Chapter 7 #2
Ridiculous, of course; sympathetic magic.
A brought-back-from-the-dead weapon to kill a brought-back-from-the-dead monster.
Or (I told myself) scientific metallurgy; under the empire they knew how to make really good steel, capable of taking and holding a superior edge.
In the Mesoge, steel-making happens more or less by accident.
You twist together a load of stuff at welding heat, and some of it may harden or it may not.
Under the empire, they didn’t trust to luck, they knew.
And in Choris, bits of the empire get turned up every time they plough, including good steel. Science, you see. The hell with it.
On my way back through Poor Town I found a half-brick.
I sat down on a wall and spent a long time patiently working up a good edge, using spit as a lubricant.
I used to sharpen my father’s hook for him when he was coppicing; he had high standards, enforced with the back of his hand.
The longer it takes to sharpen, the better the steel.
The hook was good stuff. I got it to the point where I could shave hairs off my arm with it, then wrapped it up in the rag.
I’d get Svangerd to give it the finishing touch. She’d like doing that.
Svangerd was in my room when I got back. She looked as though her father had just died, except (in her case) how would she know?
“That man,” she said, “the one who got killed last night.”
I nodded.
“It was him.”
I took the wrapped billhook out from the fold of my habit and put it down on the bed. “The man you used to know.”
“Yes.”
Years ago I was walking through the streets of a small town when a slate fell off a roof onto my head.
I remember the surprise. Suddenly, no warning, a bewildering, excruciating blow from above, like the wrath of God, only of course He doesn’t exist, so it must’ve been something else.
What I remember most about it was the feeling of total and utter stupidity, as if every thought and rational process had been knocked out of my brain. A bit like that.
“Makes no sense,” I said.
“Yes, it fucking does,” she said. “You idiot, can’t you see? It’s obvious.”
Now she mentioned it, I could see. There was, used to be, a man that Svangerd wanted dead and out of the way, more than anything else in the whole wide world.
Next morning he’s a decapitated trunk, more of a liquid than a solid.
Through the agency of my brother Kotkel.
My brother; me feeling the way I do about her.
Couldn’t be plainer if you wrote it in capitals a foot high.
“I’m doing it,” she said. “It’s not you, it’s me.”
“That’s nonsense,” I said.
“Is it hell as like. I wanted him dead. He’s dead. I’m controlling the monster. Can’t you see that?”
“Get a grip, for crying out loud,” I said. “You are not responsible for my brother’s actions. He doesn’t even know you.”
“I’ve caught it,” she said. “From you. It’s a contagion, and you’ve passed it on to me. I’m unclean, because of—”
“No,” I said, painfully aware that I had no arguments to back that up with. Just faith – that old thing. “It doesn’t work like that, trust me. It’s not your fault.”
“This is the worst thing that could possibly happen,” she said. “I’m going to go to hell.”
“No, you’re—”
“Don’t try telling me it’s a coincidence,” she said. “Schism in the Church, and now this. That fucking box you bought.”
“Not your fault.”
“Yes, it was, it must have been. I was with you. And I wanted the princess dead. I hated her. You didn’t hate her.”
“No, not really. But I didn’t want to have to kill her. So my dad did it for me.”
“No,” she said. “I hated her. Because of what happened when I was a kid.”
Sometimes it’s just one damn thing after another. “What?”
“When I was a kid,” she said. “I never told you about that, did I?”
No, she hadn’t; and I, valuing my skin, had never asked. “Tell me,” I said.
She sat down next to me on the bed. I could see her go cold, just like the billhook had done when the smith quenched it, as the residual heat bled into the hard edge and was dissipated in the water.
“My father was a tenant of the Flawless Diamond in Segwald,” she said, “when the princess took over as abbess there. He’d always had trouble raising the money to pay the rent, but the old abbess didn’t hold with evicting people so she let things slide.
I think we were about four years in arrears.
Forty deniers.” She reached in her sleeve and pulled out a handful of coins.
She held them out on the palm of her hand: four gold bezants, each bezant worth ten deniers.
“When Hildigund took over as abbess, she decided the finances were a mess. So she got rid of the old steward and took over the money side of things personally. She brought in a dozen new bailiffs and told them to chase up all the outstanding arrears of rent. My father couldn’t find that sort of money, obviously.
So they gave him a choice. He had a plough team, six oxen: good stock; his father bred them. And he had a daughter. Me.”
She was staring at her hands, as though they were to blame for everything.
“It wasn’t really a choice,” she said. “Without the oxen he couldn’t plough.
So they took me. It was supposed to be five years’ indentures, but it doesn’t work like that in practice.
All the time you’re indentured, they set off the cost of your board and keep against what you earn, so if they’re imaginative with their accounting, after five years you end up owing them money.
That’s how I came to be what I was, until the day came when I couldn’t hack it any more, so I took a skewer out of the kitchen and stuck it in that bastard’s ear as far as it would go, and then I ran away and the Sisters took me in, and I was saved—” She stopped, as suddenly as letting go of hot metal.
“I hated the princess,” she said. “I really wanted to kill her. The only thing was, I couldn’t see how I could make her hurt enough before she died.
But the monster did that for me. I wasn’t strong enough, but it was.
That’s exactly what I’d have done, if I’d been able to.
I’d have broken every bone, and squeezed her head till the brains burst—”
“Yes,” I said. “But you didn’t.”
“Didn’t I?” She looked at me. “You don’t know that. You say you know all about these monsters, but you don’t, do you? You don’t know anything at all.”
True. “It wasn’t you,” I said. “You’re not from the Mesoge. You didn’t buy those stupid books. Don’t go taking the blame for things you haven’t done. It’s presumptuous. It’s the sin of pride. You should know better than that.”
“The hell with you,” she said, which was a bit more like it. “I’m scared,” she said. “I feel like I don’t know myself any more.”
“It’d be nice if we knew what was really going on,” I conceded. “Come on, we’re supposed to be smart. Why can’t we figure it out?”
“I already did,” she said. “But you aren’t listening. It’s me. Can’t you see that?”
“No,” I said firmly. “Which is why it’s up to me to do something about it.” I picked up the billhook and unwrapped it. “He’s my brother,” I said. “So he’s my responsibility. Put an edge on that, will you? I need it really sharp.”
“What’s that meant to be when it’s at home?”
“Imperial steel,” I said. “A practical solution to a practical problem. I’ve thought about it, and the only possible explanation for why the old stories say that there used to be certain special weapons that could cut into walkers is that they were made of something else, something we don’t have in the Mesoge.
Science,” I said. “Provable fact. I think those magic swords and elf-made axes were imperial blades brought back by men who’d served as mercenaries in the empire.
And if I’m right, I’ll get rid of Kotkel and then there won’t be a problem.
Apart from the schism,” I added, “but one thing at a time. At least we’ll be doing something. ”
She gave me a long look. I think I know her, but there are times I can’t read her at all.
I went and found the guard captain. He had that look on his face.
“Sure,” he said. “Anything you can do would be magic.”
He was having a hard time, poor bastard.
I don’t usually sympathise with law enforcement, since they’re my natural enemy and a bunch of predators into the bargain, but I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.
By day he had a large building full of schismatic priests to keep a lid on, and by night there was a monster prowling about crushing people’s heads.
Quite probably he hadn’t anticipated anything like that when he accepted the promotion, and he was wondering if it might not have been something of a mixed blessing.
“If I were you,” I said, “I’d keep my men well clear after sunset.
There’s nothing they can do, and they could get hurt. ”
“Love to,” he said, “but I’ve got orders.”
“I have reason to believe that I attract this thing like a magnet,” I said. “So if I tell you where I plan to be, maybe you could find a way of putting your men somewhere else. Entirely up to you, of course, but I thought I’d mention it.”
“Appreciated,” he said. “But it’s not up to me.”
Fine. I left him and went to the council chamber, where the first session of the day was about to start.
I arrived at the main gate and found a large crowd of delegates, standing around in small groups, talking in low voices.
I got the impression that everybody felt they needed to be there and nobody wanted to go inside.
A man in a grey habit came up behind my left shoulder. I didn’t know him. “This is a mess,” he said.
“Quite,” I said.