K. Parker: The Proof House

Well… Anyway; I’ll be seeing you again, of course, but this is the last time you’ll see me as Alexius. I shouldn’t really be here now, but -

Bardas opened his eyes.

‘Thank the gods for that,’ Gorgas said. ‘I’ve been worried sick.’

Gorgas was kneeling over him, a bowl in one hand, a piece of wet rag in the other. The rag had been torn off his shirt; Bardas could see where he’d ripped it from the sleeve.

‘It’s all right,’ Gorgas went on. ‘You took one hell of a nasty bump on the head, but the swelling’s gone down and I don’t think it’s bleeding inside. Bardas? You do know who I am, don’t you?’

‘I think so,’ Bardas replied. ‘You’re my brother Gorgas, right?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

Bardas tried to nod, but that turned out to be a very bad idea. ‘We built the tree-house together,’ he said. ‘In the big apple tree, before it blew down. There was a squirrel that used to walk right past the window.’

‘That’s it, you’ve got it,’ Gorgas said. ‘Now lie still, take it easy. Everything’s under control.’

‘Where’s Dad?’

Gorgas looked at him, then smiled. He had a big, warm smile. ‘He’s around somewhere,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, things are going to be just fine.’

Bardas tried to smile back, but his head hurt. ‘You’re not going anywhere, are you?’ he asked.

‘Of course not. I’ll be here. You take it easy.’

He closed his eyes again; and when he opened them, he remembered.

‘Gorgas?’ He tried to get up, but there wasn’t enough strength in his body. He was lying on the deck of a small ship, his head on a folded-up sail, under a heap of coats and blankets. The sun was bright, sharp, almost cruel; but there was a pleasantly cool breeze.

‘Bardas?’ The voice came from some way away, up the other end of the ship. ‘Hang on, I’ll be right there.’ Bardas couldn’t move, but he could place Gorgas exactly by the sound of his feet on the deck, the vibrations running through the planking; it was a skill he’d acquired in the galleries under Ap’ Escatoy.

‘You got bashed on the head, remember?’ Gorgas was saying (but Bardas couldn’t see him; he was above and behind, so that his shadow fell across Bardas’ face). ‘You fell off the post coach. Dammit, I should have guessed something like that might happen. It’s my own damn stupid fault. You could have been killed.’

Bardas took a deep breath, let it go. His mouth was dry, like hard leather. ‘You shot the coachman,’ he said.

‘Seventy yards, if it was a step. That bow you made for me, Bardas, it’s a honey. But I should have been more careful.’

Bardas frowned. ‘Why?’ he said.

‘Why what?’

‘Why did you kill the coachman?’

‘I had to stop the coach, idiot.’ Bardas could picture the smile; the big, warm smile. ‘Too open for a road-block, and the post doesn’t stop for stray fares. Would you like something to drink now?’

‘No. Yes,’ Bardas amended, because at that moment a drink was what he wanted most in the whole world.

‘Coming right up,’ Gorgas said. ‘You’ve no idea the fun and games I’ve had since then; you were out cold, I was convinced I’d killed you, I was wetting myself. So I got all that trash off the coach, got you back on, set off cross-country for where I’d left the ship; and then a bloody wheel came off-’

Bardas frowned. He seemed to remember a conversation he’d been having a few moments earlier; the whole point was, it wasn’t a wheel, it was a camshaft. But that didn’t make sense.

‘So after I dumped the coach,’ Gorgas was saying, ‘I had to carry you the last two miles – brother, you’ve put on weight since I used to carry you round the yard, though granted, you were only three then. And of course I was petrified about jogging you about, damaging something – head injuries are really sensitive things, you know, you can do all sorts of damage to someone’s head if you’re not careful. Dear gods; I’ll tell you, it was only when I got us both back on this ship that I even remembered to worry about anybody chasing after us. But there doesn’t seem to be anybody, luckily. And so,’ he added cheerfully, ‘here we are, on our way. You know, this is like old times.’

‘Why did you stop the coach?’ Bardas asked.

‘Oh, for… To rescue you, of course. You don’t think I was going to stand by and let them court-martial my brother, do you? You may have faith in Imperial justice, but I don’t.’

(Three heads over a gateway; it was a valid point.) ‘They weren’t going to court-martial me,’ Bardas said. ‘They’re sending me to a new posting. Hommyra,’ he remembered.

Gorgas laughed. ‘There’s no such place, you clown. Come on, you know the Empire by now; for every failure, one responsible officer. Hey, it’s just as well you’ve got your big brother to look out for you, you’re not fit to be out on your own.’

‘But the coachman, he’d heard of it. I think.’

‘Sure,’ Gorgas said. ‘Look, who’d you rather believe, the Empire or your own flesh and blood? No, here we are again. Only this time, it’s going to be different. Promise.’

Bardas’ head hurt. ‘We’re going home? The Mesoge?’

‘You mean you haven’t-?’ Gorgas’ voice became very soft. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you,’ he said. ‘It’s gone.’

‘Gone? It can’t have gone. ’

‘Sorry, bad choice of words. All right, no beating about the bush. The farm’s been destroyed, Bardas. They did it, the provincial office.’

‘What are you talking about, Gorgas?’

Gorgas was quiet for a moment. ‘They sent a company of archers,’ he said. ‘In the middle of the night, needless to say. Surrounded the place, barred the doors from the outside, set light to the thatch. I woke up coughing my lungs out, ran to the window, nearly got shot. It was like hell, Bardas; there was smoke everywhere, you couldn’t see a thing; burning thatch coming down in great bunches, timbers, the lot. I tried to get them out, I really tried; but Clefas was dead, the smoke got him while he was sleeping; Zonaras was trapped under about half the roof, he was caught there screaming and burning and I couldn’t do anything-Look,’ he said, and moved round, so that Bardas could see his face. For an instant, he thought it was someone else. ‘I was still trying when he died,’ he said. ‘He kept yelling, Gorgas, help me , right up to the end.’

Bardas didn’t say anything.

‘Iseutz had already left – but you know that anyway. So it was just me and Niessa,’ Gorgas eventually continued. ‘Just her and me; we managed to jump out the top loft window on to the roof of the duck shed – she’d had the wit to grab the bow and some arrows, and there was light enough, gods know; we managed to crawl into the duck shed and I kept them off till I ran out of arrows – you saved our lives, boy, making me this bow, I’m telling you. Anyway, just when I thought we’d had it, I saw a gap we could get through and we ran for it. I didn’t stop till I was out in Clyras’ meadow – you know, the sunken cart-road; you’d never know it was there now, the hedge had grown up all round it. Then I realised Niessa wasn’t with me, so I went back. She was dead. They were cutting her head off with Dad’s old felling-axe.’

Gorgas was quiet for a long time.

‘Well,’ he resumed at last, ‘there wasn’t any point, was there? Maybe killing a few of them and getting killed myself, what would that have achieved? You’ve got to be practical. I snuck back down the sunken road, hid up for the day, walked into Tornoys that night and found this boat. It’s Lyras Monedin’s old lobster-boat; you remember Lyras, miserable old bugger who used to throw stones at us when we were kids.’