The Warring States (The Wave Trilogy) (44 page)

‘Don’t worry, there’s time yet,’ said Norcino. ‘Now I shall rally my followers and we’ll take the mount and hold it while you complete the rite!’

‘That’s the plan,’ Torbidda said with a tight smile at Leto,
who struck the preacher hard on the back of the neck. He collapsed like a pile of bones and Castrucco caught him and produced a baggy hood, which he pulled over Norcino’s head. He passed the unconscious body to one of the praetorians.

‘You mustn’t!’ The vagrant fought against his chains. ‘Leave him be! Traitors! Blasphemers!’

Leto didn’t need to give any more orders; everything had been arranged in advance. Prefect Castrucco entered the cell and drew his dagger.

‘Sorry. Sorry. I – I don’t know that man,’ the vagrant pleaded. ‘Do what you like to him, I’ll never tell! I saw nothing!’ He tried backing into the corner, but the manacle constrained him. He screamed when the blade struck, then fell to the ground still promising silence. Castrucco quietened him with his hobnailed boots. When he was done, the vagrant’s cheekbone showed though the ripped skin. He looked at Leto. ‘Enough?’

‘Madonna’s sake, harder! We get one chance at this!’

A minute passed, with the repeated squelch of flesh pulping and skull cracking, and when it was over the vagrant’s jaw hung at a ridiculous angle and Castrucco was breathing hard.

‘For God’s sake.’ Leto pushed the third praetorian into the cell. ‘Take over.’

The young man swallowed, entered the cell and tapped his exhausted commander on the shoulder. When Castrucco turned around, a dagger jabbed in and out of his chest. With a look of disappointment he sat slowly beside his victim, wheezing, and patiently watched his blood splutter around the wound, sluggish and black, until he died.

‘He tried to sell me on another double-cross,’ Leto said in response to a look of enquiry. Torbidda tutted.

Castrucco’s assassin knelt down, pulled the dagger from the vagrant’s side and sank it into the wound already in Castrucco’s chest. He placed the prefect’s hands on the handle so that it
looked like a particularly determined suicide. He stood back to examine the scene critically, then looked back to Leto for approval.

‘The preacher’s blind,’ said Torbidda.

‘Yes, First Apprentice?’

Torbidda pointed at the vagrant’s ruined face. ‘So scoop out the eyeballs – they didn’t grow back!’

After that detail was attended to, the party left with the unconscious prisoner. They were discreet, not that it was necessary: the Small People knew it was unwise to pry into praetorian business.

‘I’ll go and find Corvis,’ said Leto, taking his leave. ‘You’ll be all right.’

‘I’ll follow you shortly.’

Torbidda led the way through the Guild Halls, then through the tunnels and secret vaults he had discovered whilst poring over the old plans. The fire that destroyed the Molè had no more affected the beast than the mountain that encased it, though it had lately been starved of prisoners. They deposited Norcino in one of the top cells and Torbidda watched through the cell door as he woke up.

The blind man sat up, instantly aware that this was not merely a new cell but a new prison; he cocked his ear to the echoes of dripping water and groaning metal, feeling the cold moisture in the air. ‘I should have expected this. More and more you impress me, boy. Truly you will make a worthy vessel for
him
.’

‘I am no one’s vessel – not yours, not Corvis’, and least of all
his.’

‘Then what now, your Majesty? Are you going to kill me?’

‘At some point. You don’t have to die yet to be useful. We’ll announce your martyrdom to your followers and find a constructive use for all that grief.’

‘What will you tell them?’

‘The facts will speak for themselves. On Corvis’ orders you were slain, and afterwards the assassin patriotically ended his life in the vain hope of preventing more bloodshed.’

‘Very good.’ said Norcino. ‘Obviously, you can’t leave this pair alive.’

Torbidda hit a switch, and Norcino’s cell flooded with blue light. He collapsed into a twitching heap. Torbidda turned around and took off his cloak. ‘Obviously.’

The two trembling praetorians drew their swords.

Corvis shuffled through the papers stacked about him as if the answer could be found there, but finally gave up. ‘What can we do?’

Geta sat in the chair formerly occupied by Consul Scaurus; his boots on the table partially covered the brownish stain left by the late consul’s brain. Geta ignored Corvis, as usual. The consuls around the table were ominously silent as well. The Collegio’s tiered rows were mostly empty – fear kept them away – but Consul Corvis fancied that they were full of men sitting in judgement of him. He was a shrunken man: the weight he had been so eager to bear was crushing him. ‘Geta, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were enjoying this chaos. The time’s come to restore order.’

Up until this crisis, the spectacle of Corvis coming apart had been mildly entertaining. ‘You’re getting to be a right old nag,’ Geta snapped. ‘I told you already, I don’t have enough men to keep the peace.’

‘When this is over you will have questions to answer.’

‘You can’t court-martial me twice. Why don’t you do something if you’re so worried? The praetorians are at your disposal. You’ve made the First Apprentice toothless, so it falls to you. Go on, win your spurs! A bit of blood on your sword will win
you some credit with the Small People – unless you bungle it, of course. In heaven’s name, don’t show this weakness in front of praetorians. They’re men, after all.’

It was time for Corvis to act. He walked to the door like a man going to the gallows, but as he reached it, the door opened. ‘Spinther, you’re back! Thank goodness – Geta’s good for nothing but drinking, and his men are only interested in looting,’ he started.

‘You really can’t blame Geta for the riot out there. You’re the one who let those animals loose on Norcino. What a mess they made.’

Corvis wilted. ‘I – I did no such thing—’

‘Well, he’s dead and so’s Castrucco, and they’re blaming you for it.’

‘Madonna!
Can’t you do something?’

‘I can’t resurrect the dead.’

Corvis returned to the table, recovering his composure by the proximity to his memoranda. ‘General,’ he said imperiously, ‘for what do we give you these armies, if not to safeguard us?’

‘Consul, I shouldn’t even be here. You can’t propose to take the legions away from the Europan Front so soon after securing it.’ Leto looked around the table. ‘I know things are bad here, but if we lose the mines, all’s lost. I’m as powerless as you.’

‘The great Leto Spinther,’ Geta said, ‘mortal after all. Glad I lived long enough to see that.’

Leto stiffened, ‘If you have any suggestions—?’

Geta waved the bottle. ‘Little drinky?’

‘I have a suggestion.’

Corvis, who had buried his head in his hands, looked up suddenly, clearly considering flight, but he mastered himself. ‘First Apprentice! How good to see you. I see you’ve extricated yourself from prison – how clever of you. Look who it is, General.’

‘I have eyes,’ Leto said casually.

Corvis was betrayed, but he carried on, as if ignoring it might make it otherwise, ‘Well, boy, what is your suggestion?’

Torbidda walked to where Geta was seated. ‘May I?’

Geta leapt up. ‘Be my guest, First Apprentice.’

‘Thank you,’ said Torbidda, sitting down. ‘Consuls, nothing will satisfy that dog-pack but blood. I propose we let Corvis supply it.’

Neither Geta nor any of the board leapt to Corvis’ defence, or argued with Torbidda’s reasoning. Corvis saw the glances exchanged and understood their import. ‘Why not your blood, First Apprentice?’

‘Come, be logical. You’ve made yourself prominent at my expense; I wouldn’t sate their appetite.’

‘I second the motion.’

‘And I.’

‘And I.’

Corvis showed unexpected resolve as the floor caved in beneath him. ‘So, finally picking up the baton, First Apprentice? Finally remembered your responsibilities? Not before time. I fear, however, that you’ve misjudged your strength. These cowards might do what you say, but I need only stamp my foot and the praetorians will cut you down. The rank-and-file engineers still side with me – not out of love, you understand, but because they know that without me, the nobles are back in charge.’

‘I beg to differ. The engineers can smell the meat cooking on the bonfires as well as you can. They’re more concerned about surviving the week than preserving your powerbase.’

‘Geta, are you going to let this continue?’ Corvis shrieked.

‘I think not,’ said Geta. ‘Guards!’

Two burly praetorians entered and Corvis meekly sat back down, his hands automatically sifting through the memoranda
in front of him to find some directive, some loophole through which he could escape. There was nothing.

‘Lord Geta?’

‘Take Consul Corvis to the dungeons and scourge him. I’ll be along shortly.’

They dragged him away screaming, ‘Traitors! They’ll come for you next, Geta – Spinther, we had a deal!’

Torbidda gestured for Leto to take the empty seat. Geta, sobering up rapidly, pondered what this meant for him as he watched the changing of the guard. He gave a little jump when Torbidda addressed him. ‘Lord Geta, what Concord needs now is stability and unity of command. If the last few months prove nothing else, it’s that when engineers and nobles squabble, Concord grows weaker. Are you patriot enough to put country before ambition? Spinther’s men hold the frontier. Yours hold the capital.’

Geta burped and straightened up. ‘Not for much longer they don’t, not without reinforcements. My men can crush a riot, but an outright rebellion would sweep them away.’

Torbidda looked at Leto.

‘I can spare some,’ Leto said, quickly adding, ‘Not many. Think you can you convince the rest of the Collegio to accept the new order, Torbidda?’

‘If sweet reason fails I’ll show them Corvis’ whipped carcass before throwing it to the fanciulli.’

‘That should do it,’ said Geta lightly. ‘I’ve always found mortal danger clarifies things enormously.’

The clatter of hoofs rang on cobblestones and a rider in a black cloak galloped across the Ponte Bernoulliana, leading a second horse, but he had to bring both to a swift halt when the guard at the gate didn’t stand aside.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’

‘No passage in or out. General Spinther’s orders—’

‘—obviously don’t apply to me.’ Geta pulled back his hood. He had no way of knowing whether he’d been proscribed yet. He’d have to risk it.

The guard noticed Geta’s second horse, breathing hard. ‘What’s in them bags?’

‘Nothing to do with you; my business in the north is urgent.’

When the guard still hesitated, he snapped, ‘Madonna! Check with Spinther if you must – and explain to him why the Eighth Legion was lost while you’re at it.’

‘Idiota!’
Leto slapped the guard with his glove and walked back over the bridge in a black mood. He’d been rather looking forward to putting Geta on the rack.

‘Cadet Fifty-Eight!’

Leto pulled up short. ‘Who said that?’

‘Up here, General!’

On either side of the barbican’s archway were gibbets. The gibbet on the left was older, and the wicker had worn away, leaving a rusted outer frame and a tattered skeleton; the prisoner had outlasted his prison, but freedom no longer interested him. The gibbet on the right was still functional, and the prisoner within likewise, although the unnatural tilt of his shoulders revealed he had been treated to the attentions of the strappado, and what was left of his strength had been broken on the wheel. Leto scowled – he disapproved of prisoners keeping their tongues. ‘How do you know my number?’

‘I gave it to you.’

‘Grand Selector Flaccus? Well, I never. You’ve moved up in the world.’

‘And you, General! Congratulations on your promotion.’

‘How did you end up there?’ Leto said politely, but without much interest.

‘Your talented friend saw to that – but I’ll be out soon. There’s some justice in this world. Sixty is languishing in a dungeon now, if Corvis hasn’t had him killed.’