent her right knee and let the sword-point drop. There was a man in the archway, watching them.

‘Master Loredan?’ Damnation, it was Lethas Modin, one of the governors, and he didn’t look happy. ‘I saw the light.’

Loredan drooped slightly. ‘I was just giving this student a little extra tuition,’ he said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. ‘Very promising student she is too. Master Modin, my student...’

The girl mumbled her name. Master Modin didn’t seem particularly interested. ‘I do wish you’d let me know when you intend using the facilities for extracurricular coaching,’ he said irritably. ‘Strictly speaking, there are additional charges; candles, ground rent and so on. I’ll overlook it this time, but if you intend to do this on a regular basis—’

Loredan’s brow furrowed. His headache was in full cry now, and the last thing he wanted to do was stand still and be told off in front of a student by a member of the board of governors. What the devil was the old fool doing here at this time of night in any case? Didn’t these people have homes to go to? ‘Thank you, Master Modin, I’ll certainly bear that in mind and let you know in future. And if you’ll let my clerk know how much I owe you for the candles—’

Modin waved the offer aside petulantly. ‘Will you be much longer?’ he asked. ‘Again, strictly speaking there should be a member of the board present in the building whenever the facilities are in use, in case of accidents; the formalities, you know.’ He looked at the girl, as if he’d seen something odd but had no idea what it was. ‘That most regrettable incident the other week, for example. We are directly accountable to the authorities in the event that - ah - blood is shed on these premises.’