Part 18 (1/2)
”They didn't do it,” Marzo said, in a dull, flat voice. ”It was Scarpedino Heddo. The strangers had nothing to do with it.”
Everyone suddenly went quiet and thoughtful. Then Stenora the horse doctor said, ”Are you sure?”
”Yes,” Marzo replied irritably. ”I had it from Lusomai met'Oc himself. Scarpedino's run off and joined the met'Oc. I saw him there. The strangers weren't involved in any way.”
Gimao the chandler, who'd been sitting perfectly still wearing a stunned look, frowned heavily. ”I heard Scarpedino'd been spending time with them,” he said. ”I dare say they put him up to it.”
”Don't be b.l.o.o.d.y stupid,” Marzo snapped. ”Lusomai said Scarpedino and the Gabelo woman had been playing some sort of nasty games for some time. Seems like it got out of hand, and that's all there is to it. And now we've got this mess to deal with.”
That didn't go down so well. ”You can't blame Ciro Gabelo,” Ra.s.so said. ”He a.s.sumed-”
”He was a b.l.o.o.d.y fool,” Marzo cut in. ”Does anybody know where those two offcomers have got to? They'll have to be told.”
”Aren't they up on the Tabletop?”
Marzo shrugged. ”I didn't see them, but it wasn't as though I was given a guided tour. Still,” he went on, ”I guess the met'Oc probably know where they are. They aren't going to be happy about this.”
”So what?” Stenora said. ”Even if the oarsmen were innocent, it's not our fault, what Ciro did.”
”I'm not sure people like that are going to see it in those terms,” Marzo replied. ”Of course, it helps that Ciro's dead.”
There was dead silence for a moment. Then Gimao murmured, ”Do you know what you just said?”
Marzo closed his eyes and sighed. ”You know,” he said, ”if this is what high public office is all about, you can shove it. What I meant is, since the man who did the killings is dead, we aren't going to have the aggravation of those two demanding justice, which would've meant either handing over Ciro Gabelo or refusing and risking a G.o.dd.a.m.ned war. You do realise, don't you, that this is a really bad situation. I'd be glad of some help, if it's all the same to you. I don't remember volunteering for any of this.”
Another silence, longer and gloomier. Then Gimao said, ”Don't look at me. I'm not getting involved.”
Marzo didn't bother to reply. ”Ra.s.so? You were there when the s.h.i.+p came in.”
”What the h.e.l.l's that got to do with anything?”
”Those two flowers of the n.o.bility know you,” Marzo replied. ”And it's your turn. I've done enough.”
Ra.s.so looked terrified. ”You want me to go and tell them.”
”I take it you're not volunteering.” Marzo laughed. ”No, you're right. I've already been up there, I guess I'm it.” He rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. It had been a long day. ”Fine,” he said. ”I'll go back, and I'll talk to them. I'll see if I can make a deal. But if I can,” he went on, ”it's binding on all of us, agreed? I don't want a murmur out of any of you or anybody else. Otherwise you can find some other idiot.”
n.o.body spoke. He could feel them waiting for it to be over, and the oddest thought crossed his mind: I despise them. My friends and neighbours, known them all my life, and I wouldn't give spit for any of them. They're just not...
Practical. Not practical men. Not like some.
”That's fine,” Gimao said timidly. ”You go ahead and do whatever you think's best. We'll all be right behind you, no problem about that.”
Marzo nodded (and it was as though he was looking into a mirror, and seeing there a man who kept the peace). ”That's settled, then,” he said. ”Now, if you wouldn't mind, I want to get out of these wet boots and have some dinner.”
They didn't hang about. When they'd gone, Teucer brought him a plate of bread and cheese; they hadn't known when to expect him back, so they'd already had dinner. Displaying unusual tact and sensibility, she put the plate down and withdrew quickly.
Marzo ate slowly-he was too tired to be hungry-and between mouthfuls figured out a plan of action. It was fairly horrible, but he hoped it'd do. Then he took his boots off and propped them up in front of the fire to dry, at which point, Furio arrived home, took one look at him and said, ”Uncle? Has something happened?”
”You again,” said the guard.
Marzo nodded. ”That's right,” he said. ”Have we got to do all the business with the bag?”
”Yes.”
”Fine.” Marzo closed his eyes, and the bag went over his head. ”Take it a bit slower today, would you? Last thing I need's a twisted ankle.”
This time, Luso was dressed in what Marzo took to be his hunting outfit. It must have been the very best quality, eighty or so years ago, but now it was mostly darns and patches. It looked like what the strangers had been wearing, and Marzo guessed it must have come from Home.
”Always delighted to see you,” Luso said, ”but I wasn't expecting you. How can I help you?”
It was easier, Marzo found, if he looked at the floor or the wall a few inches above Luso's head. He recited the facts as quickly and plainly as he could.
”Thank you,” Luso said quietly. ”I'm grateful to you for coming straight to me.”
Marzo made himself look at him. ”It's a mess,” he said, ”and I don't know what to do. I was hoping...”
Luso smiled, and Marzo felt a weight lift off him. ”These things happen,” he said. ”Don't look so sad,” he added. ”It's not the first time, won't be the last. The main thing is, we're here talking to each other instead of organising raiding parties.” He perched on the edge of the table, the way he'd done yesterday. ”You're right in a.s.suming my cousins will be angry,” he said. ”The crew of their s.h.i.+p are, naturally, under their protection, and they have an obligation to see justice is done. Fortuitously,”-later, Marzo made a mental note to remember that word in that context; so much better than they way he'd said it-”the man who killed them is himself dead, which relieves us of the need to do anything about him. On the other hand, it complicates matters. Justice, you see, has got its own sort of twisted arithmetic. Justice demands that for every crime there should be a punishment. If the obvious party to be punished is unavailable for some reason, you've got a problem. Complicated, of course, by what people feel is expected of them.”
Marzo didn't like the sound of that. ”These people...”
”My cousins,” Luso said. ”Distant cousins, but we are related, yes. Also, for the purposes of the rules of conduct, they're our guests, therefore de facto members of the household, which unfortunately makes it my problem. Well,” he added, with a faint grin, ”it doesn't have to be a problem. That's where your help would be greatly appreciated.”
”What can I do?” Marzo asked.
Luso edged forward a little. ”I think this is an interesting moment in the history of this colony,” he said. ”All sorts of bad things are happening, which makes it dangerous, but on the other hand, we've got two key a.s.sets: you, and me. Don't know about you but I think we're getting along pretty well. I think we can sort this out. Do you?”
Marzo hesitated, then nodded.
”Splendid,” Luso replied. ”All right, here's the deal. We forget about what we agreed yesterday-sc.r.a.p it completely. Instead, we set off my man Scarpedino's offence against the three dead men. Wipe the slate clean, start again. I believe I can square it with my cousins, if you can handle your people. I'm sure you can.”
Marzo felt a wave of panic sweep over him. He did his best to put it aside. ”I think so,” he said.
”That's grand,” Luso said. ”That's what I call a sensible approach. Actually, it works out quite well. It gives my cousins an opportunity to be magnanimous, which stands them in good stead with us. We'll have to find a way to make it all right with the rest of their crew, but you can leave that to us. Really, there's no desperately pressing need for them to know the exact truth of the matter, if you see what I'm driving at. Main thing is to put it all behind us as quickly as we can. Agreed?”
Marzo waited for a moment or so before saying yes. It occurred to him that Luso somehow knew that the deal they'd just reached was the deal he'd come here to suggest. Certainly, it did feel rather like their minds worked in a remarkably similar way. Or maybe that was what Luso wanted him to think. Not that it mattered particularly, yet.
”I think,” Luso said, standing up, ”this calls for a drink. No, not the family stuff,” he added, to someone in the background that Marzo couldn't see. ”The bought stuff.”
Marzo recognised it as soon as he tasted it. He had half a case of it left, stored carefully behind a stack of empty crates in the back cellar. Which reminded him...
”Ah yes,” Luso said, when he'd mentioned it. ”Good point. Is the wounded man fit to travel?”
”I think so.”
”Splendid. Best thing would be if you sent them up here, and we'll take care of them. Get them out of your way, before there's any more trouble.”
Marzo hadn't thought of that, and s.h.i.+vered. He ought to have thought of it. Entirely possible that the three survivors might want some degree of revenge or justice. Then it occurred to him to wonder how he was supposed to send them. What if they didn't want to go?