It was important to pace the work, easing the skin back with the forefinger of his left hand, working it off the bone with the flexible, razor-sharp blade in his right. He’d done similar work before, seen similar work done many times, and of course a certain degree of natural aptitude was in the blood. This was, however, an exceptional case, and it would be infinitely easier to avoid mistakes than to make them good later.
It was an awkward joint to skin, because of the curves and angles. Uncle had done harder jobs over the years – he was so good at this sort of thing that people brought him their special trophies of the hunt, their prize bucks and wolves and foxes, to be made into cloaks and rugs and blankets (though how anybody could want a blanket with the head still on he’d never been able to understand). He’d always found the sight fascinating, to see how the skin came off the bone, looking the same but completely different; and in his unformed mind he’d often speculated about that close relationship between the skin and what it covered, how the skin could be part of the whole and yet so easily separated. These reflections had led on to others – the nature of external and internal reality, the way that what lies underneath shapes the surface, the way the surface protects and contains and masks what’s inside. One paradox that had always amused him was the cuir-bouilli, thick, supple oxhide stripped off, boiled in wax and moulded to make armour that was nearly as effective as steel plate (because unlike the skin of steel, the cuir-bouilli had a memory; crush it and it flexed and returned to shape). He’d had a fantasy about a man boiled in wax until his skin became armour and no blade could bite him – impractical, of course, to make a defence for the outside that killed the inside. Nobody would ever try an experiment like that, and so the theory went unproven.
He carried on peeling and shaving until the last pinch of skin came away whole, and he was left with two separate objects; skin and bone. He looked up. The water was simmering in the pot, so he dropped the bone in, to boil out the meat and tissue (the final step would be to bleach the bone and burnish it), then he laid out the skin and reached in his saddlebag for the things he needed: salt, herbs and the pot of honey. The salt he smeared in a thick layer over the raw side of the skin; then he sprinkled on the herbs and rolled the skin up tightly, like a letter. Finally he cut the wax around the neck of the honey-jar, prised off the lid and submerged the roll in the honey. The lid went back, and he melted a little knob of wax with the lamp to seal it up again.
He rested for a minute or so, as much from the effort of concentration as the actual physical work, though that had been hard enough, calling for exceptional strength and dexterity of the fingers. To wash his hands, he crawled to the mouth of the scrape and held them out in the rain, then wiped them dry on a tussock of couch-grass. The last task was cleaning off the knife (Uncle had made him promise faithfully never to let it get rusty; once that happens, he’d said, you might as well chuck it away – you’ll never get it clean again).
For a while, he thought about the work he’d done. Then he lay back, stretched out his legs and went to sleep.
Gannadius.
He sat up, his head dizzy with sleep. The room was so dark that he couldn’t tell whether or not his eyes were open.
‘Alexius?’ he said.
– and Alexius stepped out of the darkness and sat down beside the bed. ‘Sorry, did I wake you?’
‘Presumably,’ Gannadius replied. ‘But that’s all right. How are you?’
Alexius frowned at him. ‘Dead,’ he replied.
‘Sorry, it was just a reflex question, I know you’re… I’m sorry,’ Gannadius added lamely.
‘That’s all right,’ Alexius replied. ‘I always thought philosophy’s gain was diplomacy’s loss. Think, if you’d joined the diplomatic corps instead of the Order, how many interesting wars you could have started.’
Gannadius clicked his tongue. ‘That’s something I’ve noticed, actually,’ he said. ‘You’ve got ever so much more sarcastic and waspish since you’ve been dead.’
‘Have I?’ Alexius looked concerned. ‘Yes, come to think of it I suppose I have, though I hadn’t noticed till you mentioned it. I can only assume it’s the result of being filtered through your delightful personality and sunny disposition every time I need to talk to you. Hence also, no doubt, the increased levels of flippancy. Not that I’m complaining; I always felt I was a trifle too dry and bland in my conversation.’
‘Glad to be of service,’ Gannadius said. ‘Now then-’
‘The message, yes.’ Alexius thought for a moment. ‘I’m not sure how to put this without sounding deplorably melodramatic. Goodbye for ever.’
‘Oh,’ Gannadius replied. ‘What’s happened?’
‘The mess we made has finally put itself right,’ Alexius replied. ‘Although right isn’t perhaps the most appropriate word. Iseutz Hedin is dead. Bardas killed her a few minutes ago.’
‘Oh,’ Gannadius repeated. ‘And that changes things how, exactly? I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow.’
Alexius sighed. ‘Vegetating here among the intellectual elite of the Shastel Order hasn’t done much for your inductive reasoning, I see,’ he said. ‘Let’s see. I suppose you could say that the Principle has asserted itself, or returned to its proper course – that’s if we’re using the river analogy, which I never liked much. If we’re using the wheel analogy, I’d say it’s completed a revolution and returned to top dead centre, though that conveniently ignores the fact that it was off-line for a while. Thanks, I’m sorry to say, to you and me.’
‘The curse.’
‘Oh dear, that word again. That diversion, or that deflection – or should it be eccentricity? Although on balance I’d settle for that bloody stupid mistake.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s been resolved, in any event. In a sense, we’re now back to where we would have been if we hadn’t interfered – except, of course, that we’re nowhere near, because the city that hasn’t fallen isn’t Perimadeia, it’s a fortress out on the plains somewhere that Bardas has failed to capture; and it’s Iseutz, not Bardas, who’s been killed; and of course, because the wheel’s turned an extra turn and covered that much more ground, any number of people have been involved who needn’t have been. But it’s over, which is the main thing. Now all that’s left is for you to write up the experiment as a paper. Not meaning this unkindly,’ he went on, ‘but I’d get someone to work on it with you, just to add that objective angle that makes all the difference. What about that confounded gifted student of yours, the girl-’
‘Machaera?’ Gannadius shook his head. ‘She changed course last year. She’s in Commercial Strategy now, doing rather well.’
‘Really? Shame.’ Alexius sighed. ‘Well, you’ll find someone, I expect. And you won’t be in a position to start work until everything’s calmed down anyway, so-’
‘What do you mean exactly,’ Gannadius interrupted, ‘by “calmed down”?’
Alexius made a vague gesture with his hands. ‘Worked itself out, found its own level. You’ll see.’ He stood up. ‘Well, old friend, this is one of those acutely embarrassing moments we try so hard to avoid; it’s been a pleasure working with you, and I’ve enjoyed our friendship very much (even if the consequences for hundreds of thousands of people were fairly catastrophic). It’d be nice to think we might meet again some day, though I have to say that in my interpretation of the Principle, that’s extremely unlikely.’ He pulled a face. ‘I know that sounds dismally formal, but you and I aren’t the sort to make big emotional speeches. More’s the pity, probably.’
Gannadius nodded. ‘I shall miss you,’ he said. ‘But I suppose I’m glad, if it really is over; except that I’m not, because things have turned out so terribly badly, and it was our fault-’
‘Partly our fault. We didn’t make people the way they are, or cause the problems that started it all. In a sense, all this would have happened anyway; because it has happened-’ He broke off, scratched his head, and smiled ruefully. ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘I had hoped that death would clarify my thinking in this area, but I’m afraid it hasn’t. I never did understand the Principle, and I don’t now.’