Never mind, he said to himself. We will sail on the afternoon’s tide, and then these people can do what they like.
A messenger came up and told him that the new owner of the premises was upstairs and would like to see him. A hint of danger ran through Odim’s mind. It seemed unlikely that the new owner should be here, since the hand-over was not officially operative until midnight, according to the terms of the contract. But he told himself not to be anxious, and mounted the stairs with determination. Gagrim followed behind.
The reception room was an elegantly furnished gallery with windows overlooking the harbour. On the walls hung tapestries and a series of miniatures which had belonged to Odim’s grandfather. Examples of Odim porcelain services lay about on polished tables. This was where special customers were brought and the firm’s most important business transacted.
This morning, only one special customer stood in the low room, and his uniform indicated that his business was unlikely to be pleasurable. Major Gardeterark stood with his back to the window, head thrust forward, heavy protruding mouth and lips swivelling in the direction of Eedap Mun Odim. Behind him stood a pale Besi Besamitikahl.
‘Come in,’ he said. ‘Close the door.’
Odim stopped so abruptly on the threshold that Gagrim bumped into him. Major Gardeterark was contained within his huge greatcoat, a garment of coarse texture with buttons like flambreg eyes positioned on it at intervals as if on metallic sentry go, and pockets which stuck out like boxes. It was in every way a coat that might go about its master’s business if its master were ever posted out of it. Gardeterark, however, was very much on duty, and watched from among his buttons as Odim closed the door as instructed.
What most frightened Odim was not so much the major as the sight of Besi beside him. One look at the girl’s pale face told Odim that she had been forced to give away his secrets. His mind flew immediately to the secrets he had been prevailed upon to hide on these premises: Harbin Fashnalgid, officially posted as a deserter; a lieutenant from the army of the enemy, now suffering from the Fat Death; and a Borldoranian girl, a slave, who was nursing the lieutenant. He knew that what to him was simple humanity in Gardeterark’s bulging eyes was a fatal list of crimes.
Anger burned in Odim’s slender frame. He was frightened but the anger overcame the fear. He had loathed this odious, cold officer ever since the moment when he had found him downstairs, bloated with his own power. The creature could not be allowed to interfere with Odim’s plans to take everyone away to safety.
Nodding his head towards Besi, Gardeterark said, ‘This slave woman tells me that you are harbouring an army deserter, by name Fashnalgid.’
‘He was here waiting. He forced me—’ Besi began. Gardeterark brought up his gloved hand, which featured several buttons, and struck her across the face.
‘You are hiding this deserter on the premises,’ he said. He took a step towards Odim, at no time glancing at the girl, who had subsided against the wall, clutching her mouth.
Gardeterark produced from one of his boxes a pistol, and pointed it at Odim’s stomach. ‘You are under arrest, Odim, you foreign sherb. Take me to where you are concealing Fashnalgid.’
Odim clutched his beard. Although the sight of Besi being struck had frightened him with its violence, it had also stiffened his resolve. He gave the major a blank stare.
‘I don’t know who you mean.’
Prominent yellow teeth came into view, framed between lips which immediately squeezed shut again. It was the major’s patent way of smiling.
‘You know who I mean. He lodged with you. He went on an expedition into Chalce with this woman of yours, no doubt with your connivance. He is to be arrested for desertion. A wharf hand witnessed him come in here. Lead me to him or I’ll have you taken to headquarters for questioning.’
Odim stepped back.
‘I’ll take you to him.’
At the far end of the gallery was a door into the rear areas of the building. As Gardeterark followed Odim, he pushed aside one of the tables obstructing his easy passage. The chinaware fell to the floor and shattered.
Odim made no sign. He signalled Gagrim forward. ‘Unlock this door.’
‘Your slave can stay behind,’ Gardeterark said.
‘He carries the keys during the day.’
The keys were in Gagrim’s pocket, secured by a chain to his belt. He unlocked the door with trembling hand, letting the two men through.
They were in a passage leading to the rear offices. Odim led the way. They went down the passage and turned left, where four steps led up to a metal door. Odim gestured to the slave to unlock it. An especially large key was needed.
Once through it, they emerged on a balcony overlooking a yard. Most of the yard was occupied by cartloads of wood and two old-fashioned kilns. The kilns were generally unused; one was at present being fired to meet an emergency order from the local garrison, for whom no great finesse was needed. Otherwise, most of the Odim porcelain came from companies situated elsewhere in Koriantura. Four company phagors stood about, tending the active kiln. It was old and inefficiently insulated, and the heat and smoke from it filled the yard.
‘Well?’ Gardeterark prompted as Odim hesitated.
‘He’s in a loft over there,’ Odim said, pointing across the yard. Their balcony was connected to the loft he indicated by a catwalk which spanned the yard. It was almost as ancient as the kilns below; its single wooden railing was rickety and sooted up by smoke from below.
Odim started cautiously across the catwalk. Halfway across, as the smoke billowed up, he paused, steadying himself with one hand on the rail. ‘I’m feeling ill… I’d better go back,’ he said, turning towards the major. ‘Look at the kiln.’
Eedap Mun Odim was not a violent man. All his life, he had hated force. Even signs of anger disgusted him — his own anger not least. He had schooled himself to politeness and obedience, following the example of his parents. Now he threw away his training. He brought his arms round with a wide swinging movement, hands clasped together, and as Gardeterark glanced down, caught him on the back of his neck.
‘Gagrim!’ Odim called. His slave never moved.
Gardeterark staggered with his side against the rail and tried to bring up the gun. Odim kicked him on the knee and butted him in the chest. The officer seemed twice his size, the greatcoat impenetrable.
He heard the rail crack, heard the revolver explode, felt Gardeterark begin to fall, dropped to the catwalk on hands and knees to save himself from going too.
Gardeterark gave a terrible cry as he fell.
Odim watched him go, arms flailing, his animal mouth open. It was not far to fall. He hit the middle of the dual-chamber kiln which was being fired. The roof of the kiln was strewn with loose brick and rubble. Cracks ran across it, widening, flaring red. As the heat came up, Odim pulled himself flat on the catwalk to avoid burning.
Screaming, the major made an attempt to get to his feet. The greatcoat smouldered like an old shed. His leg plunged into one of the cracks in the roof. The arch collapsed. Fire spewed upwards like splashing liquid. The temperature inside the kiln was over eleven hundred degrees. Gardeterark, already burning, plunged down into it.
Afterwards, Odim had no idea how long he lay on the catwalk. It was Besi, with her split mouth, who ventured along the walk and helped him return to the gallery. Gagrim had fled.
She was hugging him and wiping his burnt face with a cloth. He realised that he was saying to her over and over, ‘I killed a man.’
‘You saved us all,’ she said. ‘You were very brave, my darling. Now we must get into the ship and sail as soon as possible, before anyone discovers what has happened.’