‘Fine,’ Alexius replied, straightening his back a little.
‘You don’t need to go for a wee or anything?’
‘No,’ Alexius said firmly, ‘thank you. Excuse me,’ he went on, ‘but you wouldn’t happen to know if the Director’s actually in his office, would you? You see, I’ve been sitting here for hours, and I don’t believe he’s really there.’
The woman nodded. ‘I was in there a moment ago,’ she said. ‘There’s nobody in there.’
Alexius sighed. ‘Then do you think it’ll be all right if I go now?’ he said. ‘It must be getting late, and I’ve still got to find somewhere to stay the night. The soldiers who brought me here didn’t tell me much, but I gathered that the Director’s summons didn’t include anything about a place to stay. I don’t know,’ he went on, ‘maybe they’re going to give me a guest room, or throw me in the cells.’
‘You’re here to see the Director,’ the woman said. Odd, the way she said it; not a question, not quite a statement. ‘You’re right, it is late. And you look as if you should be in bed.’ She stood up and went across to the door of the office. ‘Would you like something to eat or drink?’ she said.
Alexius considered for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘if it’s no trouble I’d quite like a long drink of water.’
‘No trouble,’ the woman said. ‘And something to eat?’
‘Maybe later. I suppose it depends how much longer I’ve got to sit here.’
The woman tilted her shoulders a little. ‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘In that case, we’d better make a start. Let’s go through into the office. It’s more comfortable in there.’
Fine clairvoyant you are. ‘You’re the Director?’ Alexius said, stupidly. The woman didn’t reply immediately; she pushed open the door, strode across to a big, solid chair behind a big, solid desk – the roof could fall in, and when they dug it out of the rubble the furniture would be as good as new – flumped down and wriggled a little to get herself comfortable. Alexius followed. There was another chair, also monumentally built but smaller and straighter, on the other side of the desk. It was quite dark, and the woman fiddled briefly with a tinder-box to light a plain pottery lamp.
‘That’s better,’ she said, as the light began to spread. Just the one lamp, in a big, spare, empty room. He was used to corridors, pantries and closed-file stores being better lit than this. ‘Now then.’ She smiled, pinching little birds’-footprints-in-the-snow dimples in the corners of her cheeks. ‘Welcome to Scona.’
‘Thank you,’ Alexius replied. His head was hurting badly now, and even the pale yellow light of the lamp was painful. ‘I’m sorry,’ he went on, knowing as he spoke that he could only make things worse, ‘I didn’t think you were the Director. I thought…’
‘Not to worry,’ the woman said briskly. ‘I’m Niessa Loredan. I own the Bank.’
Alexius nodded, unable to think of anything intelligent to say. He noticed little dots in the lobes of her ears, where they’d been pierced for earrings long ago and left to heal over. ‘I think I know your brother,’ he said. ‘Bardas Loredan?’
She nodded, with no perceptible change in expression. ‘And I think you’ve also met another of my brothers, Gorgas,’ she said. ‘He’s mentioned you.’
‘Yes,’ Alexius said. ‘Yes, I met him once. Briefly.’
She looked at him thoughtfully, as if he was a fairly expensive cut of meat she’d bought for a dinner party, and she was trying to decide which was the best way to cook him. ‘And of course, I’ve got two other brothers back in the Mesoge, but you haven’t met them. Oh,’ she added, ‘I forgot. Your drink of water.’
Before Alexius could say anything she was on her feet and pouring water from a huge embossed brass jug into a wooden cup. The jug looked like a trophy of war or a gift from a neighbouring ruler on a state visit. The cup was home-made, laboriously hollowed out with a gouge rather than turned out on a lathe. There was a tiny split in the rim. Alexius took it and held it in the palm of his left hand, not quite knowing what to do next. Would it be rude to gulp it down while she was talking to him, or offensive not to drink it now that she’d been to the trouble of pouring it with her own hands? This is a very sparse, tidy room, he noticed, irrelevantly. And she acts as if she’s just rented it for the week and doesn’t want to touch any of the fixtures and fittings in case she breaks something and has to pay for it. That jug’s Southern, there ought to be porcelain cups to go with it. I wonder if she keeps them for special visitors? A strange picture floated into his mind, of this woman busily tidying and dusting the room, just as his mother used to do when company was expected, while he waited miserably outside on a cold, hard bench. He raised the cup to his lips and took a little sip of water. ‘So,’ he said, ‘what can I do for you?’
She smiled again. Her face reminded him of a cooking apple. ‘You mean,’ she said, ‘why did I have you dragged halfway round the world to a place you’ve probably only heard of two or three times, and then dump you in the waiting room for hours? It’s a fair question. The answer to the second part is, I was busy. You will tell me when you want something to eat, won’t you?’
Alexius nodded and took a deep breath. He had no idea whether he was frightened of her or not. She was thirty years younger than he was, but she reminded him of his grandmother. ‘And the first part?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I’d assumed you’d already guessed,’ she replied. Without taking her eyes off him, she reached out and helped herself to a handful of raisins from a shallow unglazed pottery dish. ‘I want you to do some magic for me, please.’
Alexius took a deep breath. Not so long ago, he’d had a set speech for these occasions, one that neatly and concisely explained the difference between an abstract philosopher and a conjurer. It had been composed for the benefit of students and the wives of civic dignitaries making small talk at official receptions. Since the Director fitted neither category, he decided to improvise.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I’m not a magician. I couldn’t do magic even if I wanted to. I don’t think anybody can. What I do is study a half-scientific, half-metaphysical concept which we call the Principle, which is all about the structure of Time. Over the years, our studies have occasionally had bizarre and uncontrollable side-effects which could be confused with magic, but since none of us really knows the first thing about these phenomena-’
‘Of course,’ Niessa Loredan said, with a touch of impatience. ‘That’s the aggravating thing. You don’t know much about it.’ She laced her plump fingers together, and in that gesture Alexius could see the woman who’d founded and built up a highly successful bank. ‘You don’t understand magic, but you can do it. I understand it all right, but I can’t do it – well, not as much as I want to. So here’s the deaclass="underline" I teach you, and you help me. Fair?’
A long time ago, Alexius had had an uncle who ran a sawmill. Now his uncle was very good at sawing wood, and not much else; but his wife (his second wife, fifteen years his junior) had a positive genius for business, and she’d taught the young Alexius a trick or two about negotiation. One: if they talk a lot, summarise and simplify. Two: as soon as possible, get to the deal. Three: let them know some of your weaknesses. Four: make them think you know all about them. Five: never try and strike a deal that doesn’t have at least some small benefit for the other side. Coincidentally, his aunt-by-marriage had been short and substantial.
‘You know about magic,’ he said. ‘That’s very interesting. We – the scholars of my Foundation – recognise the kind of person who has a natural ability to understand and even manipulate the workings of the Principle; we call them “naturals”, in fact. Usually they don’t seem to realise what they can do. You’re saying you’re one of them?’
Niessa Loredan clicked her tongue. ‘You haven’t been listening, have you?’ she scolded. Your “naturals” don’t understand, but they can do it. I’m the opposite. I’m not the natural in this room, Master Patriarch; you are.’