Part 26 (1/2)

Marzo shook his head. ”I don't know,” he said. ”If it was Glabrio, and he was mad enough to do something like this-Only he's not.” He sighed. ”Maybe Scarpedino's got principles,” he said. ”I don't know him well enough. But I don't suppose Luso himself would bank on hitting a moving target at thirty-five yards, and he practises every week. Scarpedino...”

”Didn't mean to kill Melo, just give him a good scare?”

”You aren't helping, you know.” Marzo opened the lid of the rosewood box, lifted the scales and dropped them on the floor. ”I want you to tell me how it couldn't have been Scarpedino, or Luso, or Boulo met'Ousa.” Furio stooped, gathered up the scales and put them back in the box. ”All right,” he said. ”The h.e.l.l with who actually did what. Tell me what I'm supposed to do about it.”

”Go to Luso,” Furio said. ”Sort it out.” Suddenly he grinned. ”Be practical.”

”Two words I wish I'd never heard,” Marzo said, sweeping the rosewood box into a drawer, ”are practical and mayor. Odd, isn't it, how two little words can really screw up your life?”

”Go to Luso,” Furio repeated. ”He'll know what to do.”

Lusomai met'Oc presented his compliments to Mayor Opello, but regretted that he was unable to meet him at that time, being engaged in preparations for his forthcoming wedding. If the mayor would care to call again in twenty-eight days' time, Lusomai met'Oc would be delighted to speak to him.

The guard had recited this with his chin raised and eyes averted, as though repeating by rote some incantation in an unknown dead language. Marzo winced, but stayed put.

”Fine,” he said. ”In that case, I'd like to see Sthenomai.”

The guard looked at him. ”You know the difference between luck and a wheelbarrow?”

”Go on.”

”Pus.h.i.+ng a wheelbarrow doesn't get you a smack on the head.”

Marzo nodded. ”Heard it,” he said. ”Now go and tell Stheno the mayor wants to see him.”

The guard withdrew, and Marzo collapsed against a fortuitous tree trunk, breathing hard and reflecting that he might have been hasty in his judgement. Marzo Opello would never have dared talk to a Tabletop guard like that. If he had, he'd probably have carried his teeth home in his hat. The mayor, apparently, could get away with it.

He stayed leaning against the tree for quite some time. Then he sat down on the ground, trying to look dignified. Twenty yards away, the mule was happily guzzling the long, unmown meadow gra.s.s, a luxury it never usually encountered. It wasn't his mule, of course. He'd borrowed it from the livery. Mayor's privilege.

After a very long time, a different guard came down to him. ”This way,” he said.

Marzo hesitated, then said, ”No blindfold?”

The guard shrugged. ”n.o.body said anything to me. You can have one if you want.”

”No, that's fine.”

Not that it made the slightest difference. Marzo had always lived in and around town, where trees were landmarks. In the first ten yards, he saw more trees than he'd seen in his whole life put together. He kept very close behind the guard so as not to get hopelessly lost.

After a long walk through the forest, uphill (his calves ached until he was sure the muscles were going to burst out through the skin), they came out into the open into a twenty-acre field of poor gra.s.s, with flints showing through. They crossed it and came to a post and rail fence. There was a gateway. The gate was off its hinges. A huge man was slowly, carefully pulling it apart. For a moment, Marzo couldn't think why then he saw that the crosswise bar had splintered, and was about to be fixed.

”Lucky for you,” the man said without looking round, ”I happened to be up here doing this rotten b.l.o.o.d.y job. Might as well talk to you while I work. If I'd been out the far side, you'd have had a wasted trip.”

Marzo couldn't think of anything to say.

”Right.” Stheno had prised off both parts of the broken rail and laid them on the ground. He took a step back and looked at them. ”What can I do for you?”

”It's about the attack on Melo Fasenna.”

”I see. Who the h.e.l.l is Melo Fasenna?”

Marzo debated with himself whether he should go round the other side, so Stheno would have to look at him. He decided it would be the best course of action, but couldn't quite bring himself to do it. He felt about twelve years old. ”The Fasennas are farmers out by East Ford. Someone fired a shot at Melo Fasenna, with a snapping-hen pistol.”

Stheno turned round slowly. ”Is that right?”

Marzo opened the fist in which the squashed ball lay. ”We dug this out of his barn door,” he said. ”Someone set light to his reed store, then shot at him when he went out to see what was going on.”

”Missed?”

”Yes. A foot high.” He hesitated, then added, ”We think it might have been your brother's man Scarpedino.”

”That little s.h.i.+t,” Stheno said. His hand dipped into his coat pocket and came out grasping a tangled ball of plaited-straw twine. ”Evidence?”

”The Fasennas are on bad terms with their neighbour Glabrio. Glabrio's Scarpedino's grandfather, and Scarpedino'll inherit the Glabrio farm.”

Stheno shrugged, then knelt down and started binding the two broken ends of the bar together. ”Sounds like a motive,” he said. ”Not that that b.a.s.t.a.r.d'd need a reason. I gather he killed a man's wife.”

”We think so, yes.”

”Nasty piece of work,” Stheno said, exerting an impossible force on the ends of the twine. ”But he's not here.”

Marzo took a moment to understand. ”Not on the Tabletop?”

”Haven't seen him in a while,” Stheno replied. He tied a complex knot, then stood up. ”Go on,” he said, ”ask me why I'm trying to mend a busted gate with string.”

”It's none of my-”

”Because I can't be f.u.c.ked to walk all the way back to the house for a hammer and a bucket of nails,” he said. ”Because I've got too much to do. So I mend it with string, because string's all I happen to have on me. Makes a p.i.s.s-poor job, won't last five minutes, but it's very slightly better than nothing. I can't swear you a solemn oath the Heddo boy's not up here somewhere, but I haven't seen him for a long time, and I'm pretty sure I'd have seen him if he was here. He tends to lounge around the steps of the long barn, along with the rest of Luso's thugs. It's not like they've got much else to do, except when Luso's hunting.” He knelt and lifted the lashed-together bar. It sagged unhappily around the splice, but Stheno laid it in position on the carca.s.s of the gate, and picked up a twice-fist-sized lump of flint. ”Lazy man's hammer,” he explained. ”I suppose you're going to go home and tell everybody who comes in your store how this is the way the high and mighty met'Oc do things.”

Marzo hesitated. ”Not if you don't want me to.”

Stheno laughed. The sound bounced back off the forward ridge. ”Doesn't bother me,” he said. ”Might do some good if your lot knew how we really live. Just poor farmers, same as you. Anyhow,” he went on, lining the bar up, ”I wouldn't spit on Scarpedino if his a.r.s.e was on fire, but it can't have been him if he isn't here. Setting the fire could be him, but not shooting. We'd all know about it if one of Luso's precious toys had gone missing.”

”It wasn't Luso's gun,” Marzo said, in a rather small voice. ”We think it could have been your cousin Boulomai's. It's a smaller bullet.”

Suddenly he had Stheno's attention. He put down the stone and stood up slowly. ”Boulomai's gun.”

”Lusomai explained,” Marzo said, ”that Boulomai's snapping-hen shoots a smaller bullet. I weighed this one and it's quite a bit lighter.”

Stheno nodded to stop him wasting time with further details. ”Boulo's got three of the things,” he said, with a curious mixture of disapproval and awe. ”Two half-inchers and a three-quarter. Oh, and Cousin Pasi's got one, a little wee tiny thing, shoots a ball like a pea. You'd have every right to be annoyed if she shot you in the a.r.s.e with it and you found out about it.”

Marzo waited for a moment, then said, ”Would Boulomai have noticed if one of his was taken?”

Stheno shrugged. ”No idea,” he said. ”He wears them as ornaments sometimes, rest of the time I a.s.sume they're in his bedroom. Boulo's got all manner of stuff in there. Probably hasn't unpacked half of it yet.”

”So Scarpedino could have...”

”It's possible. Mind you, he'd need b.a.l.l.s like boulders. Luso'd snap his neck like a carrot if he got caught.” He paused and rubbed his eyes, the weariest man Marzo had ever seen. ”All right,” he said. ”You say a barn was on fire. Anyone hurt?”