The Incorruptibles (12 page)

I walked around the
orbis argenta
, looking at Agrippina, at the wardwork, the cage. And then at Secundus.

‘But the stretchers, their flesh is undying, if all the tales told about them are true.’ I pointed at her with my cigar. ‘She’ll be here for a thousand years after I’m gone. And
I’ll
outlive you by a lifetime, unless I get ventilated by some pistolero.’

Secundus’ face darkened at that.

‘So, there’s no telling how they’ll act or respond. To her, she might as well have been captured by flies, our lives are so short. But mark my words, the
vaettir
have some sort of code, or culture, or …
something
. We’ve never been beyond the White Mountains, and they could have whole cities over there.’

‘You sound like my father with his talk of dragons.’

‘I can’t speak with any authority on the great wyrms. But one of the
vaettir
sits before you. We have to figure out what that will mean.’

‘Means they aren’t as tough as they seem, maybe.’

I sighed. Commoners like me can’t just wallop a highborn lad upside the head without getting crucified. It’s debatable if you can deliver sense like that, anyway.

‘No,’ I said slowly. ‘It means we got extremely lucky.’

He tilted his glass to his mouth, noticed it was empty, smiled at me, and turned to find Lupina.

I stopped him, putting a hand on his arm before he could leave. I gestured to the open Gallish doors and the river beyond. ‘Mr Secundus, I know it was a hard thing. But don’t change how you remember what happened out there,’ I nodded at Agrippina, ‘just because we’ve got her caged in here. Remember how bad it was.’

He frowned, brows furrowing like dark stormclouds on the virgin plain. The expression didn’t sit well on his young and as yet unlined face. He had more and more to deal with now. His father. What was left of his brother. But he loosened some, reminding me why I liked him so much.

‘Understood, Mr Ilys. You are correct, but I believe I’ll indulge myself in a few more moments of fantasy – and another whiskey – before retiring. Can I send Lupina round to you?’

‘Much obliged, if you did.’

He smiled then. A remarkable young man, altogether. ‘Would you check on Livia for me? Obviously, she doesn’t need my protection, yet there are stretchers about…’

I nodded and toddled off.

I could feel the cold air coming in through the open doors. Soon Captain Skraeling and Sam Kliment wandered in, followed by the engineers. Banty walked on the deck, arm and arm with Isabelle, passing in and out of the shadows thrown by the
daemonlight
. Carnelia was watching, her arms crossed over her breasts and face caught between scorn and maybe, truth be told, a little jealousy. Cimbri stood on the threshold of one door, hands on his waist, staring out into the night, smoking like one of the smokestacks that rose above us.

I walked out on the deck, shivered with the cold, and spotted Fisk and Livia standing in the shadows cast by the hindmost stack. He was leaning against the outer rail, his head down, listening.

They did not notice me approaching. She was saying, ‘So, when Metellus learned he could marry the Amelianus woman, and take all of her lands and income for his own, he divorced me with no compunction.’

Fisk was slow to speak, but when he did it was with rage, barely subdued. ‘That man is an ignorant jackass.’

‘It was difficult for a while. I had never loved him …’ She paused, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘It was a political marriage. The plebs have it so much better in that sense. Their women are not bound by convention. But going from a matron of a household to a divorced woman in Rume, it is not something I’d like to endure again. Metellus, not content to divorce me, put about the forum and to his cronies that I was deviant, and could not conceive a child due to strange … proclivities.’ She bowed her head. ‘He besmirched my name, along with ending our marriage.’

‘Ia-damn that man. I would—’ He stopped and gritted his teeth. ‘I would kill him, if he weren’t a half a world away.’

Livia placed a hand on his cheek, only for a moment, and he raised his hand to grasp hers.

‘I knew you, of all people, would understand.’ Her voice, measured and soft.

‘Been years since I thought about the dishonour to my name.’ Gruff and rumbling, his voice.

‘Surely it bothers you? I don’t know if I agree with what your father did, but you are of patrician birth, and by rights should be in the senate.’

He laughed, lowered his voice again.

‘I was just a boy when we came here to exile. This land was like a wonderful adventure. Though a cloud hung over Father, I loved it. But he turned mean and desperate. Exile didn’t suit him. It wasn’t until …’

‘Until?’

‘I lost
my
family … that my feelings changed.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ She paused. So they stood, facing each other, her two hands holding his. I coughed.

I felt horrible interrupting, but would have felt worse if I’d continued to eavesdrop on their conversation.

‘Shoe,’ Fisk said.

‘Pard.’

Livia let go of his hands and he remained staring at her, raising his eyebrows in a look that asked something. Miss Livia straightened her shoulders and turned to me, looking beautiful, if a little pale and cold.

‘Hello, Mr Ilys. I hope you’ve been enjoying your evening.’

‘Of course, ma’am. I’m sorry to interrupt you.’

The smile she gave me lit up her face. ‘Not to worry, Mr Ilys, you are always welcome here.’

‘I thought I might check on you two. It’s getting colder.’

‘Indeed.’ She smoothed her dress, held out her arm. ‘Would you be so kind?’

I took her arm and walked her back into the
daemonlight
. I caught a glance of Fisk’s face as I did it, and though he seemed dark and especially thoughtful, he winked at me as I turned.

Inside we passed Samantha Decius, who was speaking rather loudly to Cimbri, Paterna, and Banty. She had a loud voice and bright ruddy cheeks.

‘Gooseberry’s cage is threaded with silver pipes. We pump water through them. It becomes incredibly hot and pushes the turbines, the paddle wheels, then circulates through the ship, increasing the temperature and giving us some power for other things, like the swing stages, the fans, and running water.’

‘How do you bind such a massive
daemon
to begin with?’ asked Paterna, shaking his head in wonder.

‘There’s no size to Gooseberry. Indeed, there’s no size to any of the infernal. They can occupy whatever space they like. Right now, he’s about,’ she spread her arms and indicated a few feet, ‘yay big. I daresay he’d grow titanic and consume the world if we gave him half the chance. But binding him … well … that’s the hard bit.’

‘Hold up, miss.’ Cimbri shifted his cigar around in his mouth. ‘You mean to tell me that our … our Ia-damned engine could eat the world?’ He puffed, making the cherry burn bright, and tucked his hands into his uniform’s belt. ‘Hogwash.’

‘You could be correct, Mr Cimbri. There’s no way to tell except to let him loose. Hardly a good idea.’

Cimbri snorted. ‘I imagine. Gunplay is bad enough. Hate to see one loosed into the world.’

‘That begs a question,’ Kliment said. He was sitting at the table next to Cornelius and Skraeling, one leg tossed casually over the arm of his chair, glass held loosely in hand. ‘I understand, quite well, how Hellfire pistols get their names. An
imp
is bound inside a shell casing, the trigger releases the hammer, which mars the binding, releasing the devil, which escapes down the length of the barrel, pushing the bullet before it with fire and anger. However, why does the
imp
not then exit the barrel and become free to cause all sorts of havoc in the world?’

‘That’s a prescient question, sir.’ Samantha drank from a glass – water it seemed – and looked excited at her chance to hold forth on subjects relating to engineering. I searched the great room for Beleth, but he seemed to have disappeared. Cornelius took a noisy slurp from his tumbler. Lupina, standing by the Senator, pointedly ignored my empty glass. So I toddled over to the table and poured one for myself.

‘The reason we’re not bedevilled from thousands of loosed
imps
lies in what’s called the
diavolus pellum
ward. Look there.’

She pointed to the main doorway. From our distance, the silver wardwork around it looked dark, dim, and barely noticeable from tarnish. But it was festooned with intaglios and glyphwork and arcane symbols I could not make out.

‘
Pellum
warding will send any
daemon
that passes through it back to the pit it came from. There’s a smaller one etched around the lip of each Hellfire barrel. The
imps
flee down the barrel, pass through the
pellum
, and then find themselves back in Hell before they know it.’

‘Meanwhile, the speeding bullets are a last little reminder of their recent presence.’ My voice was not kind, but they ignored me.

‘That why you get after-images of the nasties after firing?’

‘Yes. For an instant, they remain in our world.’

Fisk was aware of my stance on Hellfire. Cimbri, too. So there were some eyebrows raised when I asked, ‘So, what happens if the warding inside the barrel becomes marred or scratched from exiting bullets?’

Decius smiled, and the smile was an honest if homely one.

‘You’ll have a hoppin’ mad little devil on your hands then.’ She laughed, but I found it hard to see the humour. The corruption done to one’s immortal soul is bad enough, but freeing
daemons
into the world to work their mischief, to cause such misery? The bullets are evil enough. ‘Word of warning, don’t rest your guns on their muzzles.’ She smiled.

Fire and oil burns. A piece of wood will burn hot, too, if you use a bellows. I’ve heard tell the Tchinee peoples have essences and powders that flame brighter than the sun, but no one seeks these out. There
are
alternatives. But instead we have
daemons
– everywhere. It’s not right. But I was too much of a coward to say it aloud.

Everyone fell silent until Cornelius belched and lurched sideways in his chair. Lupina, coming to his side, took his arm and lifted him up. He looked even more dissolute and bleary than the day following the bear hunt, when we sawed off his leg. But that was days ago.

Livia smiled, held out her hands out like you might see in statues of Fortuna, and said, ‘I believe it might be time to retire. Father. Shall I see our guests to their boats?’

He looked at us all with watery, grey eyes and blinked heavily. Then he tapped his bear’s foot on the floor three times and said with a voice thick with phlegm, ‘You ate at my table, drank my fire, spun me a story, avoided my ire. Go with my good will. For now.’

Carnelia said in a mock stage whisper, ‘Tata likes to rhyme when he’s drunk.’

No one laughed. There was silence for a moment, with an uncomfortable shuffling of feet. Lupina glared at Carnelia. Livia looked none too happy herself.

Then, like the ringing of a bell, a sound came.

‘Dverg! Chondlar a diete. Tul. Chondlar a diete!’

It was not pitched as high as the fierce ululations of the hunt. But it was clear beyond simple sound – each syllable felt like the strike of a farrier’s hammer, or the sinking sensation of a Hellfire shot.

Agrippina had decided to join the conversation.

They bustled me out of the great room, into a smaller dining area I’d never seen before, and gathered around me with questioning stares.

‘She said “
Dverg
”. You talk to this thing, dwarf? When you were alone with it in the hall?’ Cimbri had a hand on his Hellfire and looked ready to use it.

‘No. Secundus and the guards can vouch for me.’

‘But it was it talking to you just now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘She knew I could deliver a message.’

‘All right.’ He looked at Cornelius and the others. Fisk stared at me evenly, and winked again. Carnelia wrung her hands.

‘Go on then,’ said Cornelius. ‘Tell us.’

‘It was
dvergar
, wasn’t it?’ The junior engineer seemed excited.

Kliment sucked his teeth.

‘Yes, it was the
dvergar
tongue. My mother’s tongue. Agrippina must have learned it, years ago, when our peoples were more friendly.’

‘I couldn’t give a shit about this Ia-damned history lesson.’ Cimbri was as outraged as I’ve ever seen him, and he was regularly in a state of indignation. ‘What did the damned thing
say?
’

I took a deep breath. ‘It said, “Dwarf. You will die. All of you. You will die.” ’

Carnelia gasped and Miss Livia put her arm around the sallow girl’s shoulder, pulling her in close and comforting her.

‘It’s insupportable, the wog making threats,’ said Skraeling.

‘They’ll do more than threaten.’ Fisk’s tone was flat, emotionless.

Secundus sniffed. ‘Bah. It’s trying to get in our heads.’

Fisk looked at the lad silently for a moment. He turned to the Senator and said, ‘Mr Cornelius, much obliged at your hospitality. A fine meal.’ He nodded his thanks and turned to Livia. ‘Ma’am. Always a pleasure.’

She took his hand and held it.

I bowed to Cornelius and the group, then to Livia. I didn’t have to say anything, but I followed Fisk out. Cimbri looked like he didn’t want to let us leave.

‘Wait a moment,’ I said. ‘Where’s Banty?’

‘More important,’ growled Cimbri, ‘where’s the Medieran girl?’

TWELVE

The horses steamed in the night air as the boat dropped us back at camp, tired, half-drunk and exhausted. I don’t know about Fisk, but
my
head was spinning with drink and the events of the evening. The legionaries who’d been stationed on the eastern bank in our absence shivered, grunted, and boarded without bothering to give us details of the watch. The fire was low, and they hadn’t collected any more brushwood.

We settled down into sleeping bags by the embers of the fire. Fisk said, ‘What the hell were you thinking, Banty?’

‘Don’t call me that. I’m not some damned child.’ Back to being sullen.

‘All right. Mr Bantam, what the hell were you thinking?’

‘Don’t see a problem, not that it’s any of your Ia-damned business. We went up to the hurricane deck to look at the stars.’

‘You’re lucky you didn’t spend the rest of the night looking at stars from atop a cross.’

I said, ‘It’s true, Cornelius and Cimbri looked like they wanted to kill someone when you two were discovered missing.’ I scratched my head. ‘Think the Medieran lass is nobility, or something.’

Banty stayed quiet, arms behind his head, still looking up at the stars.

I said, quietly, ‘She
is
pretty, son.’

‘Shut up, dwarf,’ he said, and rolled over.

Time was, you could walk thousands of miles in this land without seeing another soul. The stretchers kept to themselves in their high reaches, dreaming their unfathomable dreams, and only came out to trade with us once in a blue moon.

Humankind, like my pappy, had their little villages far, far, to the east. The elder
dvergar
would take a group of boys, green as grass every one, and walk us for months on end east, always east, pulling a wagon and watching the treeline for bear or boar, cougar or wolf. Sometimes there was road, but mostly not. Until the small encampments of the east came into view. We would trade and marvel at the tall folk and their strange gods and rough wares. Their liquors and their wines.

But the Smokey Mountains – the
Eldvatch –
were ours to plumb and mine and live upon, with the rest of the wide land to hunt and lay down roots. All the world was new then, eye-sweet and dappled with dew.

But the Rumans came from across the Eastern Sea. Took the far villages with sword and fire and built their forums and barracks and granaries and aqueducts. Pulled down the old temples and put up the crossroad shrines, the churches, bringing Ia, and his mercy and forgiveness, to this land.

I can barely remember the old gods.

But the Rumans brought their
daemonfire
, too, their steamers and mechanized baggage trains. They brought their Hellfire with them.

They brought a young legionary named Septus Speke. My pappy. Or at least that’s what he said his name was, the few times he stopped by. He was tall, blond. Had rough hands and a low voice.

A child of two worlds, I am. Got mixed feelings about all of it, my pappy and mam, Rume and this land, Ia and the multitude of
daemons
.

My blood is tainted. Like all things, the older it gets, the more likely it’ll get dirty.

My pappy never stuck around. I remember the old ways because that’s how I was raised by my mam. I was born in the spring of a year, and since that day, I’ve seen hundreds more springs – so many I’ve lost count – each one blushing and full of life , from the moment the wetnurse spanked my arse to right now, where I sit, telling you this story.

A long time, and I’ve seen the world change.

But that day, the day we started the long steam up the Big Rill out of the Hardscrabble Territories toward Passasuego, the world seemed young again.

Gone, for the moment, was the oppressive presence of Agrippina in her cage. Gone was the constant worry and fret over Cornelius’ absent leg or Gnaeus’ grievous wound.

The plains beckoned.

We’d steamed for three days, riding escort by day, pacing the big riverboat, camping shoreside at night. Fisk’s leg had healed, and he seemed lighter in heart than I’d ever seen him before.

By day, the gulls came to join the
Cornelian
, even this far from the sea. They wheeled and banked and dived into the bright waters churned by the boat’s paddles. The bells clanged, echoing across the surface of the Big Rill while both legionaries and lictors idled on the main deck. Black smoke billowed from the stacks and somewhere, bound deep in the machine, Gooseberry burned bright, full of hate and pain and anger.

The sun was full and warm on my skin, even though the wind was cold and I had brought out my second jacket that morning. The air smelled clean, but with the dry, faintest hint of powder. Snow would not be far off.

We began seeing livestock tracks cutting through the shoal grasses, small paths hemmed by brushwood fencing. Soon, small hutches and clay houses hove into view. Tired, raw-boned women with thick hips and muscled arms scrubbed threadbare clothing at the shore. Scraggly children screamed and chased mongrels through muddy streets, hungry looks on their faces. Somewhere ahead I heard the pinging telltale of a blacksmith, or farrier, plying his craft.

The
Cornelian
clanged and turned toward our shore. A stevedore scuttled halfway up the jack staff and unhitched the swing stages to unfurl and meet the village’s sole dock. Lascars made fast the
Cornelian
, and from where I sat on Bess’s back I watched as Cornelius, wearing his bear leg, Cimbri, and Beleth disembarked. A grey-haired settler in overalls and a straw hat greeted them with a feeble wave of his arm. Women watched from the doorways and children stopped chasing dogs, sticks held loosely in rough hands.

Cimbri gestured – he was dickering over something. Cornelius drew on his cigar and looked smug – an expression I could see even from this distance – while white smoke curled around his head and whisked downriver. After a while, more stevedores walked up the swing stages and began rolling casks to the
Cornelian
’s hold, followed by bushels of maize and sacks of corn and oats. Shirtless legionaries stacked and sorted and hollered and cursed, as soldiers always do when faced with work that doesn’t require bloodshed. Then Livia, arm in arm with Carnelia and Isabelle, sauntered into the village.

Banty, without asking, swung his horse around and rode down to the hutches and houses.

Fisk sucked his teeth.

‘You want to go?’ I asked him.

‘Hell, no.’

‘You do. Ain’t no shame in it. Miss Livia’s mighty pretty.’

‘I
will
shoot you, Shoe.’

Cimbri walked back onto the dock, looked around, saw us sitting on the rise at the village’s edge, and waved us down. We rode down the slope, through an unfenced goat pasture with a billy glaring at us and wetting his nose with a green tongue. As we neared the village, the ground became more sodden and sucked at Bess’s hooves with messy, noisy sounds.

We came within earshot. Cimbri yelled, ‘Over here! Want you to listen to this!’

I found a place to tether the horses, and Fisk and I moseyed over to where an old settler sat on a stump in the sun, smoking a corncob pipe.

‘Go on, old timer. Tell them what you told me.’

The old man’s wattles shook. But he popped his pipe out of toothless gums and said, ‘Airy much to tell, young sirs. Them things come during the night and slaughtered our cows, drank their blood. Danced in the moonlight.’

Fisk crossed his arms. Rubbed his chin.

‘That all?’ he asked.

‘Plucked a girl’s baby from the crib, through the window, and ate it.’

I whistled.

Fisk looked at Cimbri. ‘You check out his story?’ He put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. ‘How do you know this? You see it? You’ve got a body?’

‘Naw, sir. They spirited the baby away, ate her on the mountaintops.’

‘Bah.’

Fisk turned away and sucked his teeth. He motioned for us to join him.

‘Don’t doubt that the stretchers are causing all sorts of trouble, but I’ll wager my eye-teeth they ain’t taken no babies in the dark of night with no one to see.’ Fisk spat. ‘If I know one thing about the stretchers, they love a spectacle. Some girl smothered a bastard child, most like, and buried it.’

I don’t know if I agreed. The image of Orrin’s body in the bear cave came to me then; I thought the
vaettir
capable of almost anything.

Cimbri snorted, walked over to the old man, handed him a coin, and patted his back.

‘Our thanks, old timer. You might want to ring your windows in holly, if you can find any around here. Lock it down at night.’

The old man blinked owlishly and gaped.

We returned to our horses, but not before Cimbri stopped us.

‘Boys, Miss Carnelia asked if she and Isabelle could ride with you today.’

Fisk scowled.

‘You don’t have to say nothing. I told her it wasn’t a good idea. And, just like a Cornelian, she didn’t listen.’ He laughed. ‘I reminded her that the damned stretchers are on the warpath and that she herself saw what they could do, but she said no
vaettir
was going to prevent her from doing what she would. “We are Ruman!” Carnelia said. Like that was gonna keep them from scalping her.’

Fisk cursed.

‘But I’ll make sure you’ve got some legionaries at your disposal,’ Cimbri finished lamely. ‘And Miss Livia will accompany them, as well.’

A couple of soldiers came from the
Cornelian
, carrying the ladies’ tack. I fetched mounts for them and saddled the horses.

We waited by the docks, watching the stevedores roll the casks down swing stages into the hold with hollow rattles, grunting and swearing. Eventually the ladies finished their tour of the hamlet and returned, Banty escorting Isabelle while Miss Livia and Carnelia strode arm in arm.

‘Hello, boys. Lovely day for a jaunt.’ Carnelia looked better than she had the night of the dinner. She’d recovered her dander. ‘Dwarf, is my horse saddled?’

Livia frowned. ‘Mr Ilys is a favoured friend of our family, Carnelia. Be civil, if you can find a shred of humanity in your shrivelled soul. He was there at the
vaettir
attack, too, as you well know.’

‘I don’t recall him hefting a gun.’

Livia cocked her head and looked at me. ‘No matter. We’re all armed, aren’t we, ladies?’ She patted her thigh, ruffling her riding dress.

Carnelia laughed. ‘He’s just a
dvergar
, sissy. Don’t be so damned huffy.’

I interrupted. ‘It’s fine, Miss Livia. I
am
a dwarf. Ain’t no shame in it, as far as I can see. And yes, ma’am. Got your horse right over here.’

Carnelia snorted. Fisk glared at her, and I felt glad he was my partner.

The legionaries came toddling up the swing stages, across the dock, each man wearing a knit hat and carrying his own tack. They picked out ponies, and saddled up and rode out on the plain, following the noble women riding close to the scouts, me and Fisk and Banty. Carnelia did not look at me as she rode.

Can’t be certain of anything in this life but I’m thinking this is how it went: The sun’s bright and hammering the earth, the wind is fresh, whipping over the Whites, and the horses naturally pair up and he rides next to her. He wants to smile and reach out, take her hand like they did on the promenade of the
Cornelian
, but there’s folks watching, the other man, the other woman, the dwarf and Carnelia, the trailing legionaries fiddling with their carbines.

So they ride, the pair of them, slowly. But the horses, feeling the wide-open plains tugging, the horses want their heads.

So their walk becomes a trot becomes a canter and soon, looking back, the other man and woman are gone, they’ve left the dwarf and Carnelia behind, and there are only a few legionaries struggling to keep up. She’s laughing now, throwing back her head, flashing teeth and smiling happily at him. And the smile is what does it, what ends it all for him, something so delicate and personal, something he never thought he’d see again. So he’s lost right then, when she smiles.

He forgets about the possibility of
vaettir.

They top the rise. The legionaries, struggling to stay atop their mounts, see the two figures, man and woman, leaning toward each other, framed by blue sky. Then they’re gone.

The two keep riding until their escorts, their chaperones, are far behind. They take a gulley to track north, and then west toward the Big Rill. In a copse of birch trees near a spring that feeds the river, they dismount and tie the horses, then walk between the white-barked trunks, in the dappled glade, now in darkness, now caught in a shaft of light, holding hands.

He’s awkward at first. There could be stretchers about, you can never know, even in this warm sun. She holds his hand, and he doesn’t know what to do. His hand lies as dumb as a stone in her warm palm, rougher than he thought it would be, until she tugs him toward her. Then they’re standing close with the perfumed scent of her breath on his face, her eyes searching his, looking past the wear of the range, past the lines of hurt from the loss of family and the exile of the Hardscrabble life.

She kisses him, and her lips are so soft he can forget the threat of
vaettir
catching them in the glade. Everything in this life is hard, hard as stone – you fight the recalcitrant earth, you face the wind and sleet and harsh winds and plains-dust while every morsel of food is competed for and hard won – but her lips are soft, soft and sweet. Softer than anything in this life – and given freely.

His hands move to her hips and hers to his face to cup his stubbled cheek, and then to his shirt and later to his gunbelt. When the clasp is undone, the weight of the gun drags his britches to the ground, which is covered in leaves and soft enough for them to lie down. She’s like a fallen flower, the flounces of her dress splayed out, wide, while his hands are on her bodice. He’s bringing his mouth to her breasts, and she’s laughing and trying to shuck herself out of the frilled layers of dress. They settle in the petals of her flounces and her hand finds him while he discovers the curve of her hip, runs his hand up her thigh where her gun is strapped, to the sweet centre between her legs.