– And, before he could say anything, suddenly he was standing beside her in a workshop of some sort, next to a long bench with a heavy wooden vice clamped to it, and lots of peculiar-looking tools hanging on the walls (except that, because she was there too, he realised that at least for the time being he knew that that was a drawknife and that was an adze and that was a boxwood plane, and those green twiggy things were horsetail rushes, which are rough and abrasive enough to be used for smoothing toolmarks out of wood). Light slanted into the shop through an open shutter and fell across the back of a man crouching over the bench – dear gods, that’s Colonel Bardas Loredan, the fencer-at-law – and an old man sitting talking to him, who turned out to be someone he knew very well indeed.
‘Alexius?’ he said.
The Patriarch looked up and saw him. ‘Excuse me a moment,’ he said to Loredan, who nodded and carried on with his work. ‘Hello, Gannadius,’ he went on. ‘I was thinking about you only the other day. I didn’t even know if you were alive.’
‘Me neither. I mean,’ Gannadius corrected, ‘I didn’t know if you were alive. I’d heard a few rumours, but nothing I was prepared to believe. Dear gods, but it’s good to see you again.’
Alexius smiled warmly. ‘I agree,’ he said. ‘Though the circumstances-’
‘I know,’ Gannadius agreed hastily. ‘Hardly ideal. Look, I’m sorry if this is an idiotic question, but when is this? Are we in the present, or is this the future, or what?’
Alexius thought for a moment. ‘I don’t think this is for a while yet; I mean, I haven’t been to see Bardas yet in real life, I haven’t even found out properly where he lives, just something vague about “in the mountains”, which could mean anything. I think this must be the future.’
‘I see,’ Gannadius said. ‘Well, in a way that’s reassuring. At least it suggests we’re going to have one. Are you well?’
Alexius nodded. ‘I believe so. It seems that discomfort and uncertainty and being chivvied about tend to agree with me, rather more so than comfort and tranquillity. I’d say I felt ten years younger if I knew when this is meant to be. And you?’
‘Oh, well, not so bad. Average, I suppose. Except, of course,’ he added, ‘for this problem I’ve got.’
‘Oh, yes? What’s that?’
Hellfire, he doesn’t realise. ‘Well,’ Gannadius said edgily, ‘it’s not the sort of thing I like to talk about with, er, this young lady present. Another time, perhaps.’
‘What? Oh, right, yes. We’ll have to try and make sure it’s after this one, then. Otherwise I won’t have a clue what you’re talking about.’
‘Alexius!’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be flippant, it’s just – well, it’s all a bit ridiculous, isn’t it? Normal people write letters. I’m sorry; I’d better-’
– And Gannadius’ hands closed around the arms of his chair. His head felt as if someone had taken it for a fencepost and nailed a rail to it. ‘I say,’ he muttered, ‘that was really rather good. Did you, er, work out how to do that all by yourself?’
Machaera nodded happily. ‘It just sort of came to me,’ she said. ‘Only I got it wrong, of course,’ she added, suddenly remembering, and her face fell. ‘Perhaps it was because you were there this time-’
‘I see,’ Gannadius said, managing to keep his voice calm at least. ‘So the first time, the words were different.’
‘It was that old man and the other one talking,’ Machaera said, and she briefly summarised the conversation. ‘Sorry, does that mean I’ve – well, changed something?’
‘Nothing important, I’m sure,’ replied Gannadius, who was sure of no such thing. ‘That man I was talking to is called Alexius; he was my friend and superior back in Perimadeia. He was the Patriarch of the Foundation there.’ The girl looked suitably awed. ‘And,’ he went on without knowing why, ‘also probably the greatest authority in the world on, um, projections. We did a lot of research into the subject together.’
(And nearly got ourselves killed, and maybe actually caused the fall of the City in some ghastly way we don’t understand, and did who knows what other damage…)
‘That’s wonderful,’ the girl said. ‘Oh, do you think he’d mind terribly if I – well, talked to him? Myself, I mean. Just to ask him a few questions?’
Gannadius felt as if he’d just been kicked in the stomach. ‘Perhaps it’d be better if you didn’t,’ he managed to say. ‘He’s, well, a very private sort of man, and-’
‘Of course. I shouldn’t have suggested it.’ The girl looked down at her shoes. ‘I’m afraid I get a bit carried away sometimes,’ she added. ‘That’s very wrong, isn’t it?’
‘Let’s just say these things ought to be treated with respect,’ Gannadius heard himself saying. ‘And caution, too, of course. I don’t want to alarm you in any way, naturally, but it can be – well, I’ll be absolutely straight with you, it can be rather dangerous. Bad for you, I mean. If you go too fast without knowing the proper procedures and everything.’
‘I see,’ the girl said. ‘Oh, I’m really sorry. I just don’t think, that’s my trouble.’
Gannadius took a deep breath. Was that a tiny glimmer of light he could see, he wondered? Or just a hole in the sky through which Disaster was about to come cascading down? ‘It’s all right, really,’ he said. ‘And you’re making satisfactory progress. Very satisfactory progress. But since you are so far advanced, maybe you really ought to stop doing projections on your own for a while. What do you think?’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ Machaera replied quickly; she looked like a child who’s just been told her favourite toy’s about to be taken away, and then hears the merciful word unless. ‘Obviously, the last thing I want to be is irresponsible. I wonder – would you mind helping me? Being there when I do projections, I mean? If it’s no trouble, of course. If it’s any trouble-’
Gannadius smiled thinly. ‘That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?’ he said.
I hope I won’t die today, Master Juifrez muttered to himself as he took his place in the landing barge. He looked at his shipmates, fifty halberdiers of the Foundation’s Fifth Company, and wondered how many of their minds were occupied with variations on that theme. At the bow, a thin, nervous young corporal was clutching the banner of the Fifth: Austerity and Diligence. Scarcely the kind of inspiring concepts that men willingly die for, which was probably all to the good. Master Juifrez didn’t want his men to die for anything.
To divert his thoughts from such depressing topics he undid the straps on his pack and peeled open the linen parcel that contained his three days’ rations. He couldn’t help smiling; Alescia had put in a thick wedge of his favourite cheese, some peppered sausage (rock-hard and bright red, the way he liked it), a block of mature rye bread, six onions, a leg of cold chicken – he looked up and saw that the men were watching him. He folded the parcel up again and strapped up the pack.
He wanted to say something – So what’ve you got in yours? – but of course he couldn’t. A Master of the Foundation, twelfth-generation Poor, with a doctorate in metaphysics and a master’s degree in philology, doesn’t ask his troops what their wives have put in their lunch-boxes. Obviously not. For some reason. He smiled vaguely, and the men looked away. Strange, he reflected. We’re off to fight together, possibly die in each others’ company, and yet we seem to have so little in common. On reflection, that wasn’t so strange. What do ordinary people talk about? Not about textual variants in the early manuscripts of Mazia’s Epiphany, or the fallacy of moral duality, or modern developments in the art of counter-sapping during long-term sieges, or aspects of the problems of extended lines of supply during protracted foreign campaigns, or Dio Kezma’s early instrumental music, or the likelihood of a fall in interest rates among the federated banks of the Island, or who was likely to succeed Master Biehan as Chief Executive of the Department of Public Health and Waterways. And if you discounted that sort of thing, what was there to talk about? The weather?