Well, it got better eventually. One day she got up off the floor, crawled to the wall and slumped against it. A day or so later, I came back from getting in logs to find her sweeping the floor. That's all she did for a long time: cleaning, tidying, housework. Ridiculous; but I just left her to it. I didn't even try talking to her. She got down on her hands and knees and scrubbed all the bloodstains away with a bucket of water and a bit of rag.
The food ran out. I didn't want to leave her, but I had to go. I took the cart and went out to the nearest farm; I knew I could get there and back in a day. It was dark when I got home, and when I came through the door she asked me where I'd been. I told her. We didn't talk anymore that night. She's never said what happened; at least, not to me. But I found a piece of paper; she wrote it all down, about four sentences. Just the facts.
I know what she wrote is true, by the way. It was the cut that proved it; the fact that it ran from right to left. Framea and my daughter are right-handed, like me; we all are, in our family. But Daurenja's left-handed-at least, he favors the left hand, though he's practically ambidextrous. They say it's a sign of great intelligence, don't they?
22
"Quite right," a voice said behind them. "Or that's what I've always told myself."
Daurenja was awake. He'd tried to wriggle himself into a tolerable sitting position, but instead had flopped over on his side, so that he seemed as though he was talking to the ground. The gag, which he'd somehow contrived to work loose, hung round his neck like a stockman's muffler, and he looked like a clown; but Miel had to grab hold of Framain's arm to stop him charging over and beating him unconscious.
"My father didn't like me being left-handed," Daurenja went on conversationally. "He thought it was some kind of defect. I got tired of getting bashed every time I picked up a spoon, so I learned how to use my right hand too. I think he did me a favor. Having to do everything cack-handed all those years taught me dexterity."
Miel couldn't look at him; he was too busy restraining Framain. "Is it true?" he asked. "What he just…?"
"Every word." Nothing in his tone of voice except whole-hearted corroboration. "The boy caught me raping his sister. I was holding the knife to her throat so she'd stay quiet; it was bad luck he woke up when he did. I jumped up and swiped at him; like a fool, I'd forgotten I still had the knife in my hand. But that's not an excuse. If I hadn't been holding it, I expect I'd have killed him bare-handed."
Miel hesitated, then asked, "Why?"
"Why kill him? To shorten the odds." An explanation of the obvious to a slow-witted person. "I had to escape. I knew I could handle either of the men on his own, but both together might've been a problem. One from two leaves one. A great strength of mine is the ability to see straight to the crux of the problem."
Miel could feel Framain's grip tighten on his arm, but now he was holding him up rather than back.
"If you meant to ask, why did I rape the girl…" A laugh, dry as sand. "Story of my life, really. Just when I think I've found the right place to be, the right work to do, my heart lets me down. Always the same. Love has always been my undoing."
Miel glanced over his shoulder. She wasn't there.
Framain caught his eye and shook his head. "She'll be all right," he said. "Just leave her alone."
It occurred to Miel that this probably wasn't true, but he made a conscious decision not to do anything about it.
"We need him to get us to the Vadani," Framain said quietly. Miel assumed he was talking to himself.
"That's right," Daurenja said. "You need me. For which," he added, "I'm grateful. I've got no illusions about myself, there's an unpleasant side to my nature and I can't help it. But I always find a way to put things right. It's my rule that I live by. Mostly, all I can do is send money; which is fine when you're dealing with peasants and innkeepers, but this time I wanted to go that extra step further. That's why it's taken me so long, in your case. It's taken me a while to find something valuable enough to give you." He sounded like an indulgent uncle. "As soon as I got it, I came here as fast as I could. You being captured by the Mezentines was sheer luck; it meant I could save you; added bonus. I went to the house, you see, and as soon as I got there and saw the place had been turned over I figured out what'd happened. It was obvious they'd bring you to the Loyalty. Anyway, it'll be a weight off my mind. All this time it's been bothering me to death. Really, I had no choice about killing the boy; it had to be done, but I'm sorry. Soon we'll be all square again, and I can move on."
Miel had closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them again. "We've got to take him to Duke Valens," he told Framain. "We can't just kill him, out here in the wilderness. He should be tried and executed. Killing him ourselves would be no better than murder, it's what he'd do. You do see that, don't you?"
"If they were going to kill me, they'd have done it by now." Daurenja sounded weary, almost bored. "But if you take me to the Vadani, I can put things right. That's all I ask."
"I'll gag him," Miel said.
"Wait a moment." Framain sounded different. "What do you mean, you've found something valuable?"
"Just that." A pleasant voice. "Surely you've grasped by now, the porcelain idea's no good anymore, it's been overtaken by events. Even if we cracked the colors problem tomorrow, we couldn't use it. You can't run a successful factory in the middle of a war, in occupied territory, with the enemy promising to kill every Eremian they can find. No, what I've got is bigger than porcelain, and it couldn't have come at a better time. Valens will give every last thaler he's got for it; and if that's not enough, we can sell it to the Mezentines. It's a weapon, you see. It'll make all their scorpions and mangonels and onagers and siege engines obsolete overnight. There's just one step more I need to fix and I'm ready. We'll be partners again, just like before. Finally, we'll both get what we wanted when we started out. Come on, Framain, you know me. I do a lot of very bad things from time to time, but I'm not a liar. I needn't have come for you at all. I could've left you there. But you know I always pay my debts." Daurenja paused for a moment, and Miel couldn't help marveling at the spectacle: a man bound and hobbled like a colt for gelding, talking to the ground, but sounding like a kind-hearted lord cajoling a proud, stubborn tenant into accepting charity. He could see now how a weak man like Framain wouldn't have the audacity to kill him. "Or you could cut my throat right now," Daurenja went on, "and for all I know you might make it safely into Vadani territory; you might find Valens' column, and he might take you in. He might even let you earn your keep as a clerk; you can write legibly, after all, and where there's an army there's always bookkeepers. Or you could join the Vadani court as my honored guest. Did I mention I'm the second most important man in the duchy these days? Well, maybe third most important right now. But I'm expecting a promotion very soon." He sighed. "You owe it to her, you know," he said. "She deserves some kind of a life, and what's she got to look forward to, now the porcelain idea's fallen through? She's too old to marry, no dowry, no family. Wasn't the whole point of the exercise to give her the kind of future she deserves? I know you by now, Framain, you're a dreamer and a realist at the same time. Nothing's going to bring your son back, but quite unexpectedly you've got a real chance to get what you wanted all along. Or you could kill me in a fit of pique and carry on fending for yourself. But that's never been your strongest suit, has it?"