Some clients are more trouble than they’re worth.
Which only left the question: what should she take with her? To which question, the answer was simple. Her writing-desk and counting-board, a few changes of clothes, a small case of books and all the ready cash she could put together in the time available.
Vetriz soon got bored watching her brother fretting over his paperwork and went to her room.
It was a nice room. She had a comfortable bed, a rather grand and melodramatic chair with big carved arms and legs, a rosewood dressing table inlaid with lapis and mother of pearl (she’d bought it in Colleon and made Venart find space for it on the ship, much to his disgust; it meant throwing a whole barrel of sun-dried herrings over the side to make room), an ivory and brass mirror that gave her skin a wonderfully flattering golden tone, three chests full of clothes, a silver lamp on a turned sycamore stand that was as tall as she was, a rack for her seven pairs of shoes, a book-box, with padlock, a small stool with an embroidered seat, two genuine Shastel tapestries (one of them thought to be a School-of-Mavaut, but the other one was much nicer to look at), a writing desk and a chequer-board that doubled as a chessboard, with a set of attractively carved chessmen (horn and bone), an embossed brass water jug all the way from Ap’ Elipha (a present from her father when she was six and really wanted a doll’s house) – all nice things, solid things to define her life with. She had a polished marble floor (cold underfoot on winter mornings but beautifully cool in summer; sometimes she slept on it when it was really hot) and a view over the courtyard.
And that was about it.
She lay down on the bed. There was a headache gathering behind her eyes which a short nap might dissipate. She snuggled her head into the pillow and -
– ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I didn’t expect to see you so soon.’
‘I’m not here yet,’ he replied.
‘Ah.’ She looked at him carefully. He looked older – well, that was only to be expected, he was older – but otherwise pretty much the same. For some reason he was dressed as a fencer, the way he’d been when she first set eyes on him in the courtroom in Perimadeia; in fact, that’s exactly where he was, standing in the middle of the black and white tiled floor, like a counter on a counting-board, a reckoning piece. She wondered how much he stood for.
‘How are things with you, anyway?’ he asked.
‘Oh, not so bad,’ she replied automatically. She realised that she was standing in the middle too; she was standing a sword’s length away from him, and the needle-sharp point of his vintage Spe Bref law-sword was just under her chin. If the black lines are whole units, she thought idly, then I’m a ten and he’s only a five. No, that can’t be right. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
‘A trial,’ he replied; and they were standing on opposite sides of a workbench, in a dark, rather damp-smelling thatched workshop. On the bench between them was a bow – what they called a composite, if she’d got that right, the sort that’s made out of sinew and horn and bone and things like that, held together with glue boiled down from skin and blood. It was fixed in some sort of wooden clamp, with a notched bar set in the middle at right angles.
‘It’s called a tiller,’ he explained. ‘It’s for applying stress and tension. Now then, let’s see how far this beggar’ll bend before it breaks.’
– And they were in a cellar, with a high ceiling and stone floors, standing beside a pile of pieces of armour, body parts. ‘A trial,’ he went on, ‘which is another way of saying, a putting to proof.’ Gently, almost tenderly, he took her hand in his and laid it softly on the anvil. ‘This may sting a bit,’ he warned her, as he raised the big hammer.
‘Just a moment,’ she interrupted him. ‘I’m sure this is all quite important and necessary, but why me?’
He smiled. ‘How should I know?’ he replied. ‘I only work here; you want to ask the Sons of Heaven, they probably know.’
That struck her as odd. ‘What’ve they got to do with it?’ she asked. ‘I mean, they weren’t there in the beginning.’
He frowned. ‘True,’ he said. ‘Hold this for me, would you? It’s important you keep it steady.’ He turned her hand over and put into her palm a head, a young man’s head, about her age. ‘King Temrai,’ he explained. ‘He’s the plaintiff.’
‘Really? And you’re for the defendant, I suppose.’
He frowned. ‘I’m not sure any more,’ he replied. ‘Still, that’s all out of my hands now, thank goodness.’ He brought the hammer down, using his back and shoulders to get the maximum force. The head rang, as clear and crisp as an anvil. ‘Oh, well,’ he said. ‘All right, we’ll pass that. Now let’s see.’ He reached down behind the anvil and produced another head. ‘Of course,’ he added, ‘you know him, don’t you?’
She nodded, as he put Gorgas Loredan’s head on to the palm of her hand. ‘He takes after our father,’ he was saying. ‘I took after Mother. They say I’ve got her nose.’
Under the hammerfall the head split and disintegrated, like a rotten log; but he’d been slightly off his aim and knocked the head off the hammer. ‘Decapitated the blasted thing,’ he said irritably. ‘Not to worry, though. I have a spare.’
– And drew his sword, the beautiful antique Guelan broadsword that Athli had kept for him for a time. Vetriz could feel the needle-sharp point just pricking the middle of her neck. ‘Well, go on, then,’ he said; and she was aware that everybody in the courtroom was staring at her, all the thousands of people packed into the spectators’ galleries – plainsmen, Perimadeians, Scona, Shastel, people from Ap’ Escatoy, Islanders who he’d killed over the years, all come to watch him fight. She could see herself, and Ven, up in the back gallery where they’d been sitting all those years ago. She felt the urge to wave to herself, but didn’t.
‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked.
‘How should I know?’ he replied. ‘You’re the plaintiff.’
She shook her head and felt the sword-point nick her. ‘I don’t see why,’ she said. ‘In fact, I really don’t see why I got mixed up in all this in the first place. Is it just because I can – well, see all this stuff, which other people can’t? I know Alexius thought I was somehow making things happen, but-’
‘You don’t want to believe in all that Principle stuff,’ he replied. ‘If you ask me, that’s making it unnecessarily complicated. You ask Gannadius, next time you see him. No, it’s a question of cause; we can leave the blame and guilt out of it too, that’s just lubricant. What I really want to know is, did I start it, or was it him?’
‘Him?’
‘Gorgas.’ He lowered the sword and laid it on the anvil, next to the bow. ‘Let’s go through it step by step. If Gorgas hadn’t killed my father, would I have left home when I did, joined up with Uncle Maxen and caused the fall of Perimadeia? (We’ll leave all the other cities out of it for now – Scona, Ap’ Escatoy, the Island, that pretty little model Perimadeia Temrai’s built himself; they all follow on). If Gorgas hadn’t done what he did, would we both still be back on the farm, mending gates and ploughing the six-acre? Or would I have left anyway? Surely that’s what it all comes down to. That’s probably the most important question in all history.’
She nodded. ‘If Gorgas caused it, then it’s his fault-’
‘Not fault,’ he interrupted. ‘I used to think fault, but since I’ve been in with these people,’ (he nodded towards the Sons of Heaven in their reserved seats in the front row), ‘I only think cause. If Gorgas started it, then he’s the cause. If I started it, then I am. What do you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ Vetriz admitted. ‘Sorry.’