Part 16 (1/2)

They replied in kind; slightly more fluent, as you'd expect, but with no trace of hesitation, so that was all right. Clearly Gignomai wasn't regarded as a clownish country cousin. ”Come and have some tea,” he said, his voice successfully bright and cheerful. ”You'll have to rough it, I'm afraid.”

”We don't mind,” Cousin Pasi answered (she had a nice voice, but it reminded him of someone else, and he s.h.i.+vered). ”All part of the adventure, isn't it, Boulo?”

Gignomai noticed that there wasn't so much as a trace of mud on the practical, hard-wearing adventurers' boots, with their inch and a half heels. He was pleased to see that Arano from the wheelwright's had taken the hint and stuck the kettle on the fire. The handful of tea he'd stolen from Marzo Opello's storeroom, wrapped in a twist of paper torn out of an old account book, was going to come in handy after all.

Cousin Boulomai was agreeably quick to get to the point, almost before the tea was cool enough to drink. ”The fact is,” he said, ”we've made ourselves a little bit too unpopular back home.”

”I have, he means,” Cousin Pasi interrupted.

”It was both of us,” Boulomai said, and his tone of voice was a marker for a long story later, if Gignomai had earned it. ”Anyway, we decided it might be a good idea if we cleared out for a while, till things have sorted themselves out. And we were at a bit of a loss where to go, and my uncle Ercho-Erchomai met'Andra, he'd be your second cousin once removed-said, why not go and visit the met'Oc? So we threw a few things in a bag and, basically, here we are.”

Gignomai nodded pleasantly. ”That's your s.h.i.+p out in the harbour?”

”Mostly,” Cousin Boulomai replied. ”We had it from our uncle Sphallomai when he died. I think some met'Alla cousins have something like a one-eighth share, but I don't think they're all that interested. Really it's just a pleasure yacht, not a business proposition.”

Gignomai had heard about the bronze tube, which sounded a bit big for a telescope. Sphallomai would be Sphallomai met'Autou; Father had written him letters. He decided to let it pa.s.s, but keep his ears open. ”Well,” he said. ”I gather you've met our lot. Presumably they told you, I'm not exactly in favour up there these days.”

Cousin Pasi, interestingly, pressed her lips together, and her eyes were quite wide open. Cousin Boulomai did a kind of elegant half shrug that Gignomai had seen Father use on informal occasions. ”We had sort of gathered,” he said, ”but these things happen. My dad threw me out when I was eighteen, but now we're the best of friends.”

”I got a formal notice of disinheritance,” Gignomai said. ”I'm no expert, but I think that can only be overturned by a motion of the House.”

Cousin Boulomai raised an eyebrow. ”Can you still do those?” he said. ”I thought they went out with trial by combat.”

”Still legal,” Gignomai replied, ”as far as I know. Not that it matters, since all our property back Home's been confiscated anyway, and what we've got here really isn't worth having. But if you want to be on good terms with my father, you'd be better off not knowing me.”

Boulomai shrugged. ”We choose who we're on terms with,” he said. ”And obviously, a private family quarrel is none of our business.”

Gignomai took a moment to consider them. He only had a moment; any longer, and it'd be obvious what he was doing. He covered the hiatus by dropping the tea into a tin jug and pouring in water from the kettle.

Young sprigs of the n.o.bility in self-imposed exile. From what she'd said, she'd done something, but he'd be prepared to bet her brother was mixed up in it too. They'd had time to go to the very best outfitters and be measured for their adventurer outfits, so presumably they hadn't escaped from the Guard by jumping out of a window. It was reasonable to a.s.sume they still had money at Home, contacts, the ability to get things done there even if they couldn't go there themselves. And the s.h.i.+p, of course. In all the many alternatives he'd contemplated, he hadn't included the possibility of a privately owned s.h.i.+p. It could, of course, change everything. But he knew better than to let one component, however fascinating, a.s.sume undue importance. Precipitate action was still to be avoided. Killing them and taking the s.h.i.+p, for example, would cause far more problems than it would solve, and besides, they hadn't done him any harm. A lot would depend, of course, on what they intended to do.

”So,” he said, ”will you be staying long?”

They looked quickly at each other. ”We rather thought we might,” Cousin Boulomai said. ”To be honest with you, it's not like we've got an infinity of choice. Not for a while, at least.”

Gignomai poured tea into three enamel cups. ”It's not as though I've got anything to compare it to,” he said, ”but my impression is, compared to Home, this is a pretty desperate place, unless you were thinking of setting up a cattle ranch. Or are your plans a bit shorter term?”

Cousin Boulomai reached out for his cup. ”We'd be interested in a good investment opportunity, certainly,” he said. ”Preferably,” he added, sniffing the steam in the approved manner, ”something that isn't too closely connected with Home, if you see what I mean. Seizure of a.s.sets is a distinct possibility.”

His sister nudged him in the ribs, a small movement that Gignomai wouldn't have seen if he hadn't been looking for it. ”Boulo worries,” she said. ”But, yes, we do need to think about earning a living.”

Gignomai had been wondering how much they knew about him. Now he had a pretty good idea. ”Well,” he said, ”far be it from me to promote myself, but I believe that what we're doing here has quite a good future. Of course, I would say that.”

”Tell us about it,” Boulomai said.

”Oh, it's quite simple and mundane,” Gignomai replied. ”As you probably know, the Company has an import monopoly here. We're forbidden to manufacture finished goods, and everything we use has to come in on a Company s.h.i.+p. Basically, they pay us in pots and knives for the ridiculous quant.i.ties of beef we s.h.i.+p out. That and the rent, or tax or tribute or whatever you like to call it, more or less covers everything the farmers here can produce, over and above their own subsistence. It's a rotten system, and we plan on doing something about it.”

Boulomai pursed his lips. ”Very public-spirited of you.”

”Quite. And it's a living for me, since I've been thrown out, and not without a certain slight amus.e.m.e.nt value.”

”If there's a monopoly,” Cousin Pasi said, ”aren't you breaking the law?”

Gignomai grinned at her. ”Not yet,” he said. ”As I'm sure you know, this isn't colony land. This is the territory of the Rosinholet, who were here before our lot arrived, and we're under their protection, so colony law doesn't affect us. We'll only be illegal once we start selling things to the colonists. In any case, there's no garrison here and no customs office; I gather you met our entire civil service when you landed-the rather dazed-looking man sitting on a barrel,” he explained. ”As far as colonial government's concerned, he's it. I'm not saying they wouldn't send in a platoon of soldiers if they find out what we're doing but, really, who's going to tell them? It's in everybody's interest to keep quiet.”

Boulomai digested this for a moment or so. Then he said, ”Won't they notice, though? I mean, presumably your people will stop sending cattle.”

”Not altogether,” Gignomai said, ”just gradually less and less. We've still got the taxes and the rent to pay, remember. But it's a question of cost effectiveness. If all we send is the value of the tax and the rent, pretty soon it won't be worth their while maintaining their fleet of expensive cattle transports. They'll reach a point where they start losing money, and then they'll pull out.”

”Won't they wonder why there's so much less beef being produced?”

Gignomai nodded. ”They may do,” he said. ”In which case, we sing them a lot of sad songs about disease and spoilt hay harvests and rivers running dry. Farming's a precarious enough business at the best of times; it won't be hard sounding plausible.” He paused to sip his tea. It tasted revolting, but his cousins had drunk theirs without any sign of discomfort. Father had said once, in an unguarded moment, that what he missed most was tea, and the next day Luso had sent a man to burgle the store. ”This colony is only a very small part of the Company's business,” he said. ”I found some figures in one of my father's books. The vast majority of their land and stock holdings are in the south-eastern provinces; we're just a sideline.” He sipped a drop more tea. It got better as you got used to it. ”At one time, of course, they had great plans. There's plenty of room out here, after all, so there's unlimited scope for expansion. But they could never raise the necessary manpower. People just didn't want to come here unless they absolutely had to, and the sort of people they could force into coming weren't the kind who make useful, productive farmers. We're an experiment that failed, luckily for us.”

He stopped. The cousins waited to see if there was going to be any more, then shared another quick glance. ”It sounds like it could well be the sort of thing we had in mind,” Boulomai said. ”How long before you're up and running?”

”Ah.” Gignomai put down his cup. ”That depends. At the rate we're going now, not till the spring. It's the same basic problem, you see: manpower. Even if I had the resources, I couldn't just go round the farms recruiting. It'd cause a problem-not enough people left at home to do the work-and I'd make myself unpopular, and then who'd want to buy my stuff? People want cheaper tools and tableware, but not if it means they're left short-handed on the farm. You see, it's not like Home. There are no superfluous people here. That'd be a luxury we couldn't afford. So I'm condemned to being a small-scale operation, at least until we're shot of the Company and people actually start getting to keep some of what they produce. And that's a long time away.”

Boulomai nodded slowly. ”I take your point,” he said. ”But you also said, it depends. That implies there's an alternative.”

”Well.” Gignomai looked down at his hands for a moment. ”Let's see,” he went on, ”your s.h.i.+p's got a crew of, what, twenty?”

”Eighteen.”

”Eighteen,” Gignomai repeated. ”Now, either you send your s.h.i.+p home, which I don't think you really want to do, or else you've got to feed and house those men while you're here.”

”That's not really a problem,” Boulomai said. ”We're not entirely dest.i.tute.”

”Quite,” Gignomai said. ”But-well, I'm no expert, heaven knows, but I'm guessing that a s.h.i.+p's crew's got to include a fair number of skilled men: carpenters, sail-makers, probably men who can do a certain level of metalwork.”

”I imagine so,” Boulomai said.

”There you are, then,” Gignomai replied cheerfully. ”There's your investment in return for a reasonable share of profits. Besides, at this point in the proceedings we don't particularly need skilled men, just pairs of hands. Once the factory's built, they can learn from my people. Actually, we'll all be learning together, so really it won't make much odds.” He paused, shrugged slightly, looked away. ”Anyway, it's an idea,” he said. ”If it's not the sort of thing you had in mind, that's fine.”

”We'll give it some thought,” Boulo said. ”It sounds quite splendid, but I suppose we should be grown-up and sensible and not rush into anything. Besides,” he added as an afterthought, ”we really ought to ask the men what they think about it.”

Lumen Tereo, as she then was, married Ciro Gabela on the day they both turned nineteen. At which point, the colony breathed a sincere yet wistful sigh of relief. No question but that Lumen was the most beautiful girl the colony had ever produced, and one of the kindest, sweetest-natured and hardest-working. She was a living contradiction of every grandmother's a.s.sertion that a pretty face, as opposed to sterling virtues, meant nothing but trouble. With Lumen safely married, life could get back to normal, lesser courts.h.i.+ps could be resumed, and young men who'd dared to dream were at liberty to settle for second best, which they did, in droves.

Four years and a baby daughter later, Lumen Gabela was still the prettiest. Now, though, she was making an entirely different kind of trouble. Her house was the cleanest and tidiest in the colony; disapproving old women who went to call on her came home and started scrubbing floorboards. Nothing was wasted in her kitchen or storeroom, and guests declared that her pigs' knuckles on pickled cabbage was a dish fit for a great house back Home. As for Ciro Gabela, he seemed to go though life in a sort of daze, and when men asked him what it was like, he just shook his head and refused to say anything.

Midway between the Gabela and the Heddo farms was an old linhay. It wasn't much-four walls and a roof, with a part.i.tion down the middle-and n.o.body was quite sure who owned it. But Ciro Gabela and Lio Heddo had always been good friends, so there wasn't a problem. Each stored his hay for the upper pastures on his side of the part.i.tion, and when the thatch needed seeing to, they did it together.

When the strangers arrived, Lio Heddo was the first man to offer a billet for their six oarsmen. He later said that they'd promised him a thaler a week, which he never received. The men stayed in the barn where they'd been put and, to begin with, talked to n.o.body. Later, when Lio's son Scarpedino began taking them their food, they loosened up a little, mostly because Scarpedino took to hanging about for hours by the door. They spoke to him-go away-and when that had no effect, they allowed him to come in and sit with them for a few minutes while they ate. They'd been cooped up in the barn for several days by that point. Scarpedino said they seemed to spend most of their time playing chequers, on a board made from an old sheet of tin torn off a derelict feed bin, using pieces they'd whittled from a broom handle. He went to the store and spent his entire fortune, half a thaler, on a scrimshaw chess set that had come as part payment for a s.h.i.+p's captain's booze debt. He took it to the men and taught them the game, which his parents played occasionally. Thereafter, it was next best thing to impossible to get any work out of Scarpedino. He spent all his time with the strangers' men, and refused to say what he did there, or what the men were like, or what their employers' plans were.

Two days after the strangers went to visit Gignomai met'Oc, Lumen Gabela went missing. Ciro Gabela a.s.sumed she'd been called back to her father's house on account of sudden illness or the like. The Tereo house was a day's walk east, and Ciro had a batch of young bullocks to dehorn. He waited for three days, heard nothing, and walked to the Tereo house. They hadn't sent for Lumen, or seen anything of her.

When he got home, he found Lio Heddo and a few neighbours waiting for him. Lio had found Lumen's head buried in the hay on his side of the linhay. The head appeared to have been cut off with an axe found lying in the gra.s.s twenty yards from the linhay door. The tongue had been torn out, and there were other disfigurements. There was no sign of the rest of the body.

Ciro had to be taken home; two old women from the Paveta house stayed with him. n.o.body had any idea as to what should be done. Lio Heddo and his neighbours held a brief, rudimentary parliament outside the linhay, and resolved to send the youngest Paveta boy to town, where somebody was bound to know. Whether anybody was aware at this point that Scarpedino was also missing is unclear.

A barely quorate town meeting deputised Marzo Opello from the store, in spite of his many and pa.s.sionately expressed reservations. He left his wife and niece in charge of the store, since Furio refused to take leave from the factory project, recruited Ra.s.so's two youngest boys as his general staff, and drove out to the Gabela house in a donkey-cart, with the Ra.s.so boys following on their ponies.