Chapter 9
“I don’t think anybody’s going to make a fuss about me stealing the sword,” she said, as we sat together on the refectory steps the next morning.
“Obviously they found the hilt and recognised it, and someone’s bound to wonder what it was doing there when it ought to have been in the treasury.
But they’ll figure that one of the monsters must’ve stolen it, and besides, nobody’s going to want to highlight the fact that an agent of Evil was able to steal, use and break a holy relic, because that’d be very bad for morale.
My guess is, at some point soon a new blade is going to appear in the old hilt, and it’ll be so like the old one that nobody will be able to tell the difference, and that part of it won’t have happened. ”
Indeed. A job for a skilled faker of historical artefacts. Talking of which … Only I couldn’t bring myself to. She’d find out soon enough, but too late to stop me and then with any luck she’d be safe.
“You were wrong about the steel thing,” she said.
“Not entirely,” I said. “It penetrated his eye, didn’t it? I reckon, if it’d been a newly made sword, it’d have snapped.”
“It did snap.”
“Only when Kotkel put his full weight on it. I still think that if he’d used it to cut with, instead of throwing it, he’d have been able to break the skin at the very least. But like I said, the grip was too small, and it’s got one of those ditzy half-moon pommels that bite into your wrist when you take a swing, so he didn’t have that option. ”
She gave me her what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about look, and I shut up.
I really wasn’t interested in the steel thing, and neither was she.
What we both wanted to ask was, why? Why had two of the monsters suddenly decided to fight each other?
But since we had no answers, we didn’t ask the question. Too depressing.
But not nearly as depressing as the answer I could have provided, if I’d been truly cruel or thoughtless.
Even after seeing it (blessed are those who have seen and yet …) I couldn’t quite bring myself to choke it down and swallow it.
Had I really watched a bout in the never-ending battle between Good and Evil?
My friend with the chins would have me believe that that was precisely what I’d seen.
In which case, which monster was Good and which was the bad guy?
My pal had as good as claimed Kotkel for his own; in which case Dad was Evil.
But in that case, why had he turned up like that, presumably saving my neck, and how come he’d been able to fight a duly authorised representative of the angels to a standstill?
“Another thing you were wrong about,” she was saying. “Flushing the ashes out to sea. Obviously that didn’t work either.”
“Obviously.”
“It should’ve worked, though. It was a good idea. So you really can’t blame yourself for that.”
For that, as opposed to –
“No,” I said. “And I don’t, so there.”
She turned her head and looked at me. “You don’t suppose—”
“What?”
“Your dad turned up when he did to rescue you. Because if he hadn’t, you’d have been killed, right?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Kotkel had plenty of chances, God only knows. And I said some pretty stupid things, trying to rile him. And Kel always hated me, and he always did have a vicious temper. I’m surprised he didn’t kill me, to be honest with you.
It’s not like there’d have been consequences, and Kel never did worry about things like that. ”
“Well, there you are, then.”
I shook my head. “But he didn’t do it,” I said. “There were at least three times last night when I said to myself, This is it, I’m going to die. But he didn’t do it. And I was pushing him really hard, just like when we were kids.”
She gave me a look of wisdom and compassion, expertly blended. “You must’ve been a real fuck-up when you were a boy.”
I nodded. “Last night,” I said, “I think I was pushing him to see how far he’d go. I needed him to admit he couldn’t kill me. And I think I was almost there, only Dad showed up. And that,” I added, “would make a certain amount of sense.”
“Would it?”
I was in danger of going too far. “Thinking aloud. Ignore me.”
“So what are you thinking?”
“Just my usual drivel. Forget it.” I made a show of yawning. “I don’t know about you, but I’m pooped. Didn’t get much sleep last night, what with one thing and another. I think I might just crawl away under a rock and close my eyes for ten minutes.”
She knows me too well. “What is it?” she said. “What haven’t you told me?”
“Oh, loads of stuff,” I said, manufacturing another yawn.
“None of it relevant. If I were to tell you everything, you’d be so bored you’d strangle me just to make me shut up.
For instance, did you know that in the second edition of Theophrastus’ Elements of Botany, the chapter on the shapes of tree-trunks is very slightly different? It’s almost the same, except—”
“What haven’t you told me?”
I’d done exactly what I didn’t want to do. That’s not like me. “Nothing,” I said. “Trust me. I’m just having a bit of a crisis of faith, that’s all. Please don’t go on about it.”
I know her quite well. I know that it bothers the life out of her that I’m not a believer; partly because that makes me a form of anathema, and she really shouldn’t associate with me; partly because she’s worried that I’ll go to hell when I die.
A crisis of faith would suggest that maybe I was on the verge of seeing the light and being saved.
Well; maybe she’d think that, and get off my back.
“Sure,” she said. “None of my business.” She stood up. “You were right,” she said. “We ought to leave. We’re not doing any good here.”
Where had that come from? “I’m not so certain about that any more,” I said.
“Really? Why?”
“Last night,” I said. “I stopped Kotkel from hurting anyone. Well, I did. Nobody got killed, did they?”
She thought about that for a moment. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe he came for you. Maybe he wasn’t after anyone else. Maybe if you weren’t here, he’d go away.”
You can’t expect help if you lie to people. “Maybe,” I said. “The bitch of it is, I think I could’ve made him tell me who’s controlling him, if Dad hadn’t shown up. Or he’d have killed me, one or the other. I think I still could, if I faced him again.”
She gave me a long, hard look. “I think we both know who’s controlling the monsters,” she said. “Only you won’t admit it.”
“Then why did Dad—?”
She shrugged. “I think he came to save you. Because he was human once, and even Evil can’t scrub the last bit of goodness out of someone. I think your father came back because he loves you.”
Oh dear, I thought, or something to that effect. But I let her go without saying anything. More often than not, I’ve come to believe, the last word simply isn’t worth having.
I was in the main quadrangle, waiting for the next council session to begin, when someone called out my name. I didn’t recognise him: a stocky man, in an army coat and a big felt hat. “That’s me,” I said.
He took a small brass tube from his sleeve. “Letter for you.”
He didn’t seem inclined to hang about, so I thanked him and found a quiet spot in the corner of the quad. The letter was addressed to Svangerd and me, from Secretary Hildegern back home. You remember, the young smart-arse who made me go to Choris in the first place.
Hildegern to Desiderius and Svangerd, greetings.
We have heard – not from you, which we find disturbing – about the deplorable events at the council. We would remind you that you work for us. We trust that you do not need to be reminded where your loyalties lie.
Clearly your original mission has been superseded by the turn of events.
We consider it essential that we are fully represented at the council for its full duration, and we rely on you to remain in attendance, with a view to making a full report on your return.
Furthermore, you are instructed to take all necessary action, verbally and physically, to protect and maintain the interests of this abbey, Abbot Simocatta and the true faith, including but not limited to casting your votes in favour of the election of Vitimer as permanent head of the council.
In other words: stay put, do what you have to do, but everything you do will be your fault, not mine. Exactly what I’d have expected from him, worse luck.
I skipped the opening session and took the letter for Svangerd to see. She was sitting with Mother Krimhild, watching her lying motionless in bed, neither dead nor alive. There seemed to be a lot of that about at this council, one way or another.
“Any change?”
“No.” She wasn’t looking at me. “What are you doing here? And keep your voice down; she needs to rest.”
“Letter from home.”
“Give it here.” She read it and handed it back. “Wonderful,” she said. “We’re stuck here.”
“Looks like it.”
“Of course, they don’t know all the facts. For a start, they can’t have heard about the heresy or the schism yet, or they’d have sent instructions.”
“Presumably,” I said. “But I guess that’s covered by protecting and maintaining the interests.
Good phrase, that. I must remember it. What were you doing in the castle strongroom at midnight, with a sack and a ten-inch knife wedged in the top of your boot?
Well, your honour, I was protecting and maintaining the interests of the true faith.
Case dismissed.” I sighed. “Do you remember the days when we were just thieves? Everything was so simple then.”
She turned her head to scowl at me; not in front of the holy mother, even though she can’t hear a word of it. “You’d better go to the council,” she said.
“You?”
“I’ll stay here and pray a bit longer.”