Brian Aldiss - Helliconia Winter

“The winter is coming,” was all he said. His face was drawn into bitter lines.

“Take my arm, girl,” he said huskily. “We shall have to do something…”

The fog rendered the quayside a place of beauty where a copse of swaying masts floated in the sepia glow. The sea lay entranced. Even the customary slap of rigging against mast was silent.

Odim wasted no time admiring the view, turning in at the substantial arcade above which a sign bore the words ODIM FINEST EXPORT PORCELAINS. Besi followed him past bowing clerks into his inner sanctum.

Odim stopped abruptly.

His of Ece had been invaded. An army officer stood there, warming himself before the lignite fire and picking his teeth with a match. Two armed private soldiers stood close, their faces impervious in usual bodyguard fashion.

By way of greeting, the major spat the match on the floor and tucked his hands behind his back. He was a tall man in a lumpy coat. He had grey in his hair and a lumpish protruding mouth, as if his teeth, imbued with true military spirit, were waiting to burst through his lips and bite a civilian.

“What can I do for you?” asked Odim.

Without answering the question, the major announced himself in a way that exercised his teeth prominently.

“I am Major Gardeterark of the Oligarch’s First Guard. Well-known, not liked. From you I will have a list of all times of sailing for ships in which you have an interest. Today and coming week.” He spoke in a deep voice, giving each syllable an equal weight, as if words were feet to be firmly planted on a long march.

“I can do that, yes. Will you sit and take some tea?”

The major’s teeth moved a little further forward.

“I want that list, nothing else.”

“Certainly, sir. Please make yourself comfortable while I get my chief clerk—”

“I am comfortable. Don’t delay me. I have waited six minutes for your arrival as it is. The list.”

Whatever its disadvantages, the northern continent of Sibornal had reserves of minerals and seams of lignite unmatched elsewhere. It also boasted a variety of clays.

Both china and glass drinking vessels had been in regular use in Koriantura while the little lords of the Savage Continent were still quaffing their rathel from wooden bowls. As early as the spring of the Great Year, potteries as far afield as Carcampan and Uskutoshk were producing porcelains fired in lignite-fuelled kilns at temperatures of 1400° C. Through the centuries, these fine wares were increasingly sought after and collected.

Eedap Mun Odim took little part in porcelain manufacture, though there were auxiliary kilns on his premises. He exported fine china. He exported the local, prized Korianturan porcelain to Shivenink and Bribahr, but mainly to ports in Campannlat, where, as a man of Kuj-Juveci descent, he was more welcome than his Sibornalese competitors. He did not own the ships which carried his wares. He made his business from the entrepreneurial trade, and from banking and financing; he even lent money to his rivals and made a profit.

Most of his wealth came from the Savage Continent, from ports along its northern coastline, from Vaynnwosh, Dorrdal, Dowwel, and from even farther afield, Powachet and Popevin, where his competitors would not trade. It was precisely this adventurous element of Odim’s business which made his hand tremble slightly as he handed his sailing timetable over to the major. He knew without being told that foreign names would be bad for the soldier’s liver.

The gaze of the major, as brown and foggy as the air outside, travelled down the printed page.

“Your trade goes mainly to alien ports,” he said at last, in the leathery voice. “Those ports are all thick with the plague. Our great Oligarch, whom the Azoiaxic preserve, fights to save his peoples from the plague, which has its source in the Savage Continent. There will be no more sailings for any Campannlat port from now on.”

“No more sailings? But you can’t—”

“I can, and I say no more sailings. Until further notice.”

“But my trade, my business, good sir…”

“Lives of women and children are more important than your trade. You are a foreigner, aren’t you?”

“No. I am not a foreigner. I and my family have lived in Uskutoshk for three generations.”

“You’re no Uskutoshi. Your looks, your name, tell me that.”

“Sir! I am Kuj-Juveci only by distant origins.”

“From today, this city is under military law. You obey orders, understand? If you don’t, if one of your cargoes leaves this port for foreign parts, you are liable to be tried by military court and sentenced…”

The major let the words hang in the air before adding two further words in his best leather: “…to death.”

“It will mean ruin to me and my family,” Odim said, trying to wrench a smile out of himself.

The major beckoned to one of the privates, who produced a document from his tunic.

The major flung it on the table.

“It’s all down there. Sign it to prove you’ve understood.” He let his teeth air while Odim blindly signed, before adding, “Yes, as a foreigner, you report every morning in future to my under officer in charge of this whole area. He has just established an office in the warehouse next door, so you’ve not far to go.”

“Sir, let me repeat, I am not a foreigner. I was born round the corner. I am chairman of the local trades committee. Ask them.”

As he made a supplicatory gesture, the wadded-up poster fell from under his coat. Besi stepped forward and put it carefully on the fire. The major ignored her, as he had all along. He merely stuck his tongue between teeth and upper lip, as if considering Odim’s impertinence, and then said, “You report every morning in future to my under officer, as I just said. He’s Captain Fashnalgid and he is next door.” At the mention of this name, Besi leant over the fire. It must have been the flames from the burning poster which caused a brief ruddiness in her cheeks.

When Major Gardeterark and his escort had left, Odim shut the door into the packinghouse and sat down by the fire. Very slowly he leaned forward, picked a chewed match from the carpet, and tossed it to the back of the grate. Besi knelt beside him and held his hand. Neither spoke for a long while.

At last Odim said, with an attempt at brightness, “Well, my dear little Besi, we are in difficulty. How can we meet it? Where can we all live? Here, possibly. Perhaps we could do away with that kiln we scarcely use and house some relations in there. The room could be made nice… But if I am not allowed to trade, then… well, ruin faces us all. They know that, the scoundrels. These Uskuti would have us all for slaves…”

“Wasn’t he horrible, that man? His eyes, his teeth… like a crab.”

Odim sat up in his chair and clicked his fingers. “One stroke of luck, though. First, we start work with this Fashnalgid in the next warehouse. By good fortune, that very captain is at present billeted with me— you may have caught a glimpse of him. He reads books and perhaps he’s civilised. And my wife feeds him well. Perhaps we could persuade him to help us.”

He lifted up Besi’s chin so that she was forced to look him in the eye.

“Always something can be done, my chick. Go round to this nice Captain Fashnalgid and invite him here. Say I have a present for him. He’ll bend the regulations for us, for sure. And, Besi… he’s as ugly as a mountain devil, but never mind. Very very sweet to him, eh, chick? As sweet as you can be, and that’s very sweet. Even a little tempting— you know? Even if you have to go to the limit. Our lives depend on such things…”

He tapped his long nose and smiled coaxingly.

“Run along, my dove. And remember—stop at nothing to win him over.”