Spira Mirabilis (58 page)

‘Doing the low thing gets to be a habit. You could always quit.’ She burped and tottered off to the bar. When she returned with a new bottle, Geta’s shoulders were shaking. She couldn’t tell if he was laughing or weeping until he looked up and she realised it was both.

‘Progress would cease if Man stopped doing things that sicken us.
Semper Eadem
, that’s my motto. Same, same, always the bloody same …’ He straightened up and raised a glass to constancy. ‘A valiant fellow told me you’ve got to live for something. I’ve been heading for the hot place for years; to veer now would be disgraceful.’

He set down his drink unfinished and waded out into the streets with his basket, careful to avoid the floaters.

*

The Angel of Death hovered over the mount but did not alight on the bodies of the children, for they had been marked by another power, and now it called them to service. Their stiff limbs snapped to life and pulled them helplessly to their feet like a marionette army. Their black eyes looked up and saw at last the needle for the fell idol it was. They could not decry it; they could only bark and gibber – and so they were silent. They had imbibed the truth and that was that there was only one commandment, and that commandment was to dance. They twirled and swayed and pirouetted to the stairway to spread the news to the city below.
The general’s troops billeted in the Piazza dei Collegio did not salute the First Apprentice when he alighted from his gondola. The intimidating silence was interrupted only by the billowing of the great banner that hung from the Collegio’s empty balcony. Its rumblings augured a coming storm. He entered the vestibule to discover his general, together with Consuls Fuscus and Omodeo and their respective supporters, all with scrolls in hand.

‘What a reception – and to think that I was beginning to fear I’d become unpopular.’ He glanced from Fuscus to Omodeo and finally to Leto. ‘Your Triumph isn’t ready, Imperator, if that’s why you’re back in Concord.’

Leto ignored the derision. ‘I’m here as a disinterested patriot. The consuls are here to petition you. They want peace. So do I.’

Torbidda backed into the rotunda. ‘War is your profession, General. Pacifism will not win you laurels.’

‘I care not,’ said Leto as he led the consuls into the speaking chamber.

‘Good for you. It’s so rare to hear a rapist voluntarily take a vow of chastity,’ said Torbidda as he retreated to his place at the stone table. He turned to address the consuls, none of whom had yet taken a seat. ‘Be careful of soldiers who would befriend you. I speak from experience. Remember, the League was able to dissect our retreating army because of the good general’s incompetence – it was he, remember, who allowed the Bouncing Bridge to fall into enemy hands and now he is panicking, flailing about looking for someone to blame. That’s very natural – but panicking men make poor judges. Our position is not so dire. Be steadfast a little longer, friends, and you shall have your peace. General Spinther has also, in his wisdom, abandoned the territory north of the Irenicon without lifting his sword, but his cowardice has at least preserved the core of the Grand Legion. I’ve summoned the three legions guarding the northern border and they will arrive before the League reaches Montaperti where our bolstered forces can
meet them in strength. This campaign has been wearying for our enemies too: if we are close to exhaustion, so are they. If we prove that our will is unbroken, they will sue for peace, on terms more honourable than any you’ll get lying supine.’

The vestibule had finally emptied of consuls and now the praetorians followed and hauled the two large doors shut. He ignored this, and continued, ‘And then we’ll do as we’ve always done: we’ll make promises – different promises to every party. The Contessa’s coalition will dissolve in acrimony and all will be as it was. Any questions?’

There was a long, tense pause before Leto said mildly, ‘One springs to mind:
are you insane?
Those legions were
guarding
our northern border. What remains to prevent the Franks from crossing into Etruria?’

‘Not a thing, but that’s a fire we can quench later.’

‘You speak as if we have unlimited resources and time. We’re out of both. The Byzantines have made an art of manipulating barbarians. They’ll goad the Franks into revolt and follow in their wake as they spill over the Alps. You haven’t
saved
Concord. You’ve guaranteed its destruction.’

The circle tightened, with Omodeo coming towards Torbidda from the left and Fuscus from the right.

He did not appear to notice. ‘You exaggerate: there will be incursions, of course, and I don’t doubt they’ll take resolve to repel, but repel them we will. It’s a necessary risk. If the Contessa’s army is not stopped, there is no empire.’

‘Torbidda, I beg you one last time,’ Leto pleaded. ‘Step from the brink. See Reason! We’ve lost the south – make peace before we lose the north too.’

Omodeo leaned from behind and whispered into his ear, ‘Spinther’s right, First Apprentice. The iron mines are better security than any walls.’

Fuscus’ lips were at his other ear, ‘While we hold them, we can rebuild our empty coffers and broken army—’

‘There can be no peace!’ Torbidda roared. ‘Not while the Contessa or I both live. One of us must perish.’

‘So be it,’ said Leto.

The consuls grabbed Torbidda from behind. Their followers dropped their petitions to reveal the daggers within.

‘Praetorians!’ Torbidda cried, but the black-robed soldiers at the door did not budge.

‘These men are mine, First Apprentice. You have no friends here.’

‘No, I see that.’

The consuls nervously drew round with their daggers up, as though Torbidda was a lion at bay.

Leto pushed them back impatiently. ‘No. A knife’s too clean for this traitor.’ He picked up the mace. ‘Omodeo, Fuscus, hold him down.’

Torbidda struggled to keep his head up. ‘
Traitor?
’ The fear vanished from his face, leaving a sneer. ‘That would make you – what,
loyal
? Isn’t this how they came for your father?’

Leto smashed down the mace and hit—

Nothing but stone. A consul’s dagger stuck into the chair where Torbidda had been a moment ago; he landed behind Fuscus and Omodeo and slammed their heads together. There was a hollow crumbling sound. He pulled back the chair and removed the blade as the consuls crowded around him, keeping the chair between as they circled at a safe distance. Leto was at the outer rim of the circle. When they finally attacked, he could see an occasional flash of steel, and jets of arterial blood – then, one by one, the consuls dropped, leaving the two boys facing each other.

Leto backed away and risked a glance over his shoulder. ‘Praetorians,’ he started, but Torbidda laughed.

‘Really?’ he said as he advanced on Leto. ‘You think they’ll be able to stop me?’

Leto took out his dagger. ‘They may delay you a little.’

‘To what end? You’re supposed to be the best and brightest, and yet you’ve never understood: all this ritual’ – he gestured at the bodies, the endless rows – ‘this building’s finely tuned proportions, the title I hold, the red I once wore and the rags I now wear: these are merely tools to concentrate my will, so that I could influence not only humanity’s muck, but people like you. Leto, you too are my tool, and harnessing your will, I have magnified my own till God himself cannot ignore me.’

As the praetorians assembled behind the general, he said, ‘You’re mad.’

‘No – but I
am
a little disappointed. All I asked for was the Contessa and her son, and you failed me. No matter: another of my tools is bringing the child to me as we speak. O, and then shall the world see such a winter—’

‘Who do you think you are?’ Leto demanded.

‘So blind. I am what remains of Girolamo Bernoulli. Torbidda’s in here too, and others – legions. We are made one in the Darkness. Would you like to join us?’

‘Go to hell!’ Leto cried, and flung the mace. It stuck Torbidda hard in the chest and took him off his feet and the praetorians rushed him.

Leto ran for the balcony. He knew he had only seconds. He leaped over the balustrade, crouched down and plunged his dagger into the Concordian banner – then let himself fall. The dagger ripped through the thick green fabric, and for as long as it did, it slowed his descent – but before he was halfway down, it came free and he hit the ground hard, landing badly. There was no time to moan about it. The legionaries surrounding the Collegio were panicking, for a queer mob of fanciulli was invading
the Piazza dei Collegio, apparently with every intent of transforming it into a bacchanal.

*

The sentries on the walls looked down at their brothers billeted in the Wastes and wondered if they knew their role was to break the wave descending on Concord. And after they’d fought and died, it would be the sentries’ turn to fight, and Concord’s turn – at long last – to suffer the torture with which it had broken so many other cities. They wondered how long the gate would hold.

Bells and alarums from the city behind them spun them round in time to see General Spinther riding from the Piazza dei Collegio directly across the Ponte Bernoulliana. ‘If you love Concord,’ he cried, ‘open this gate.’

The dead eyes of the Wastes had witnessed countless prodigies but none as odd as this: Concord’s general had ridden out, over his officers’ protests, to the unclaimed dirt in front of the uncountable ranks of the League. The captains of the armies that had scorched Etruria stared at each other. Their horses sensed their masters’ animosity; they gnashed their teeth and pawed the dirt.

‘Why should I believe you, Spinther?’

‘You want the First Apprentice dead, Contessa. I’m saying I will help you kill him if you will help me.’

‘We have to get to the summit,’ said Pedro urgently.

‘Why?’

‘Because we do,’ Sofia snapped. ‘You want our help or not? But I
will
get an answer first, General. In Ariminum, you told me that if we trusted each other, the day would come when our grandchildren would look on each other as friends. You said that peace is worth the risk – but that was a trick.’

‘Look in my eyes, Contessa Scaligeri, and tell me if I’m lying. I would have lined the rivers of Etruria from here and back to the Black Hand with the crucified bodies of you and every soldier of your cursed League if I had not been sabotaged and undercut by the First Apprentice. Old Town has flooded and he has done nothing, and now he’s loosed a plague – the plague I watched consume Ariminum – on New City. He’s
mad
– he believes himself to be Girolamo Bernoulli. He told me so. I saw the Serenissima burn, and I shall not stand by as Concord drowns.’

*

Water boiled up from deep beneath Monte Nero as if the earth had determined to rid itself of the pestilent lice poisoning its skin. The cloacae belched an unending flow of filth into the Depths, burying the poorest shacks first, and then the factories on the foothills of Monte Nero. The two-way current of the New City canals ceased to function and they overspilled their bounds and rained down still more water into the Depths. Enclosed by the city walls, there was nowhere for the water to go but up and up.

Geta used his sword until the crush became so great that even that had no effect. He found himself pushed into a corner of a narrow stairway, protecting the child from the blows of the passing throng as best he could. He tried to avoid the baby’s eyes, but whenever he caught them, he felt his own eyes water and a burning desire to apologise. He turned his face away and was met with that familiar scrawled graffito of a rising sun and a Herod’s Sword. He read aloud the motto underneath: ‘Her Kingdom Come.’

‘I’m afraid it won’t,’ said a voice that was smooth as beetle shells. ‘Lord Geta, I believe you have something for me?’

He scrambled to his feet. ‘First Apprentice! I— No, this isn’t the one – I stole this from a whore in the Depths.’

The dark-browed boy took a slow step closer – and somehow the panicked citizens running past knew to avoid him. ‘You cannot lie to me. I am the father of them.’

Geta flushed hot and his heart pounded. He thrust his sword at the boy. ‘I won’t give him to you.’

‘My dear Geta, I fear you don’t quite understand the situation. I know you don’t
want
to, but you’ve belonged to me for a long time. You cannot refuse me.’

‘Back away. I’m no one’s man.’

‘And therein lies the problem: Men who belong to no one belong to me. How can you doubt it? You killed the only woman you ever loved – of course you’re mine! Drop the sword.’

He watched his hand let go, watched it fall, heard it clang against the steps.

‘No, please,’ he attempted one last bargain. ‘Leave me this—’

‘Alas, I cannot.’ He pulled Iscanno from Geta’s grasp and the baby immediately began to weep miserably. ‘But I have a reward for you, my good and faithful servant. It’s waiting for you down below. Go back and finish your drink.’

Geta was powerless to resist. He turned and fought his way against the flow of the terrified crowds until he came to the water. He waded through the debris, and kept walking down the steps, even when his head went under, and when he could no longer walk, he swam. Before he got to the Rule and Compass his lungs were bursting.
Up
, his mind pleaded, but another more compelling voice said,
Down
. He opened the tavern’s door, pulled himself in, closed it – and then floated to the ceiling with the other empty vessels.

And still the waters rose. A lone gondola with three passengers – two boys and a young woman – pulled through the sea of bodies – dogs and cats and rats, and people young and old; a vision of the Apocalypse to Pedro but oddly familiar to Sofia. Somehow she’d sailed this awful sea before.

The League’s armies had flooded into the city to join with the Concordians in fighting the dancers. Right now the hordes of manic children had been contained, but it would be impossible to reach the mount through those who remained. It was Leto who had suggested this alternate route via the Guild Hall.