Captain Fashnalgid put his heavy boot to the chest of the hound — which had shown every sign of following them away from captivity — and whisked Besi Besamitikahl into the outside world. He was a man of decision in the realm of love. Grasping her arm firmly, he led her across the courtyard and out of the gate where the oil lamp burned.
As one they turned to the right, heading up the cobbled street.
‘The church,’ she said. Neither said another word, for the cold wind blew in their faces, coming from the Circumpolar Mountains with ice on its breath.
In the street, winding upwards with it, went a line of pale dogthrush trees, wan between the two enclosing stone cliffs of houses. Their leaves flapped in the wind. A file of soldiers, muffled, heads down, walked on the other side of the road, their boots setting up echoes. The sky was a sludgy grey which spread to everything beneath it.
In the church, lights burned. A congregation cried its evensong. Since the church had a slightly bohemian reputation, Odim never came here. Outside its walls, tall man-high stones stood in rows, more correct than soldiers, commemorating those whose days beneath the sky were done. The furtive lovers picked their way among the memorials and hid against a shadowy sheltered wall. Besi put her arms round the captain’s neck.
After they whispered to each other for some while, he slid a hand inside her furs and her dress. She gasped at the cold of his touch. When she reciprocated, he grunted at the chill of her hand. Their flesh seemed ice and fire alternately, as they worked closer together. Besi noticed with approval that the captain was enjoying himself and in no great hurry. Loving was so easy, she thought, and whispered in his ear, ‘It’s so simple…’ He only burrowed deeper.
When they were united, he held her firmly against the wall. She let her head roll back against the rough stone and gasped his name, so newly learned.
Afterwards, they leaned together against the wall, and Fashnalgid said matter-of-factly, ‘It was good. Are you happy with your master?’
‘Why ask me that?’
‘I hope one day to make something of myself. Maybe I could buy you, once this present trouble’s over.’
She snuggled against him, saying nothing. Life in the army was uncertain. To be a captain’s chattel was a steep step down from her present security.
He brought a flask from his pocket and drank deeply. She smelt the tang of spirits and thought, Thank God Odim doesn’t booze. Captains are all drinkers…
Fashnalgid gasped. ‘I’m not much catch, I know that. The fact is, girl, I’m worried about this errand I’m on. They’ve landed me with a real sherber this time, my scab-devouring regiment here. I reckon I’m going mad.’
‘You’re not from Koriantura, are you?’
‘I’m from Askitosh. Are you listening to me?’
‘It’s freezing. We’d better get back.’
Grudgingly, he came along, taking her arm in the street, which made her feel like a free woman.
‘Have you heard the name of Archpriest-Militant Asperamanka?’
With the wind about her head, she gave him only a nod. He wasn’t as romantic as she had hoped. But she had been to listen to the Priest-Militant just a tenner earlier, when he had held an outdoor service in one of the city squares. He had spoken so eloquently. His gestures had been pleasing and she had enjoyed watching. Asperamanka! — what a gift of the gab! Later, she and Odim had watched him lead his army through the city and out by the East Gate. The guns had shaken the ground as they passed. And all those young men marching off…
‘The Priest-Militant took my oath of fealty to the Oligarchy when I was made captain. That’s a while ago.’ He smoothed his heavy moustache. ‘Now I’m really in trouble. Abro Hakmo Astab!’
Besi was deeply disgusted to hear this curse spoken in her presence. Only the lowest and most desperate would use it. She tugged her arm from his and quickened her pace down the street.
‘That man has won a great victory for us against Pannoval. We heard about it in the mess at Askitosh. But it’s being kept secret. Secrets… Sibornal lives on sherbing secrets. Why do you think they should do that?’
‘Can you tip our watchman so that he doesn’t make a fuss to Odim?’ She paused as they got to the outer gate. A new poster had been pasted up there. She could not read it in the dark, and did not wish to.
As Fashnalgid felt in his pocket for money as she requested, he said, in a flat way that seemed characteristic, ‘I have been posted to Koriantura to help organise a force which will ambush the Priest-Militant’s army when it returns from Chalce. Our orders are to kill every last man, including Asperamanka. What do you make of that?’
‘It sounds awful,’ Besi said. ‘I’d better go in first in case there’s trouble.’
Next morning, the wind had dropped, and Koriantura was enveloped in a soft brown fog, through which the two suns gleamed intermittently. Besi watched the thin, parched form of Eedap Mun Odim as he ate breakfast. She was allowed to eat only when he had finished. He did not speak, but she knew that he was in his usual resigned good humour. Even while she recollected the pleasures that Captain Fashnalgid could offer, she knew that she was, despite everything, fond of Odim.
As if to test out his humour, he allowed upstairs one of his distant relations, a second cousin who professed to be a poet, to speak to him.
‘I have a new poem, cousin, an Ode to History,’ said the man, bowing, and began to declaim.
There was more of the same. ‘Very good,’ said Odim, rising and wiping his bearded lips on a silken napkin. ‘Fine sentiments, well displayed. Now I must get down to the office, if you will excuse me — refreshed by your ornamental thoughts.’
‘Your praise overwhelms me,’ said the distant cousin, and withdrew.
Odim took another sip of his tea. He never touched alcohol.
He summoned Besi to his side as a servant came forward to help him into his outdoor coat. His progress down the stairs, Besi obediently following, was slow, as he underwent the barrage of his relations, those Odims who squawked like starlings on every stair, cajoling but not quite begging, jostling but not quite pushing, touching but not quite impacting, calling but not quite shrieking, lifting tiny befrocked Odims for inspection but not exactly thrusting them in his face, as he performed his daily spiral downwards.
‘Uncle, little Ghufla can do his arithmetic so well…’
‘Uncle, I am so shamed that I must tell you of yet another infidelity when we are private together.’
‘Darling Unky, stop a while while I tell you of my terrifying dream in which some terrible shining creature like a dragon came and devoured us all.’
‘Do you admire my new dress? I could dance in it for you?’
‘Have you news from my creditor yet, please?’
‘Despite your orders, Kenigg kicks me and pulls my hair and makes my life a misery, Unky. Please let me be your servant and escape him.’
‘You forget those who love you, darling Eedap. Save us from our poverty, as we have pleaded so often.’
‘How noble and handsome you look today, Unk Eedap…’
The merchant showed neither impatience at the constant supplications nor pleasure at the forced compliments.