‘I suppose so,’ Bardas said evenly.
‘Well of course,’ Anax said. ‘I always know.’
Theudas Morosin had found a ship; that is, he’d spoken to a man, a dealer in bulk almonds, who’d been talking to the captain of another ship a week or so before, who’d happened to mention that once he’d found a buyer for his cargo of ebony baluster-rail blanks from Colleon (he had no idea how he’d come to have a hold full of thirty-inch sections of ebony suitable for making baluster rails out of, assuming you had a lathe and a market for ebony baluster rails; price had been a part of the equation, but there’d been more to it than that) he was going to use the proceeds to buy a consignment of seven hundred sacks of duck-belly feathers he’d been promised by a man he knew in Ap’ Helidon; the deal being, he’d have to go to Perimadeia (what used to be Perimadeia) to collect them. ‘Although,’ (he’d said, apparently), ‘it may not be that much of a deal, at that, because who’s to say how big a sack is?’ The man Theudas had been talking to had then asked this other man, he didn’t say how big the sacks were? And the man had replied no, but it can’t be that important, because unless he was saying sack when really he meant bag, seven hundred sacks, at that price, is still a lot of feathers.
‘I see,’ Gannadius replied when his nephew had finished explaining all this. ‘And you’re hoping that when this man, the one who’s buying the feathers, comes to collect his cargo, he’ll take us with him.’
‘Yes,’ Theudas said. ‘And then we’ll be home again. Well, what do you think?’
Gannadius considered his reply. ‘It depends,’ he said. ‘If they’re small sacks, maybe he won’t bother. If they’re big sacks, there may well not be room for us on the boat. And didn’t you say all this depends on him finding a buyer for a shipload of ebony stair-rods?’
‘Baluster rails,’ Theudas amended. ‘Oh, come on. I’d have thought you’d be pleased.’
Gannadius scratched his nose. ‘I’m just trying to tell you not to get your hopes up, that’s all. And didn’t you say this man comes from Ap’ Helidon? I don’t remember you saying he was going to take the feathers to the Island when – if – he got them. I don’t really want to go to Ap’ Helidon, if it’s all the same to you. If it’s where I think it is, it’s part of the Empire. We’d be worse off than we are here.’
‘No, we wouldn’t.’ Theudas folded his arms and looked away. ‘Anywhere would be better than here. Here is nowhere.’
Outside the tent somewhere a man was singing, while a couple of other men accompanied him on a pipe and some kind of stringed instrument. The words didn’t seem to make much sense -
Grasshopper sitting on a sweet-pepper vine
Grasshopper sitting on a sweet-pepper vine
Grasshopper sitting on a sweet-pepper vine
And along comes a chicken and he says, ‘You’re mine’
– but the music was fast and cheerful, and the men sounded like they were enjoying making it; there were worse noises, both outside and inside Gannadius’ head. ‘There’ll be a ship,’ he said sleepily, ‘sooner or later. We’ve just got to be patient, that’s all. What we don’t want to do is go blundering about the western seaboard just for the sake of doing something. For one thing, I might die, and how are you going to explain that to Athli?’
That just made Theudas more irritable. ‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything. And what’s all this stuff about dying? You aren’t even ill, you’re just lazy.’
Gannadius smiled. ‘That nice lady doctor wouldn’t agree with you. She says I still need plenty of rest, after what I’ve been through.’
‘Oh really? And what was that, exactly? I don’t seem to remember anything all that dreadful. I mean, I was there too, and I’m not lying on my back groaning all the time.’
‘All right,’ Gannadius replied, laughing. ‘All right. If your duck-feather man really does show up, and if he’s going our way and if he agrees to take us and if there’s room on his ship, we’ll go. It’ll be a comfortable ride, sitting on all those feathers.’
Theudas stood up. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ he said, ‘before I lose my temper.’
It was bright outside the tent; so bright and hot that nobody was moving about. Instead, they were lying in whatever shade they could find. The three men who’d been making that awful noise had stopped now, thank gods; they were lounging in the shadow of a large timber frame they’d been working on, passing a big jug of some sort of drink from hand to hand, and eating nuts from a pot.
‘Your friend,’ one of them called out as Theudas walked past. ‘How’s he doing?’
Theudas stopped. ‘Oh, he’s all right,’ he replied awkwardly.
‘That’s good.’ The man was beckoning him over; it would be difficult not to refuse. Hate them quietly, Gannadius had said. Theudas went over and sat beside them. ‘Is it true what they’re saying?’ the man asked.
Theudas stiffened a little. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘What are they saying?’
The man laughed and handed Theudas the jug. ‘That he’s a wizard,’ he said. ‘One of the Shastel wizards. Well, is it true?’
Theudas nodded. ‘Though really they aren’t wizards,’ he said. ‘Actually, there’s no such thing as wizards. They’re scholars.’
‘Whatever.’ The man seemed to regard the distinction as trivial. ‘Then it must be true, what I’ve heard,’ he went on. ‘The Shastel wizards are going to help us win the war.’
Theudas frowned. ‘What war?’
‘The war against the Empire,’ the man said. ‘King Temrai and the Shastel wizards are forming an alliance, so that when the Empire attacks one of us, the other joins in too. It’s about time,’ he went on. ‘I mean, fun’s fun, but it’s high time somebody took this thing seriously.’
Theudas’ frown grew deeper. ‘I didn’t know there was going to be a war,’ he said.
‘Of course there’s going to be war,’ said one of the other men, the one who’d been playing the pipe. ‘Because they’ve taken Ap’ Escatoy at last. Now they’re coming after us.’
‘Or Shastel,’ the third man interrupted.
‘Or Shastel,’ agreed the piper. ‘Which is why we need to make an alliance with the wizards. Nobody else is going to help us, after all. Nobody else is left.’
Theudas handed the jug to the piper, hoping nobody would notice he hadn’t drunk any of what was in it; cider, he suspected, and he’d always hated cider, ever since he was a boy. They’d drunk nothing else in Perimadeia, and now the plainsmen had taken to it as well. ‘What’s this you’re making?’ he asked, hoping to change the subject.
The men looked at each other. ‘Oh, come on,’ one of them said, ‘it doesn’t really make any odds. Besides, anybody with an eye to see can look at it and tell for themselves. It’s a trebuchet,’ he went on. ‘Like the ones we made when we took the City. Same design, in fact; well, they worked all right then, so let’s hope they’ll work just as well against the Empire.’
‘A trebuchet,’ Theudas repeated. He could remember the day the trebuchets had appeared; the day the plainsmen appeared under the walls, on the other side of the narrow channel, with their barges of pre-shaped timbers, and all the noise and bustle of assembling the engines. Nobody had known what to make of them, whether they were a joke or a threat or both. ‘And this is because of Ap’ Escatoy,’ he added.
The man who’d played the guitar-like thing nodded. ‘Because of that bastard Loredan,’ he said. ‘He thinks long, that bastard.’
‘Loredan? You mean Bardas Loredan?’
The guitar player nodded. ‘Planned the whole thing, everybody knows that. Went away after the Fall, joined the Empire, took Ap’ Escatoy for them so they’d come after us next. He’s the one we should be looking out for. Gods, he must hate us a lot.’
There was an awkward pause. Then the man who’d been singing said, ‘Well, fair enough. It was his city we burned down, of course he wants to get even.’
‘But we burned it down because of what he did to us,’ the piper answered. ‘Him and his uncle Maxen. That’s why Temrai had to do it. And now he’s come after us again, only this time he’s got the Empire with him. He won’t rest easy till he’s killed us all, you’ll see.’