Brian Aldiss - Helliconia Winter

Both the men had beds of wood, raised above the floor and covered in rugs. Toress Lahl was supposed to lie on the floor beside Shokerandit’s bed.

Shokerandit took her in with him while Fashnalgid still slept. He lay all night with his arms round her. Only as he was rising did Fashnalgid stir.

“Luterin, why so energetic?” he asked, yawning cavernously. “Didn’t you drink enough of the Odim family’s wine last night? Rest, man, and for the Azoiaxic’s sake, let’s recover from that terrible voyage.”

Shokerandit came and looked down at him, smiling. “I had enough wine. Now I want to be off to Kharnabhar as soon as possible. My status is uncertain. I must see how my father is.” “Damn fathers. May their gossies eat shoe leather.” “I have another anxiety too—one you had better heed. Although the Oligarch is well occupied with the war against Bribahr, he has a ship here in port. More may arrive. They may be watching for us both. The sooner I start for Kharnabhar, the better. Why not come with me? There’d be safety and work with my father.”

“It’s always cold in Kharnabhar. Isn’t that what they say? How far north is it from here?”

“The Kharnabhar road covers over twenty-two degrees of latitude.” Fashnalgid laughed. “You go. I’ll stay here. I’ll find a ship sailing for Campannlat or Hespagorat. Anything rather than your frozen refuge, thanks for all that.”

“Please yourself. We don’t exactly please each other, do we? Men have to get along well, to survive the drive to Kharnabhar.”

Fashnalgid brought an arm up from his furs and held out a hand to Shokerandit. “Well, well, you’re a man for the system, and I’m against it, but never mind that.”

“You like to think I’m a man for the system, but since my metamorphosis I’ve broken from it.”

“Yes? Yet you long to get back to Father in Kharnabhar.” Fashnalgid laughed. “True conformists don’t know they conform. I like you well enough, Luterin, though I know you think I wrecked your life by capturing you. On the contrary, I saved you from the claws of the Oligarch, so be grateful. Be grateful enough to heave your Toress over to my bed for the morning, will you?”

A flush spread over Shokerandit’s face. “She’ll get you water or food while I’m out. Otherwise, she is mine. Ask Odim’s brother for what you want—he has plenty of slaves for whom he cares nothing.”

They looked each other in the eye. Then Shokerandit turned to leave the room.

“Can I come with you?” Toress Lahl called. “I shall be busy. You can stay here.”

As soon as he was gone, Fashnalgid sat up in bed. The woman was hurriedly dressing. She cast the odd glance across at the captain, who smoothed his moustache and gave a smile.

“Don’t be so hasty, woman. Come over to me. Sweet Besi’s dead and I want comforting.”

When she made no answer, he climbed naked out of bed. Toress Lahl made a run for the door, but he caught her by the wrist and pulled her back.

“Don’t be in such a hurry, I said, didn’t I? Didn’t you hear me?” He gave her long brown hair a gentle tug. “Women are generally pleased to be attended by Captain Fashnalgid.”

“I belong to Luterin Shokerandit. You heard what he said.”

He twisted her arm and grinned down at her. “You’re a slave, so you’re anyone’s. Beside, you hate his guts—I’ve seen the looks you give him. I never forced a woman, Toress, that’s the truth, and you’ll find me a good deal more expert than he, from what I overheard.”

“Please let me go. Or I shall tell him and he’ll kill you.”

“Come on, you’re too pretty to threaten me. Open up. I saved you from death, didn’t I? You and he were riding into a trap. He’s a fatal innocent, your Luterin.”

He put a hand between her legs. She got her right hand free and slapped him across the face.

With a burst of anger, Fashnalgid wrenched her off her feet and threw her down on his bed. He fell on top of her.

“Now you listen to me before you provoke me beyond words, Toress Lahl. You and I are on the same side. Shokerandit is all very well, but he is going home to security and position—all the things you and I have lost. What is more, he plans to drive you countless skerming miles northwards. What’s up there but snow and holiness and that gigantic Wheel?”

“It’s where he lives.”

“Kharnabhar’s fit only for rulers. The rest die in the cold. Haven’t you heard of the Wheel’s reputation? It used to be a prison, the worst on the planet. Do you want to finish up in the Wheel?

“Throw your lot in with me. I have seen the sort of woman you are. You’ve seen the sort of man I am. I am an outcast, but I can fend for myself. Before you get taken miles to some fortress in the northern ice from which you will never escape, achieve wisdom, achieve wisdom, woman, and throw in your lot with me. We’ll sail from here to Campannlat and better climes. Maybe we’ll even get back to your precious Borldoran.”

She had gone very pale. His face, close above hers, was a blur, nothing more than eyebrows, those piercing eyes, and that great dead moustache. She was afraid that he would strike her or even kill her— and that Shokerandit would not care. Her will was already ebbing under the burden of captivity.

“He owns me, Captain. Why discuss it? But you may have your way with me if you must. Why not? He has.”

“That’s better,” he said. “I’ll not hurt you. Throw your clothes off.”

Luterin Shokerandit knew the port of Rivenjk well. It had always been the great city, spoken of in Kharnabhar with longing, visited— when visited—with excitement. Now that he had seen more of the world, he recognised that it was rather small.

At least there was pleasure in being ashore again. He could swear he still felt a slight rolling movement underfoot. Walking down to the harbour, he went into one of the inns and drank a measure of yadahl while listening to the talk of the sailors.

“They’re nothing but a nuisance here, these soldiers,” a man nearby was saying to a companion. “You heard, I suppose, that one was knifed last night down Perspicacity Alley, and I don’t wonder at it.”

“They’ll set sail tomorrow,” his friend said. “They’ll be confined aboard ship tonight, you’ll see, and good riddance.” He lowered his voice. “They’re off under Oligarch’s orders to fight against the good people of Bribahr. What harm Bribahr have done the rest of us, I don’t know.”

“They may have captured Braijth, but Rattagon is impregnable. The Oligarch is wasting his time.”

“Set in the middle of a lake, I hear.” “That’s Rattagon.” “Well, I’m glad I’m not a soldier.” “You’re too much of a fool to be anything but a sailor.” As the two men laughed together, Shokerandit fixed his gaze on a poster on a wall by the door. It announced that henceforth Anyone Entering the State of Pauk committed an Offence. To Enter into Pauk, whether alone or in company, was to Encourage the Spreading of the Plague known as the Fat Death. The Penalty for defying this law was One Hundred Sibs and, for a Second Offence, Life Imprisonment. By Order of the Oligarch.

Although Shokerandit never practised pauk, he disliked the stream of new orders the State was issuing.

Shokerandit thought to himself as he drained his glass that he probably hated the Oligarch. When the Archpriest-Militant Asperamanka had sent him to report to the Oligarchy, he had felt honoured. Then Fashnalgid had stopped him almost at the Sibornalese frontier; and it had taken him some while to believe what the man claimed, that he would have been cold-bloodedly killed with the rest of the returning army. It was even more difficult to realise that all of Asperamanka’s force had been wiped out on the Oligarch’s orders.