He was wrong, and it cost a life. Henvid Clack, father of one, a geologist by trade. Henvid didn’t deserve the end he got.
‘Excuse me.’
Malvery blinked. There was a man leaning out of the doorway of the club, addressing him. He realised that he’d drifted off, his mood cooling to a dank sadness as he reminisced. He might have been gazing through the window for some time, like a hungry beggar drawn by the heat and light within. He was certainly shabby enough to pass as a beggar these days, with his stained coat and frayed jersey. Although, with a belly like his, no one was likely to describe him as hungry anytime soon.
‘Sorry, mate,’ he said. ‘Lost in thought. I’ll move along.’
‘No, no, that’s quite alright,’ said the man. ‘It’s just… aren’t you Althazar Malvery?’
Malvery took a closer look at him. He was in his middle thirties, with a broad, handsome face framed by black curly hair and neat muttonchop whiskers. But it was his pleasant, eager manner that triggered Malvery’s memory. He’d been a younger man, and clean-shaven, when they used to drink together here.
‘Edson Hawkby!’ Malvery grinned.
‘It is you!’ Hawkby cried. He came out and shook Malvery’s hand vigorously. ‘I thought so when I saw you at the window, but it’s been such a time. It’s freezing out here. Aren’t you coming in?’
‘Ah. I ain’t really a member any more.’
‘Pah! You are tonight!’ Hawkby declared, steering him into the foyer. Inside was a uniformed doorman. ‘This fellow’s my guest, alright? Fetch him a jacket, would you?’ He looked Malvery up and down as the doorman headed off. ‘I’m afraid that outfit would raise some eyebrows in here, stuffy lot that they are.’ Then he beamed and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Althazar Malvery! Spit and blood! How are you, old fellow?’
Freshly jacketed and carrying a glass of good port, Malvery followed Hawkby to an upstairs den, where they settled themselves in front of a fire. Hawkby chattered excitedly while Malvery listened, content to soak in the atmosphere of the club. Hawkby was an eminent docto {emikbyr now, the inventor of a pioneering new treatment that used magnetic fields to treat the demented. He had a small asylum of his own in the Chandletown district. Malvery was pleased to hear he was doing welclass="underline" he’d always been a good, honest sort.
‘But enough of me,’ Hawkby said. ‘You’ve had quite the life of adventure, I hear!’
‘Ha! Is that what they say?’
‘We may not move in quite the same circles these days, but I know a thing or two. Surgeon on the Ketty Jay under Captain Frey. They say you’ve been behind the Wrack and gone toe-to-toe with the Manes.’
‘It was less toe-to-toe than shotgun-to-face,’ said Malvery. ‘Look, I ain’t gonna say there haven’t been high points, but being a freebooter ain’t quite as romantic as you’ve heard.’
‘Oh, now you’re being modest.’
‘Seriously. Most of the time we’re just rolling around pissed to fight off the boredom. They’re a good bunch, the best bunch, but sometimes…’ He accepted a refill of port from Hawkby’s bottle, and took a sip. Damn, it was good. ‘Sometimes I get to wondering what in buggery I’m doing with myself.’
Hawkby, sensing a story, nestled back into his armchair. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
Malvery looked into his glass, studying the way the firelight splintered and shone. Now he’d begun, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be talking about this at all. But he didn’t much want to discuss it with any of the crew, and here was someone who’d understand. Lulled by the alcohol and his surroundings, he decided to unburden himself of the thoughts that had been weighing on his mind these last few days.
‘Long time after I… well, you know what happened…’
Hawkby nodded gravely. Everyone knew what had happened to Henvid Clack.
Malvery shifted himself awkwardly in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Anyway, I couldn’t bring myself to pick up a scalpel after that. Couldn’t do much more than tie on bandages and dish out pills. But I got past it. Our engineer, Silo, got shot pretty bad, and I pulled him through. That was nearly two years ago, I reckon.’ He adjusted his glasses and harumphed. ‘And since then I ain’t done a whole lot of anything, really.’
‘Malvery, I’m amazed! If half the stories are true, you’ve been all over the place! What I wouldn’t give for a travelling life like yours!’
‘I mean I ain’t exactly saved many lives during that time,’ said Malvery. ‘Reckon I’m well into minus figures as far as that goes.’‹ {squdur/p›
Hawkby regarded him thoughtfully, his forefinger resting on his chin. Malvery dug into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet presentation box. He held it out to Hawkby.
‘I remember this,’ said Hawkby. He opened it and looked at the medal inside. ‘First Aerium War, yes? You were a field surgeon then.’
‘Aye. Carried some wounded fellers out of a firefight. Didn’t think much of it at the time, but they gave me that medal, and it made my name. Brought me to the attention of a bloke named Macklebury.’
‘Yes, I recall the Mackleburys. Your patrons.’
‘General Gred Macklebury. I met him at the presentation ceremony. I s’pose he liked me. After the war, he asked if I’d be his family’s personal physician. Offered me enough money to make your hair fall out. I reckon he liked the idea of having a war hero as a doctor, or some such thing. But I didn’t want to be sittin’ on my hands when there was surgery to be done, so I cut a deal with him. If he helped me set up my own practice, I’d be at his beck and call whenever I was needed. Whenever I wasn’t – which I reckoned would be most of the time – I’d be in my surgery.’
‘Eminently sensible,’ said Hawkby, closing the box and handing it back. Malvery dropped it into his pocket. He’d been carrying it there ever since Crake had found it in a drawer.
‘It worked out well for everyone. Macklebury liked to show me off in the evenings, so I ended up at all sorts of clubs and soirees and such that I’d never have got to otherwise. I wasn’t born with much money and never had much growin’ up, so you can imagine what I felt like, paradin’ around in the parlours of the rich and famous. I thought life couldn’t get much better. That was how I met Eldrea, too, and by damn, she was quite a woman back then.’
Hawkby topped up Malvery’s glass. ‘So far, old fellow, it sounds like the tale of a man justly rewarded for his bravery in the line of fire.’
‘You could say that. But then the Second Aerium War kicked off. Lot of folks out there dyin’ on the front lines. And I thought: ‘‘That’s where I oughta be. Back in among it.’’ But I had a life in Thesk by then. I was rich and comfy and I didn’t much fancy giving up my place by the fire. And I knew Macklebury would make sure I wasn’t called up. He wanted my services for himself. So I sat it out. Most of the Second Aerium War I spent in this club, while young doctors like you were sent out to the front.’ He hunched forward in his chair, the firelight reflecting from the lenses of his glasses. ‘Reckon that was the beginning of the end for me.’
‘I think you judge yourself harshly,’ Hawkby said. ‘There was need of doctors on the home front, too.’
Malvery {omad for hi was unconvinced. ‘The old me, he’d have gone regardless. But something changed between the wars. I lost that edge. Too much good living, too much drink. And somewhere along the way the woman I loved became an enemy, whether by my fault or hers, I dunno. Probably both. She thought she was marrying a braver man, I reckon.’
‘My dear Malvery!’ Hawkby cried, giving him a hearty thump on the shoulder. ‘I’m not used to seeing you so maudlin.’
‘Sorry,’ said Malvery, gathering himself. ‘Finding that medal brought it all back, I s’pose. I used to be full of piss and passion, you know? All I wanted to do was save lives. I just wonder what happened to that feller.’