Part 20 (1/2)
”He said he needs four barrels of malt fetching up from the cellar.”
”Later.” He sat down beside her. ”What are you reading?”
”Leothymus on fractures,” she replied. She turned the book the right way up. It was just possible she'd been looking at a diagram. ”It's a bit out of date, but there are some useful things in it.”
”Where'd you get something like that?”
She looked at him over the top of the page. ”If you must know, it's from the met'Oc library.”
”Gig gave it to you?”
”No.”
Furio waited, but either she didn't want to tell him or she wanted him to beg. He wasn't in the mood. ”You were right,” he said.
”Quite likely. What about?”
”Gignomai's up to something, and he won't tell me what.”
”Mphm.” She turned a page. ”So what upset you? Him being up to something, or him not letting you join in?”
Furio looked away. She wasn't the only one who could avoid giving answers. He sat still for a while, and then a question came into his mind. He had no idea where it had come from, or why he asked it. ”You really liked him didn't you?”
”No.”
He did still and quiet again. It was quite some time before she said, ”All right, yes. But not any more.”
”Why not?”
”He's up to something,” she said.
”Doesn't that just add to the mystery?”
”It did,” she said. ”But you can get sick of it quite quickly. I think he's dangerous.”
Furio thought about the snapping-hen, but Gig had given it away. ”What makes you say that?”
”He's planning something big,” she said, ”and he really hates his family, which wouldn't matter so much if he wasn't so like them.”
”He went back to talk to the savages,” Furio said. ”I don't know why. Do you think that had anything to do with it?”
She marked her place in the book with a dried leaf. ”Why else would he go there?”
”And he gave the pistol to Uncle Marzo.”
”I know.” She stood up. ”He's hung it on the wall, in the back store room. He keeps looking up at it when he's working, like it's trying to read over his shoulder. I'd better go in now,” she said. ”Your aunt wants me to cut up cabbages for pickling. Shall I tell her you're back?”
”Might as well,” Furio said. ”I think I might stay out here for a while.”
She smiled. ”If you go in, she'll have you s.h.i.+fting barrels.”
”I'm definitely staying here, then.”
He sat there for a long time, until it was starting to get dark, and Uncle Marzo came walking up the street. Furio explained that he'd come home. Uncle Marzo looked pleased, and didn't ask why. ”You might be interested to know,” he said, kicking his boots off in the porch, ”those two strangers rode past me as I was coming home. I'd guess they're on their way to the factory.”
Furio shrugged. ”They'll be company for Gig,” he said. ”His own kind. He'll like that.”
”Your brother Lusomai,” Cousin Boulomai said, ”is impossible. He refuses to do anything. To begin with, he fobbed me off with excuses about bad timing. Then he promised he'd negotiate with the town mayor.”
Gignomai grinned. ”Marzo Opello isn't a mayor. He isn't anything. He runs a shop.”
”Well, there you are. Lusomai tried to make me believe he had some sort of actual authority. And then, after keeping us both hanging about all this time, he comes straight out with it and says he's done a deal and the matter is closed. Well, I'm not going to stand for it. I have the men to consider.”
Gignomai looked over his shoulder. They were boarding in the sides of the hammer shed. ”I have to say,” he said, ”your men don't seem unduly bothered about it. I asked them. These things happen, was the general consensus. And the man who did it hung himself, so it's over and done with.”
”Not as far as I'm concerned.”
”I can understand why you feel so strongly about it,” Gignomai said, lifting the bottle. Boulomai shook his head, and Gignomai put it down again. ”It's a pretty fundamental question of honour, and if this was Home, I can see, you'd have to take steps. But this isn't Home, it's a charter colony precisely one notch up from subsistence agriculture in the middle of nowhere. We simply can't afford to have blood feuds and private wars. If we did, there wouldn't be enough manpower left to do the work and feed everybody. Luso's just being practical.”
”Oh, I don't think so,” Boulomai replied. Gignomai made a mental note, he was one of those people who gets quieter the angrier he gets. Sign of a serious man, in most cases. ”He doesn't mind disturbing the peace when he fancies a bit of excitement, but when something significant happens, he's as quiet as a mouse.”
Gignomai smiled. ”You got the keeping the peace speech, then.”
”Several versions of it,” Boulomai said, ”all amounting to the same thing, and I have to say, I wasn't terribly impressed. I happen to think there are times when the peace isn't worth keeping, not when there's something like this at stake. Four of my men have been murdered. I want justice.”
Gignomai was looking over his cousin's shoulder, trying not to be too obvious about it. He would have liked to have been there when the final board was nailed in place, but instead he was here, trying to handle this other matter. ”What did you have in mind?” he said.
Cousin Boulomai scowled. ”It's awkward, I know, because of the confounded man hanging himself. Otherwise it'd be straightforward. Back Home-”
”At the risk of repeating myself, we aren't Home. What did you have in mind? Money? I'm afraid there isn't enough of it in the colony to pay compensation at Home rates.”
Boulomai shrugged. ”In that case, it'll have to be something rather more basic. And it's not just the murder,” he went on. ”There's the way they were treated. Those people just stopped feeding them. If they hadn't taken matters into their own hands, they'd have starved. You can't expect to treat people like that and get away with it.”
”Fair point,” Gignomai said. ”And the people who did that are still alive, of course. But you have to admit, no actual harm came of it.”
”That's entirely beside the point,” Boulomai said, and Gignomai got the impression he was rapidly running out of patience; not a commodity he was well provided with at the best of times. ”The point is, your brother's basically told me to shut up and get lost. So I've come to you.”
”Me?” Gignomai shook his head. ”I'd love to be able to help, but I'm afraid I have no influence whatsoever with Luso or any of them. Quite the reverse.”
”That's not what I meant,” Boulomai said. ”I'm turning to you as a man of power and influence in this community. Your family up on the hill won't help me. I believe you should.”
Gignomai was silent for a very long time. Then he said, ”Power and influence. No, I don't think so. Sorry, but that's just not the way it is.”
”You're being modest,” Boulomai said. ”You're a met'Oc, every bit as much as your brother. And you command rather more men. In my book, that's power and influence.”
Gignomai poured himself a drink but didn't drink it. ”I was under the impression they were your men,” he said. ”Most of them, anyway. The rest of them aren't fighters. You can take my word for that. Talking of which, if it comes down to manpower, you're the one with the most boots on the ground. If you're dead set on making something of this, you really don't need me.”
Cousin Boulomai keeping his temper was an impressive sight: rather like a volcano, Gignomai speculated, the day before an eruption. ”This isn't my country,” he said. ”If I started throwing my weight around, I'd have the colonists and your brother on to me, sure as eggs. In fact, I'd venture to suggest it'd be about the only thing guaranteed to bring them together with a common purpose. You, on the other hand...”
”I'm sorry.” Gignomai stood up. ”I sympathise, really, but I live here, I can't go starting wars, not if I want to sell these people cheap farm tools. I'm not pretending to justify my behaviour, I'm simply explaining why I can't help you. I'm sorry. Get Luso to do something, do it yourself or let the matter drop. Leave me out of it.”