Harry Turtledove - Jaws of Darkness

“Thank you.” Pekka’s voice wasn’t quite steady. The small quaver in it alarmed Fernao more than a scream from another woman might have. She sat down on the stool he’d been using to draft his report-sank down onto it, really.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he sat down on the bed. Something obviously was. One possibility sprang to mind right away: “You told me you weren’t with child. Were you wrong?”

“What?” Pekka’s eyes widened. To his vast relief, she shook her head. “No, it’s not that, powers above be praised. I’m just… upset, that’s all.”

“Why?” he said, and then, before he could stop himself, “Why come to me?”

Pekka chose to answer the second question first: “Because whatever else we are, we’re friends.” He nodded, though his lips tightened. Because that was true, they’re not being lovers any more hurt all the worse. Pekka went on, “I just got a letter from Leino. He’s leftHabakkuk so he can join in the fighting in Jelgava.”

“Has he?” Fernao said. Now Pekka nodded, miserably. Fernao made himself say what needed saying: “I hope he stays safe.” Did he mean it? Part of him did, anyhow, the larger part, the part not centered on his crotch.

“You know the spells the Algarvians use,” Pekka said. “They’ve never used them against ships. They use them on land whenever they can scrape together enough Kaunians to kill. I’m frightened for him. I wish he hadn’t done it.”

“He should be all right.” Fernao want to take her in his arms to comfort her. Did part of her want that, too? Was that why she’d come here? He wished it were, but he didn’t believe it. He also wished he were better at fooling himself. With a sigh, he went on, “If the news sheets are right, Mezentio’s men aren’t putting up much of a fight in Jelgava, so you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”

“I don’t trust the Algarvians,” Pekka said, which made good, hard sense. “They can’t just go on retreating through Jelgava. If they do too much more retreating, they lose the war.”

That also made sense. The same thought had crossed Fernao’s mind. If it had crossed the minds of the people who wrote news sheets, they did their best not to let it show. Their best was quite good; the news sheets had a tone of giddy euphoria that sometimes made Fernao want to gag.

Leaning on his stick, he heaved himself to his feet once more and limped over to set a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t flinch, but she didn’t turn toward him, either. He sighed again. He didn’t see a wish coming true. “He’ll be fine,” he repeated.

Pekka rose, too. “Thank you, Fernao,” she said. “Youare a good friend. I shouldn’t have troubled you with this.”

You’re right-you shouldn’t have, went through his mind. But, again, that wasn’t altogether true. Aloud, he said, “It’s all right. Weare friends… whatever else we are, as you said.” Becoming lovers was destructive of friendships. He knew that. He was glad it hadn’t-quite-happened here.

“Do you ever want to go and fight the Algarvians yourself?” Pekka asked. Comparing him to her husband? Then she went on, “Sometimes I have all I can do, just staying here and working on this sorcery. It doesn’t seem enough.”

Fernao lifted his cane into the air. For a moment, he stood on two legs, one good, one bad. The cane was the point of the exercise. Pekka realized as much. As her eyes followed its motion, she turned red. Fernao said, “They already have as much of me as I care to give them, thank you very much.”

“Oh,” Pekka said softly. “I was foolish. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, which made his bad arm and shoulder twinge, but only for a moment. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, and then, almost as romantic as an Algarvian, “If Mezentio’s men hadn’t ruined me for anything strenuous, Grandmaster Pinhiero probably wouldn’t have sent me here, and then I wouldn’t have been lucky enough to meet you.”

Pekka blushed once more. Not looking at him, she said, “You’re being difficult again, Fernao.”

“Am I?” He thought about shrugging again, and promptly thought better of it. “Well, maybe I am.”

“I’d better go,” she said quickly, and, as quickly, did. Fernao listened to her fading footsteps in the hall. If she hadn’t gone quickly, what would she have done? Thrown herself into his arms after all? Or found the nearest blunt instrument and hit him with it because he’d chosen to be difficult again?

How much would you give to know the answer to that? he wondered, but he didn’t have to keep wondering very long. Everything I have. Everything I could conjure up or borrow or steal.

He limped over to the desk, and to the report he’d been drafting for Pinhiero. With a grimace, he pushed it away. How was he supposed to pay attention to it when he had really important things on his mind? If Pinhiero had to wait a day or two longer for his answers, the world wouldn’t end, especially since he wouldn’t like them when he got them.

Another knock on the door. Fernao jumped. Inside him, his heart jumped, too. Was that Pekka coming back? At a sort of shambling trot, he hurried across the chamber and opened the door. “Oh,” he said dully. It wasn’t Pekka. It was, in fact, one of the Lagoan mages who’d come to the Naantali district to learn the new sorcery. After so long using Kuusaman and classical Kaunian, he had to make a conscious decision to speak his own language: “Come in, Viana.”

“Thank you,” she answered. She was perhaps a year or two older than he, nicely shaped but on the plain side, earnest, hard-working. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” he answered, limping back to the desk to flip the papers so she couldn’t read them. “What can I do for you? Sit down. Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you,” Viana said again. “I wanted to ask you some questions about what we were doing here and how we would use the sorcery in the field.”

“Go ahead,” Fernao said. Viana did, one question after another. Some of them were things she already should have known, but none was downright foolish. Mechanically, he answered them all.

After what seemed like forever and was in fact something above an hour, she said, “I’ve taken up enough of our time. Things are much clearer now. I appreciate your patience.” She got to her feet.

So did Fernao, using good leg, good arm, and cane to return to vertical. “It’s all right,” he said. After that session, he looked forward to getting back to work on the report for Grandmaster Pinhiero. It would have to be more interesting. With a last polite nod, Viana left.

And Fernao did start writing again. Halfway down the second leaf of paper after he did, his pen abruptly stopped scritching. He looked out the window and scratched his head. Iwonder if Viana came here trying to find out something that didn’t have anything to do with those spells. She must have known-mustn’t she?-the answers to a good many of the questions she’d asked. Was she trying to find out if I were interested in her?

Well, if she was, she had her answer. Fernao had gone on and on about magecraft without the slightest concern for anything else. He supposed he could repair that the next time they met. He supposed he could, but he didn’t really intend to, because the truth was, he wasn’t interested.

He muttered a low-voiced curse, then started to laugh. Life would have been so much simpler if he were.

Summer on Obuda meant long, misty days-it never got very hot-and mild, misty nights. Istvan remembered that from his days on the island as a Gyongyosian warrior. He was, he supposed, still a Gyongyosian warrior in some technical sense, but he thought of himself as a captive of the Kuusamans much more often.