Eyes of the Calculor (33 page)

"Is that meant as a sneer at Frelle Finch?" asked Shadowmouse.

"No, it's a warning to you. The cold, cruel people like me survive in times and places such as these. Dreamers are creatures of peacetime."

I he following day Martyne toured the burned-out remains of the aviad wingfield and compression spirit distillery. The human dead still littered the place, surrounded by carrion birds and wild dogs.

"They were a group of veterans from the western castellanies, allied with some Woomeran mercenaries," explained the Bendigo Constable. "As I heard, they attacked the place but got sponged."

"Not before doing some damage," observed Martyne. "How many aviads died?"

"Can't say, they always drag their dead away and bury them in secret. Maybe half as many aviads were fighting here as humans. They took all the guns and horses too."

"Any idea what they were making here?"

"Some type of oil to burn without smoke in their steam engines, I should think. They don't like to attract attention."

"And what do they use this strange, flat field for?" asked Martyne.

"It forces attackers to either approach over open ground, or through those trees where the chain bombs were planted."

"Clever."

They walked with two of the militiamen from Bendigo through the burned-out distillery. There was nothing more to see but twisted tubes and iron hoops amid the ash. The distillery had been designed to burn and leave nothing useful or informative. The skeletons of four of the men from the human vanguard lay white and powdery in the postures of agony and despair. The remains of flintlock muskets lay with them.

"Ach, I wish the Call was still with us," said the Constable.

"Why is that?" asked Martyne, surprised.

"The aviads never hurt us while they could hide here, they lived in peace. Now every human who dreams of a farm on the frontier is rushing in, and where are the aviads to go? I feel sorry for those aviads."

"Have you met any, Fras Constable?"

"Yes, I have, Fras Espionage Constable. A lot of folk wish them well, but they keep their opinions quiet."

"Which you had better do with your own opinion, Fras. This is a serious incident: people in high places will be very angry."

"What will you recommend?"

"Limits must be enforced on human expansion into aviad territory, else there will be more deaths on this scale or worse. The Overmayor will send musketeers in to clear paths and establish safe settlements."

Martyne heard a loud click as one of the Bendigo musketeers stepped on a buried chain bomb's trigger, then came a concussion so loud that he perceived it as silence. He was standing in the blast shadow of the Bendigo Constable, whose body was hit by enough flying metal to kill two dozen men. When Martyne awoke he was lying on the flat, grassy ground, fifty yards from where he had been walking before the blast, and the militiaman who had stayed back with the horses was kneeling beside him. His clothes were soaked

in blood, but his only wound was to his right forearm. Parts of the Bendigo Constable were strewn nearby, and a haze of dust and ash was still on the air.

"Fras, Fras! You're alive!" cried the militiaman as Martyne stirred.

"Traps, left in rubble," gasped Martyne, squeezing his bleeding arm. "What of the others?"

"Gone, Fras, they're just gone!" the man shouted hysterically as Martyne rolled over and sat up. "He was a good man, a decent man, Fras, he hated nobody. There's no God, Fras, there's no God. God would never let a fella like him die this way."

With the explosion still ringing in his ears and aching from his wound and dozens of bruises, Martyne helped the militiaman rig up several charcoal-and-board warning signs before they returned to the Bendigo Abandon. It was another five days before two more chain bombs were found and detonated, and a week before what the bush scavengers had left of the bodies was gathered up for burial.

Rochester, the Rochestrian Commonwealth

IVIartyne returned to Rochester two days after Christmas. Much to his surprise, he was escorted from the paraline terminus to the palace by several members of the mayoral guard. There he was masked, then led into the throne hall, where he was awarded the Bronze Cross by the Overmayor. The ceremony was closed, but was attended by a few senior administrators from Libris and a dozen of the mayoral court. A public announcement was made, declaring that an agent of the Dragon Librarian Service had been decorated for bravery, having been wounded in a battle with aviads. Some time later an unmasked Martyne read the notice pinned to a public board, then fingered the Bronze Cross hidden within his jacket before walking on.

When he opened the door to his room Velesti was sitting cross-legged on his bed, stripping a Morelac target pistol with Martyne's service kit.

"I hear you make war on aviad children," she said as he closed the door behind him and leaned back against it with his eyes closed.

"Why do I bother to even carry a key?"

"Where is the Bronze Cross?"

Martyne tossed it to her. "I would have been given a Gold Cross, but they probably thought I would melt it down and sell it for the metal."

"But seriously, about those aviad children?"

"Would you prefer them fried or boiled, Frelle Dragon Blue?"

"What happened?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"Martyne, I am not in a mood for facile banter and mannered levity."

"And I have just come home from the frontier with a four-inch gash in my arm, more bruises than a tavern's doorman could accumulate in a lifetime, concussion, my ears still ringing, and memories of the bushland scavengers masticating pieces from four dozen bodies. I need a friendly ear, a welcome, sympathy. Do you know the meaning of any of those words?"

"You got a medal from the Overmayor, presented in the palace, before her court."

"I got stabbed in the left pectoral by the Overmayor, who had never presented an award before—and she fluffed her lines. I got three cheers from the courtiers and a trumpet fanfare, oh, and two little squares of toast smeared with emu liver pate at the reception in my honor—at which I was not permitted to speak. Ever try to eat while wearing a mask?"

Velesti sighed. "All right, all right, welcome home, I'm sorry you were hurt and I'm sure you were very brave. Now, what happened?"

Martyne walked over to the bed, scooped up the carefully laid-out components of Velesti's gun, dropped them into her lap, then sat down.

"I was in the Bendigo Abandon, investigating the presence of a large group of veterans from the western castellanies and Woomeran Confederation. They had no women, children, or tools, but they

were armed and mounted. On the night that I arrived there was a huge fire visible to the south, in the former Calldeath wilderness. At dawn I accompanied the Bendigo Constable and three militiamen as they rode out to investigate. We found over four dozen dead veterans and the burned-out remains of several buildings. One of the militiamen also discovered the hair-trigger to a concealed chain bomb."

"The hard way?"

"Yes. Aside from myself, one militiaman survived, but his grip on sanity is no longer all that it could be. The Overmayor was not anxious for it to be known that Gentheist vigilantes are hunting down aviads that her own lancers should be protecting, so I was made the hero of a battle that annihilated an aviad fortress in order to open bushland to honest Rochestrian farmers."

"So you fought no aviads?"

"I did not even see any aviads. For all we know that battle could have been between Gentheist veterans and some Inglewood warlord. The Overmayor wants it known that her forces are in control of the former Calldeath lands, however, so she has declared a great victory and I am a hero."

"A victory against aviads."

"Yes."

"Always the aviads, always the enemy," said Velest, shaking her head. "People still fear and hate them, even their protectors."

"They are stronger, faster, and more intelligent than us. These seem like quite good reasons."

"What a depressingly human thing to say. Speaking of humans, I was going to help with your problems with female humans, but now I am not sure that I want to."

"Help? What do you mean? The last time you helped me I ended up in bed with Marelle."

"Are you complaining?"

"Yes! I called at her tavern on the way home, but she yelled at me and threw me out."

"About?"

"About being away so much. I risk death in the wilderness, then

get accused of being with another woman! Involvement with women and suffering are two expressions for the same thing."

"What about me?"

"Could you seriously describe yourself as a woman?"

"Point taken. Did you know that my mother is in Rochester?"

Martyne sat bolt upright at once. "I'm going to sleep in my study tonight."

"I showed her the sights, had long talks with her, and discussed family business."

"Family business? What sort of family business? Involving me?"

"Not saying."

"What? Why not?"

"Because I want to see you suffer."

"How Christian of you," said Martyne, rubbing his face in his hands.

"What is your plan now?"

"Hide from your mother, avoid Marelle, and teach theology at the university."

"And train with me?"

"Why not? It's as good an excuse as any to hit you."

"Speaking of hitting people, I have been thinking."

"Not again."

"It is about my self-defence guild. I have spoken with some of my sister students at the university, and many are anxious to be able to fend off unwanted advances without resorting to formal duels or keeping company with men just for protection."

"A worthy venture."

"You agreed to help, remember?"

"No," said Martyne firmly.

"Why?"

"I want to see you suffer."

"Martyne, seriously! We could emphasize locks, holds, and throws, teaching them to defend themselves without weapons."

"Me? Train a group of women? Velesti, I have been involved in one way or another with fo—er, three women over the past three months, and all three involvements have been absolute disasters."

"Even me?"

"Especially you. Now you want to involve me with training a couple of dozen of them!"

"Spoken like a true monk. You have skills with subtle fighting arts, better suited to girls and women not as strong as me."

"The answer is still no."

"What girl has not found herself alone with a much stronger man, and subject to unwelcome advances? Chivalrous it may be to defend a woman's honor, but even more chivalrous it is to give her the means to make her own choices at all times."

"You are talking to a man who has found himself alone with women and also subject to unwelcome advances—and superior strength was of no assistance. I still say no."

Velesti leaned her folded arms onto her crossed legs and batted her eyelashes at Martyne.

"Even if I was to free you from my mother?"

"I said no and I meant—"

Martyne made a choking sound, then seized Velesti by the lapels of her jacket.

"Now, let me see, what is the new Balesha method for escaping this type of hold?" asked Velesti with a wide and malicious grin.

"You're lying to me," Martyne rasped, his face very close to hers.

"No."

"How?"

"Do we have an agreement?"

"You bastard."

"May I interpret that as yes?"

"Not until you do the impossible. What is your solution to your pregnant mother?"

"I can say with some confidence that you were still a virgin when you left my mother's house for the last time."

"There is a God." Martyne sighed, releasing her lapels and slumping back against the wall.

"However . . ."

"However?"

"Interesting experiments were conducted in the cause of fertility and carnal pleasure."

"Spare me the circumlocutions, Velesti. So, I may not have ro-gered her, but I was in no condition to know or remember clearly what I was doing."

"Count yourself lucky."

"How do we confront her with your evidence, whatever it is?"

"We?" asked Velesti innocently.

"We!" replied Martyne very emphatically. "I am never, ever going to let myself be alone with her again."

"For now, just do nothing. I have the matter in hand."

"You are a saint."

"Please, no insults."

"And Marelle?"

"She's pregnant too?"

"No! But what do I do about her?"

"I shall tell her you are more than you seem, and that you were wounded in the service of the Rochestrian Commonwealth. She finds wounded men erotically stimulating, so expect an errand boy with Marelle's apology—and save it. Apologies from Marelle are not common."

"Velesti, I feel so light that I could float out through the window."

"Savor the feeling, Martyne. Within one sidereal day fate is sure to do something so pointlessly unspeakable that you will wish you had never left Balesha. Can we discuss a training syllabus for my Baleshanto guild now?"

"Is that all you want? Help with your bloody guild? For freeing me of your mother you could have asked for a thousand gold royals."

"I value your help more than that, Martyne." She pulled the striker back on her reassembled Morelac and pulled the trigger. There was a healthy shower of sparks. "And now I must be off to see Marelle. Make sure that she sees your wound, but don't show her that Bronze Cross. She is an aviad sympathizer."

r\angen and Julica were lying together, but not actually in the act of intimacy when the Espionage Constables burst into Mica's little bedroom. Predictably, they sat up in bed. Julica screamed. The intruders tramped around the room holding lanterns high. They looked under the bed, emptied the bags and baskets, and flung the shutters open and looked out.

"What's the meaning of this?" demanded Julica, summoning her courage. "We have done nothing wrong."

"There is a fugitive numerate in this building, a woman named Frelle Sharmalek," said the leader of the Constables.

"Never 'eard of 'er," said Rangen.