The prisoners’ story cheered him up. They’d got lost as well, trying to find the halberdiers and ambush them. After three days of crashing through bush and sliding in mud, they’d resolved to give it up, pull back to the edge of the forest and either pick the Shastel men off as they came out or harass them all the way back to Scona, the way Gorgas had done with the first army -
‘What do you mean?’ Soef interrupted.
The prisoner looked worried. ‘You don’t know?’ he said. ‘We heard just before we left: General Loredan defeated your first army. He’s got hundreds of prisoners.’
Soef frowned. ‘General Mogre’s army?’ he queried. ‘Or General Affem’s?’
‘No idea,’ the prisoner said. ‘Gorgas hadn’t reached Scona, all we heard was dispatches and the order to guard the forest. We only heard about you when we ran into the foresters.’
‘You’re seriously telling me Gorgas defeated one of the other two armies?’ Soef said. The prisoner dipped his head nervously. ‘And then he was going to fall back on Scona Town, presumably.’
‘I suppose so.’ The prisoner wiped blood from a slash across his scalp out of his eyes; blood was running down his hair, dripping off his sheepdog fringe, like rainwater running off leaves. ‘The message we got didn’t say; all we were told was we’d won a big victory, and we’d been ordered to keep this end tidy.’
‘And you’re sure you don’t know which army it was? If you’re lying I’ll have you strung up.’
‘I’m sure,’ the prisoner said wearily. ‘I don’t even know where the battle was, or where Gorgas was when he sent the message, come to that. I suppose the sergeant might know, if he’s still alive.’
Avid Soef looked up at the colour-sergeant, who shook his head. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Sergeant, fall the prisoners in, we’ll have to take them with us. There’s a thought; they can show us the way they came. They don’t look like they’ve been wading up to their chins in mud.’
The prisoner shook his head. ‘It’s really very dry the other side of the clearing, where the side of this combe slopes upward. But I can’t show you exactly which way we came; we were lost, remember. I’m sure we spent about half a day just drifting round in circles.’
The thought that it might be Sten Mogre’s army that had been beaten and captured or put to flight troubled Avid Soef more than he’d imagined such news ever could. He thoroughly disliked the man and knew Mogre felt the same about him, with contempt added in on top. But ever since they’d landed Mogre had been running the show, and Soef hadn’t really given much thought himself to any overall strategy, only various small ways to embarrass Mogre and his constituents back in Shastel Chapter. If Mogre had truly suffered a serious defeat, it could be days, even a whole week, before he’d be able to rally his men and play any further useful part in the war. That meant Soef would effectively be in charge of the whole expedition. Whatever happened next could be his fault.
Bloody war, he thought bitterly. Even when things go right, it’s a hiding to nothing.
‘What do you mean, gone?’ Gorgas said.
‘Gone,’ the clerk repeated helplessly. ‘And she’s resigned as Director. She took all the silver plate and most of the valuable furniture and stuff. But she’s left all the books and the accounts.’
Gorgas took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Did her daughter go with her?’
The clerk looked puzzled. ‘Sorry?’ he said.
‘Her daughter. The Lady Iseutz.’
‘Oh. No, I don’t think so. I don’t think she took anyone with her, just some bodyguards and the crew of the ship.’
Gorgas leant against the wall and rubbed his cheeks with his fingertips. ‘All right,’ he said again. ‘There just isn’t time for this now. Who are the headquarters staff reporting to?’
The clerk shrugged. ‘I don’t think anybody’s bothering with any of that,’ he said. ‘I think most of the clerks are, well, getting ready to leave too.’
Gorgas scowled and snatched the sack of counters out of the clerk’s hand, spilling them all over the floor. ‘I bet,’ he said. ‘Well, that’d better stop. Anybody caught trying to leave his post will have to explain himself to me; you make sure that reaches all your colleagues, or I’ll hold you responsible. What did you say your name was?’
The clerk sighed. ‘Riert Varil,’ he said. ‘Chief deputy, copying pool.’
‘Right. Pass the message round, then get back to your desk. No, forget that. Find out if there’s been any messages, and where in hell the southern guard units have got to. I need to know if there’s any more of the enemy left.’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t have thought so,’ the clerk replied. ‘I thought you said you’d just wiped them out.’
‘Find me as soon as you know. I’ll be in the Director’s office.’
It was true, Gorgas said to himself, lifting his feet and planting them in the middle of her desk, she must have gone, or where’s that little applewood cup of hers, the one Bardas made for her out of the stump of the kitchen tree? It isn’t here, so she must have gone. And so, he observed, has everything else, except for the few bits and pieces that weren’t worth anything or were too firmly fastened to the walls to be easily removed. He’d known she was gone when he’d put his feet up on her desk without being worried in case she suddenly came in through the door. He couldn’t feel her in any part of the building. She’d gone because she couldn’t trust him to defend her against her enemies. Again.
The clerk reappeared, looking distinctly nervous. ‘No messages, Director,’ he said. ‘And I’ve spoken to the heads of department-’
‘Director,’ Gorgas repeated. ‘All right, carry on.’
‘I’ve spoken to the heads of department, and the staff are being put back to work. Sergeant Graiz and the southern guard left for the marshes as you ordered, but nothing’s been heard of any enemy units.’ The clerk hesitated. ‘The war would appear to be over for now,’ he said. ‘Will there be anything else?’
Gorgas looked at him for a moment. ‘Does anybody know why she left?’ he asked. ‘Did she say anything?’
The clerk nodded. ‘I gather she decided the war had become too expensive to pursue any further,’ he said.
‘Too expensive.’
‘So I gather. She formed the view that it was time to cut her losses by closing down her operation here and concentrate on her other business interests.’
Gorgas stared. ‘What other business interests?’ he demanded.
‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘Oh, for gods’ sakes,’ said Gorgas angrily. ‘No, I don’t. What other business interests?’
So the clerk told him: the half-share in a Colleon merchant venturers’ company, the tannery on Gasail; the lumber mill at Visuntha; the vineyards at Byshest; the stake in the Dakas copper-mining syndicate; the ropewalk on the Island-
‘Go away,’ Gorgas said.
Bardas picked up the bow.
Ideally, he would have liked to have left the glue to cure for at least a week, preferably longer than that; but time was a luxury and besides, the glue he’d made from this batch of exotic, expensive rawhide dried remarkably quickly in the fierce sunlight. He picked up the string and dropped one loop over the bottom nock, then hesitated. There was every chance that, when he flexed the bow for the first time to string it, the thing would snap in two and all his work and hard-to-come-by materials would be wasted.
The first stage had been shaping and fitting the butt-spliced sections of bone to the belly of the wooden core; a slow, frustrating business for a man aware that he was working to a tight deadline. But it had to be right; unless the sections fitted together exactly, the belly would be weak, the terrifying forces of compression would find the vulnerable points where the sections met and tear the work to pieces. So he had filed and scraped and polished, smearing soot onto one face of each join with the tip of his finger, assembling them, taking them apart, until the soot marked both faces evenly and they came together so tightly that he couldn’t pull a hair into the fissure of the joint. Having located, sized and numbered each section, he smeared on the glue, pressed each one into place against the core and wrapped it round tightly with stout cord, one turn every eighth of an inch. To make sure, he added clamps packed with slivers shaved from the spare bone to distribute the force of the clamps evenly. To help pass the time while the glue set, he carded and sorted the sinew for the backing once again, and wove and served the string.