Part 36 (1/2)

Scornful look. ”Since when did you climb trees?”

He grinned at her. ”That's why I fell,” he said. ”Lack of experience.”

”I'm sick of covering up for you,” she said, walking a little faster. It cost her disproportionate effort, because she would wear those ridiculous shoes. ”I'm always having to lie for you, and I've had enough. Next time...”

”Oh, that's wonderful,” the boy said. ”It was all your fault anyway. If you hadn't been making eyes at that soldier...”

(Which he knew was a lie; but a lie he could pretend to believe, thereby putting her on the defensive.) ”That's just rubbish,” she snapped. ”And you're stupid. I've got a good mind to tell Father what happened. It'd serve you right if I did.”

She didn't, of course. As it turned out, there was no need for anybody to say anything. The First Citizen and his wife were out for the evening at a reception, and off early the next morning for the state opening of the a.s.sembly. Undoubtedly the servants noticed his scabbed knuckles, and when the ringing in his ears didn't go away, they quickly learned to talk to his right side or speak a little louder. He had no trouble hearing his father, because the First Citizen's voice was plenty loud enough, even at home, and his mother never had anything much to say for herself at the best of times.

Six months later, the boy's father lost the election and was replaced as First Citizen by Didius Vetranio, whose father had been a sausage-maker. That is to say, Didius Maesus had owned a twenty per cent stake in a slaughterhouse where they made the best-quality air-dried sausage for the export trade, along with a large number of other sound investments. As far as the boy's father was concerned, that made him a sausage-maker. He sulked for a month, then bought a s.h.i.+p-ridiculously cheap, he told anybody who'd listen, the most incredible bargain-and cheered up again. His good mood lasted five weeks, until the s.h.i.+p sank in the Strait of Essedine with a full cargo of pepper and saffron.

”f.u.c.king disaster,” the boy overheard his father telling one of his business a.s.sociates (a small, dried man with hollow cheeks and a very sharp nose). ”Eight hundred thousand, and that's without what that b.a.s.t.a.r.d gouged me out of for the s.h.i.+p.”

The little man frowned. ”Borrowed?”

”Six hundred thousand.” The boy's father sighed. ”Unsecured, which is a blessing, I suppose, but it puts me where I squelch when I walk. b.a.s.t.a.r.d had no business selling a s.h.i.+p that wasn't seaworthy.”

The little man thought for a moment. He was a study for a major sculpture, Man Thinking Man Thinking. ”You need capital,” he said.

”Yes, thank you, that had in fact occurred to me already.” The boy's father took a peach off the top of the fruit dish, bit off a third and discarded the rest. ”You wouldn't happen to...”

”No.”

A slight shrug; no harm in trying. ”Looks like marriage, then,” he said. ”That or mortgage the vineyard, and I'd be reluctant to do that.”

The little man nodded. ”Which one?”

”Oh, the boy,” the boy's father said. ”I've already done a deal for the girl, but it's a long-term job, I'd hate to spoil it by rus.h.i.+ng it along. The good thing about children,” he went on, ”is that when you run out you can always make some more. Friend of mine used to say, a man of good family carries his pension between his legs. No, I had an offer for the boy only last month, but of course I was flush then and told them to stuff it.”

”Good offer?”

The boy's father leaned back in his chair and let his head droop forward. ”It'd be enough to see me out of this mess, and a bit left over, but that's about it. On the other hand, it'd be cash up front on betrothal, with the real estate settled till he comes of age. I could borrow against the realty, invest it, pick a winner, clear off my debts with the profit and break off the betrothal. It's a thought,” he added defensively, though the little man hadn't said anything. ”No, I suppose not. I have an idea my luck's not at its best and brightest right now.”

The little man folded his hands in his lap. ”None of this would've happened if you'd insured the s.h.i.+p,” he said.

”Yes, well.”

But the little man was like a little dog that gets its teeth in something and won't let go. ”How much have you got left, Palo?”

A long sigh; and the boy saw that look on his father's face, the one that meant he was about to answer quietly. ”Not enough,” he said. ”Oh, I've got a.s.sets to show for it, land and good securities, but either they're tied up or they're long-term. Like the brickyard,” he said, rubbing the sides of his nose with both forefingers, like a man just waking up. ”I've put a lot of money into that. Fifteen years' time it'll be a gold mine, but if I sold it now I'd be screwed. Actual ready cash...” He shook his head. ”Hence the short-term unsecured loans, which are eating me alive, of course. And I spent a lot of money on the election, of course, and that was a joke. Beaten by a sausage-maker, very funny, ha ha. Makes you wonder why you ever bother in the first place.”

The little man coughed, a strange noise, a bit like a bone breaking. ”I never could see the point in running for office,” he said. ”I've always had better things to do with my time. People talk about the contacts and the influence, but I don't see it myself. Personally, I prefer to concentrate my energies on business.”

The boy's father grinned. ”With hindsight, I tend to agree with you. Still, your circ.u.mstances are a bit different. You could always afford the best senators money could buy.”

A very slight shrug, to concede an inconsequential point. ”The offer for your son.”

”Quite.” (The boy s.h.i.+fted to ease the cramp in his leg and banged his foot against the leg of a table. Fortunately, neither man heard.) ”Malo Sinvestri's daughter. Could be worse.”

”The Licinii have done very well in bulk grain,” the little man said. ”You have those warehouses down by the weir standing empty. Presumably your intention-”

”Actually, I hadn't thought of that.” A suddenly cheering-up lilt in his father's voice. ”Thanks, Galba, that puts quite a nice edge on the deal. Of course, I'd have to use proxies.”

”Licinius doesn't know?”

”Why should he?” A short laugh, like a hammer on an anvil, or a bell. ”Not in my name, you see, so not on the register. It'd be worth it just to see the look on Malo's face.”

On the day of the betrothal ceremony, he wasn't well. He had an upset stomach, ferocious stabbing pains between his navel and his groin that made him twist like a dancer.

His mother didn't appear to believe him. ”Don't be stupid,” she said. ”This is a serious occasion. It's not something you can get out of by pretending you're ill.”

He couldn't answer immediately. When he'd got the use of his mouth back, he said, ”Tell you what, you can come and inspect the contents of my chamber pot. Will that do you?”