Part 9 (1/2)

”Most extraordinary thing I ever saw,” Gignomai was saying. ”Big as a house, absolutely crammed full of stuff. I can't see why it doesn't just sink under all the weight. You'd have to be off your head to go out on one of those on all that water.”

Furio paused to s.n.a.t.c.h a little breath. ”It's a doddle of a run from here to Home,” he said. ”One day of open sea then you're hugging the coast, so most of the time you're just a gentle swim from land.”

”I can't swim,” Gignomai said.

”Can't you?” No reason, of course, why he should. Nothing to swim in up there on the Tabletop.

”Can't say it's ever bothered me,” Gignomai went on. ”But it'd be a different matter if I had to go on one of those things.”

”You'll have to,” Furio replied, squaring up against a barrel and heaving. ”If you want to go Home. It's one instance where walking isn't an option.”

”What you could do with,” Gignomai observed, ”is a long bit of wood you could use as a lever. In Chrysodorus' Mirror of Algebra Mirror of Algebra there's a whole chapter about levers. Theoretically, if you could find a long enough lever and a big enough rock to lean on, you could move this whole island.” there's a whole chapter about levers. Theoretically, if you could find a long enough lever and a big enough rock to lean on, you could move this whole island.”

Furio scowled at him. Leaning up against one of the sheds were four ten-foot lengths of rafter, but he'd been too idle to go and fetch them, and had been regretting it ever since. ”More trouble than it's worth,” he replied briskly. ”I just need to get my weight behind it.”

He shoved a little harder than he'd intended. The barrel toppled prematurely onto its side and rolled awkwardly, sweeping away the planks. It dropped off the cart and smashed open, spilling out straw, sawdust and about a hundred s.h.i.+ny new spoons.

”You're probably right,” Gignomai said, straight-faced. ”Well, you obviously know what you're doing. I'll shut up and let you get on with it.”

Furio hopped down from the wagon, grappled the smashed barrel upright, and started gathering spoons. When he'd rounded up all the fugitives, he tried to jump back onto the wagon. Somehow, he didn't quite make it. For a moment he hung in the air, as if he'd contrived to learn the secret of levitation. Then he fell backwards, landing in a tangle of limbs.

Gignomai had drawn a lungful of air to laugh with, but there was something wrong. A bright red stain was soaking through the cloth of Furio's left sleeve.

”Furio,” Gignomai said, ”I think you've cut your arm.”

”What?” Furio looked over his shoulder and swore. He'd caught his forearm on the jagged edge of a broken barrel-stave. Blood was spreading fast, like light in the sky at midsummer dawn. He stared at it, trying to figure out what it meant.

”Let me see that.” Teucer had suddenly come to life. She practically sprang at him, like a cat, dragged the sodden cloth away and studied the wound with every sign of total satisfaction.

”That's a very deep cut,” she said. ”Let's get you inside.”

Furio looked at Gignomai, who shrugged, then allowed himself to be bustled into the store. ”Gignomai,” Teucer ordered, ”get a bowl of water and a clean cloth.”

Gignomai had no idea where a cloth might be, but he wasn't about to admit ignorance. He grabbed a large enamel soup plate from a display in the front of the store and darted into the back room, where he was fairly sure he'd find a pitcher of water. He found the pitcher, but it was empty, so he scurried out through the back door and filled the pitcher from the pump in the stable yard. That just left a cloth. He went into the back room and looked round, but the closest thing he could see was a roll of linen s.h.i.+rt fabric. The h.e.l.l with it, he thought, and butchered a generous square out of the roll with his pocketknife.

”Where have you been been?” Teucer had got Furio lying on the long table in the main store, where they'd put Gignomai when they'd brought him in. Furio shot him a sort of scared-resigned look. His sleeve was rolled up, displaying a long, ragged gash.

”I'll need alcohol,” Teucer said. ”Brandy, something like that.”

It took Gignomai a moment to realise that was an order. Luckily, Furio called out, ”Back room, third shelf, small wooden box with the key to the cellar in it.”

The way down to the cellar was through a trapdoor in the back-room floor. It was, of course, dark down there, so he had to go back, find a lantern, find a tinderbox, reload it with dry moss, light the lantern. He could feel time pa.s.sing, and for all he knew Furio was bleeding to death.

There turned out to be a whole row of brandy bottles, some clean, some very dusty. He a.s.sumed the dusty ones were for Uncle Marzo's own use, and grabbed a clean one.

He was quite relieved to find Furio was still alive. Teucer glanced at the bottle and said, ”Well, open it, then.”

Should've thought of that himself. It was closed with a cork and wax. He broke the wax off with his thumbnail. ”Corkscrew,” he pleaded.

”Box of them under the front window,” Furio said.

”And I'll need a small dish,” Teucer called out.

He found one, and fetched it and the bottle over to Teucer, who gave him a soul-shrivelling sort of look, and poured brandy into the dish. ”Alcohol cleans metal,” she explained, though more, he was sure, to show off her own knowledge than to save him from perplexity. There was a tinkling noise as something small dropped into the dish.

”Now then.” Teucer turned to Furio. ”This is going to hurt a lot lot, but I need you to keep perfectly still, or you'll make me mess it up.”

No pressure, Gignomai thought. ”What are you going-?”

”Shh.” Teucer picked something out of the dish and held it at arm's length, in the direction of the window, where the light was coming from. ”I'm no good at this. Gignomai, you'll have to thread it for me.”

She waited for him to obey, then turned to look at him. He was standing perfectly still. His mouth was open, and his eyes were very wide. ”Gignomai?”

He tried to speak, but something wasn't working properly. Teucer made a brisk, disapproving noise. ”Oh come on on,” she said, ”don't go all squeamish on me. A grown man like you, getting all stupid over a silly little needle.”

Gignomai shook his head.

”Gig?” Furio said. He'd seen something in his friend's face, though he didn't understand it. ”Are you all right?”

Teucer gave breath to a long, carefully fas.h.i.+oned sigh. ”Men,” she said. ”All right, I'll have to do it.” She dipped the end of the thread in the brandy, tweaked it into a point and triumphantly threaded the needle at her first attempt.

”Gig?” Furio said.

”Quiet,” Teucer ordered. ”Now, perfectly still.” She leaned forward, the needle pinched between right thumb and forefinger, her left hand gently pressing together the lips of the wound. With a slow, even pressure, she pressed the needle point against Furio's skin.

Gignomai sprang forward, grabbed her right hand, lifted it up high, cupped her face in his open right palm and shoved her hard away from the table. She staggered, tripped and fell. Gignomai stared at her for a moment as Furio tried to grab his shoulder with his uninjured arm. Gignomai dodged, looked Furio in the face, then ran out of the store into the street.

He came back two hours later. Furio was waiting for him on the porch, his arm neatly bandaged.

”Don't ask,” Gignomai said.

”Don't you tell me-”

”Don't ask,” Gignomai repeated. He tried to walk past, but Furio shot out a leg to block him. ”I'm leaving now. Thanks for everything. Tell Teucer I'm sorry.”

”Gig, what the h.e.l.l?”

Gignomai stepped over the outstretched leg and went indoors. He came out a little later holding his coat.

”You're leaving,” Furio said.

”Yes.”

”Gig...”

”Goodbye.”

Furio watched him walk away. He didn't understand. He knew he'd just witnessed something important, but he had no idea what it could possibly be. Gignomai turned left at the corner and vanished behind the livery building. Gone, just like that.

Of course, he could run after him.