Part 35 (1/2)

Furio looked at him. ”You're...”

”Crazy?”

”Incorrigible,” Furio replied. ”Never occurred to you to wonder what sort of a life she has, being your hair s.h.i.+rt.”

”True,” Gignomai said calmly. ”Well, no. First, when I asked her she could've said no, and she didn't. Second, because she's married to me, she can be a doctor, which is what she really wanted.”

”By-products.”

”Yes, of course.” Gignomai shrugged. ”I try and keep the inconvenience to others as slight as possible, but I do what I have to.”

”What gives you the right?”

Gignomai grinned suddenly; he looked about twelve years old. ”I'm a met'Oc,” he said. ”We were born with the right, along with the responsibility. If I could've chosen my parents, I'd have been a merchant's son, probably, I'd have made a fortune by the time I was twenty-five, and spent the rest of my life playing at being a country gentleman. No such luck. You, on the other hand...”

”Screw you, Gig.”

”You, on the other hand,” Gignomai persisted, ”would have made a splendid met'Oc. Not in exile, maybe, but back Home you'd have done well. n.o.ble, honourable, principled. You'd have been a great First Citizen. And if you'd been my father's youngest son, you wouldn't have sat still and done nothing.” He looked away for a moment, then back again. ”And none of this would've been necessary. Ironic, don't you think?”

”And we'd still be ruled by the Company.”

”Well, yes,” Gignomai said. ”It wouldn't have occurred to you to break the law.”

Furio thought for a moment. Then, ”The h.e.l.l with it,” he said. ”Serves me right for raising the subject in the first place.”

”Agreed,” Gignomai said. ”A mistake you won't make again.”

Furio smiled weakly. ”Agreed,” he said. ”But there's one thing...”

”Oh for crying out loud. What now?”

”If the men who laid out the dead monks were sworn to secrecy, like you just said, how come you know about it?”

Gignomai laughed out loud, with relief that was almost joy. ”Because the monks couldn't resist telling someone,” he said, ”because if n.o.body n.o.body knew, what'd be the point?” knew, what'd be the point?”

On his way home, Furio stopped off at Gignomai's town house, or the doctor's house, as everybody else thought of it. Teucer was sweeping up in the big room she used as a surgery.

”Oh, it's you,” she said, when the maid showed him in.

He asked after young Lusomai, who was fine, thank you, and after Teucer herself, who couldn't complain (a lie if ever he'd heard one). Then he stood looking nervous for a while, until Teucer asked him what he really wanted.

”Why did you marry Gignomai?” he asked.

You could ask her things like that, but there was a price to pay. She could ask you things like that right back. ”It's a marriage of convenience,” she said. ”I got all this. Back Home, I'd have spent my entire life planning meals and embroidering cus.h.i.+on covers.”

”The real reason,” Furio said.

”Because I love him,” Teucer replied.

When Furio had gone, and he was sure he was alone, Gignomai unb.u.t.toned his s.h.i.+rt halfway down and slipped his hand inside. With his fingertips, he gently encountered the texture of the coa.r.s.e horsehair vest he'd worn for the last five years. It had been the only thing he'd taken from the house, just before he slipped out to join the colonists and start the fire. It had belonged, of course, to his father, who had worn it ever since he ordered his daughter's death (and n.o.body had known, except for Pa.s.ser, his wife, and Gignomai, who'd watched him undress once through the key hole), only once taking it off, as custom prescribed, for the day of his son's wedding, but leaving it neatly folded by his bed, to put back on as soon as the ceremony was over.

Teucer had asked him about it, once. He said it was for warmth, because he had a weak chest. She knew he was lying, but didn't say or do anything, at which point, he knew she was well suited to be a met'Oc.

He rebuked himself for the indulgence, which was a sort of pride, and b.u.t.toned up his s.h.i.+rt to the neck.

extras [image]

meet the author K. J. PARKER is a pseudonym. Find more about the author at is a pseudonym. Find more about the author at .

introducing If you enjoyed THE HAMMER,.

look out for THE FOLDING KNIFE.

by K. J. Parker Ba.s.so the Magnificent. Ba.s.so the Great. Ba.s.so the Wise. The First Citizen of the Vesani Republic is an extraordinary man.

He is ruthless, cunning, and above all, lucky. He brings wealth, power, and prestige to his people. But with power comes unwanted attention, and Ba.s.so must defend his nation and himself from threats foreign and domestic. In a lifetime of crucial decisions, he's only ever made one mistake.

One mistake, though, can be enough.

On the morning of the day when Ba.s.so (Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Severus, the future First Citizen) was born, his mother woke up to find a strange woman sitting at the foot of her bed.

Her husband was away somewhere on business, and the servants slept downstairs. The woman was dirty and shabby, and she was holding a small knife.

”h.e.l.lo,” Ba.s.so's mother said. ”What do you want?”

Over the woman's shoulder, Ba.s.so's mother could see that the skylight had been forced. She was shocked. It had never occurred to her that a woman could climb a drainpipe.

”Money,” the woman said.

Ba.s.so's mother a.s.sessed her. About her own age, though she looked much older; a foreigner, most likely a Mavortine (blonde hair, short, fat nose, blue eyes); there were always Mavortines in the city at that time of year, seasonal workers. She was wearing the remains of a man's coat, several sizes too big.

”I'm terribly sorry,” Ba.s.so's mother said, ”but I don't have any. My husband doesn't let me have money. He does all the...”

The woman made a strange grunting noise; frustration and annoyance, all that work for nothing. ”I'm sorry,” Ba.s.so's mother repeated. ”If I had any money, I'd give it to you.” She paused, then added, ”You look like you could use it.”

The woman scowled at her. ”What about downstairs?”

Ba.s.so's mother shook her head sadly. ”All the money in the house is kept in my husband's iron chest,” she said. ”It's got seven padlocks, and he carries the keys about with him. The servants might have a few coppers,” she added helpfully, ”but it's nearly the end of the month, so I doubt it.”

The woman was holding the knife rather than brandis.h.i.+ng it. Ba.s.so's mother guessed she'd used it to work open the skylight catch. It was a folding knife, an expensive item, with a slim blade and a gold handle; the sort of thing a prosperous clerk would own, for sharpening pens.

”If you're that hard up,” Ba.s.so's mother said, ”you could sell your knife. It must be worth a bit.”

The woman looked at it, then back at her. ”Can't,” she said. ”If I went in a shop, they'd know it was stolen. I'd be arrested.” She gasped, then burst into a noisy coughing fit that lasted several seconds.

Ba.s.so's mother nodded. ”So jewellery wouldn't be much use to you either,” she said. She was feeling sick, but managed to keep her face straight and calm. ”All I can suggest is that you help yourself to some decent clothes. The dressing room's next door, just there, look.”