Part 4 (1/2)

”Yes.”

She shrugged. ”I hardly said two words to him.”

”So?”

”So he's nice-looking,” Tissa vouchsafed. ”Which really doesn't count for much, if he's-”

”That's all?” Furio said. ”Just nice-looking, nothing else?”

Apparently he'd made a mistake, because Tissa got up, told him to go to h.e.l.l, and walked away. ”Talk to Bonoa,” he called after her. She waved a hand at him without looking round, so that was all right.

He went back inside and tidied up a bit. Then Uncle caught him-proof that he hadn't been paying attention-and put him on unpacking and degreasing a consignment of scythe blades. The job took the rest of the afternoon and he cut his finger quite badly. Tissa dropped by just before the store closed. She'd spoken to Bonoa, and as far as she was concerned, the whole miserable business had never happened. Furio kissed Tissa and she prodded him hard in the solar plexus, then kissed him back while he was still gasping for air and went home.

Luso was in a foul mood. That was bad news for everyone in the house, but worse for Gignomai because Luso tended to work out his temper in impromptu fencing lessons.

”We had one this morning,” Gignomai protested.

”Yes, and you were b.l.o.o.d.y useless. So we'll go through it again.” Luso frowned. ”You're all wet.”

”I fell in the stream.”

Luso smiled at him, and he s.h.i.+vered. Considered objectively, Luso was extraordinarily good-looking, everybody said so, and Gignomai could see it himself. But that was Luso for you. He was a man with practically every gift, talent, quality and virtue worth having, and it wasn't as though he was actively or deliberately malicious, let alone bad or evil, he was just-unfortunate, their mother had called him once, when she didn't realise Gignomai was listening. Somehow, the fact that Luso could play the harp like an angel devalued harp-playing, and his good looks made you wonder if beauty was such a good thing after all. their mother had called him once, when she didn't realise Gignomai was listening. Somehow, the fact that Luso could play the harp like an angel devalued harp-playing, and his good looks made you wonder if beauty was such a good thing after all.

”You're always falling in water,” Luso said, hustling him across the yard into the long barn, where they used the thres.h.i.+ng floor as their fencing ring. ”Anybody'd think you've got two left feet. But you haven't.”

As he spoke, he lashed out with his left fist. It was a slow punch, barely concealed. Its purpose (as Gignomai realised, too late to do anything about it) was to get him to step back smartly out of the way, thereby proving Luso's point.

”See?” Luso said. ”Good reactions, pretty reasonable balance, good coordination. And yet you're for ever toppling off logs into streams. Maybe we ought to work on that.”

(And that, Gignomai reflected, was the difference between them. Luso had seen him breaking out, and now he couldn't resist letting him know he knew. Gignomai would've kept the knowledge safe and quiet, for when he needed to use it.) ”If you like,” Gignomai replied. He could see his sword leaning against the wall. Luso had brought it here earlier, so this lesson wasn't quite as spur of the moment as he'd been led to believe. ”I don't mind.”

The hard, polished clay of the thres.h.i.+ng floor had been carefully marked out with a series of concentric rings, clearly shown up with blue raddle mixed with powdered chalk. Gignomai went and stood on the outer ring, but Luso shook his head. ”Middle,” he said. ”We'll do voids.”

Oh, Gignomai thought, but managed not to let anything show.

Leaning next to the sword was a hazel stick, the same length, about half an inch thick. Gignomai always used the sword, unbated, its point sharp as a needle. Luso used the stick.

”All right,” Luso said, taking his place on the mark. ”In your own time try and kill me.”

That was what he always said. Once, about five years ago, after Luso had cut his bottom lip open with a swish of the stick before smacking him stupid with a blow over the right eye, Gignomai asked him, do you really mean that, about killing you? Yes, of course, Luso had said. You want to, don't you? He hadn't answered. He was still thinking about it.

Or maybe not. ”If I wanted to kill you,” he replied, ”I wouldn't try and do it here.”

Luso laughed. His face was beautiful-no other way to describe it-when he laughed. ”If you do it here, you'll get away with it,” he said.

”Well, I don't want to.”

”That's a weight off my mind,” Luso said, and aimed a fast jab at his teeth. Gignomai retreated, one step back and left. He was supposed to counter-attack in time. Luso rolled his eyes at him.

”All right,” he said. ”You attack me this time.”

Hiding to nothing. Gignomai did his very best, and found himself walking into a slam just above the right ear that made his head swim. Luso only ever used the tip of his stick, at most the first two inches: the stramazone stramazone or point-flick, the only cut available with the smallsword. or point-flick, the only cut available with the smallsword.

”You're not trying,” Luso said. ”You've got to read me like a book.”

”Sorry,” Gignomai heard himself say, and he tried again, going in on the diagonal, lunging for Luso's kneecap. That got him a sharp prod in the face, a finger's breadth under his left eye.

”Tell me what I did,” Luso ordered.

”You withdrew the front foot a full stride while raising your sword-arm and changing from first to fourth.”

”Quite right. You know the move, yes?”

Gignomai nodded. ”We did it-”

”You knew the move, but you thought I'd forgotten it?” Luso let the tip of the stick rest on the floor. ”That's the trouble with you,” he said. ”You learn the moves, you get them really well, but you don't use them. You practise them as if they're dance steps, but you don't see how they fit together.” He sighed. ”You won't fight, fight, is your problem.” is your problem.”

Gignomai put on a remorseful face and nodded sadly, then he drove his front foot forward, not how he'd been taught but wildly, and swung a far too wide extravagant slash at Luso's face with the sword-tip. It caught him an inch below the hairline, and for a fraction of a second nothing happened. Then blood started blossoming out of the cut, and Luso hammered the stick into the inside of his wrist, sending the sword spinning across the barn.

Gignomai froze, wondering what on earth he'd just done and, as if he were an uninvolved observer, what Luso was going to do to him next.

Luso grinned. ”That was dreadful,” he said. ”What was bad about it?”

It took him a moment to understand the question. ”Front foot?”

Luso nodded, which made blood trickle down his forehead. ”Too far forward. And?”

”Too much arm.”

”That's right. You wasted time and energy, and you opened yourself up more than you should've done. Apart from that,” he added, wiping his forehead and looking at his hand, ”it wasn't bad.”

He hesitated. ”Luso, I'm sorry,” he said. ”I don't know what I was-”

The stick swung down hard on the point of his left shoulder filling his whole body with pain. ”Don't apologise,” Luso roared at him. ”First time in six years you've even tried tried to do this, don't you dare say you're sorry. You think I like wasting my time on you, when you can't even be bothered to to do this, don't you dare say you're sorry. You think I like wasting my time on you, when you can't even be bothered to try try?”

Gignomai couldn't move the fingers of his left hand. ”Fine,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. ”I'm sorry I was sorry.”

Luso came a long step closer. It wasn't a teaching-fencing step but a real lunge, such as Luso might make in a real fight. He was there before Gignomai realised he'd moved. ”Listen,” he said, and he grabbed Gignomai's right elbow, ”fencing isn't fighting. You can fence better than the masters at the royal court, and one day an angry old man with a hayfork's going to stick you in the guts and kill you. Skill's a handy thing to have, but fighting's about meaning it.”

Gignomai looked down at the hand clamped on his elbow. ”I didn't mean to hurt you,” he said. ”I was sure you'd parry.”

Luso let go. ”For a moment there,” he said, ”I was proud of you.” Then he walked away.

At dinner, Father noticed. ”What happened to you?” he asked.

”Gig's fencing lesson,” Luso replied.

Father put down the slice of bread he'd been working on. ”He got past you, did he?”

”He most certainly did.”