And now, thanks to him, they were.
‘Excuse me,’ Gannadius said, ‘but are you expecting a duck?’
The man turned round.
‘You’ve brought it? Splendid.’ He was wearing a hat; that’s why Gannadius hadn’t recognised him, seen from behind. ‘It’s Dr Gannadius, isn’t it? Of course, I don’t suppose you remember me.’
‘Gorgas Loredan,’ Gannadius replied.
‘You do remember me.’ Gorgas smiled. ‘I’m flattered. Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Please, sit down, let me buy you a drink.’
Gannadius smiled nervously. ‘Actually-’ he began, but it was too late. Gorgas had already tipped the big cider-jar and was pushing a horn cup across the table at him.
‘Not quite up to City standards,’ he was saying, ‘but palatable nevertheless. You should try some of the stuff we’re making in the Mesoge these days, though; it’d bring back pleasant memories, I’m sure.’
‘I always thought beer was your speciality,’ replied Gannadius, who neither knew nor cared what they drank in the Mesoge. ‘Is this an innovation of yours, then?’
Gorgas shook his head. ‘We’ve always made cider there,’ he said. ‘I remember spreading the cheese when I was a boy; the smell literally made your head spin. But yes, I’ve been encouraging it; something we can sell abroad, you see. I have a notion there’s a lot of City expatriates out there spreading a taste for good cider, and I want us to be the ones who supply it. Your health, anyway.’
‘And yours,’ Gannadius replied dutifully. The cider was sharp and rancid, like vinegar.
‘Thank you for bringing me my duck,’ Gorgas said solemnly. ‘That’s another line we’re very interested in right now. This new breed they’ve come up with over there – do you know much about ducks, Doctor?’
Gannadius shook his head. ‘Only how to eat them,’ he said. For some reason, Gorgas seemed to find that hilariously funny.
‘Ah, well then,’ he said, when he’d recovered from his outbreak of mirth, ‘you’re helping me prove my point. I’m prepared to bet you there’s an almost unlimited demand for quality poultry, not to mention the eggs and the feathers.’ He held the duck up by its feet, so that its head swung to and fro. ‘Yes,’ he went on, ‘I think we’re well on the road to success with this one. So, how have you been keeping? And what, if you’ll excuse my curiosity, were you doing with the plainspeople? Hardly the place I’d expect to find a world-famous philosopher.’
Gannadius explained – not very well, but he got the impression that Gorgas knew all about it already. When he’d finished, Gorgas nodded and refilled his cup for him. ‘It’s an awkward situation there, no doubt about it,’ he said. ‘I have the feeling that Temrai and his people aren’t long for this world – sad, in a way; you’ve got to admire them for their courage and initiative, the way they’ve bettered themselves over the last seven years or so. Oh, I’m sorry, I hope you didn’t think I was trying to be offensive. I got so used to thinking of you as a Shastel academic during our little pocket war on Scona, I forgot that of course you’re Perimadeian.’
‘It’s all right, really,’ Gannadius replied, thoroughly alarmed at the thought that Gorgas Loredan had been thinking about him in any context. ‘And yes, to a certain extent I agree with you. I found it very hard not to like them when I was over there.’
Gorgas smiled. ‘Still,’ he said, ‘it’s an ill wind, and so forth. As far as I’m concerned, the good thing is the opportunity it gives my brother Bardas to advance his career with the Empire. I know it must sound silly, but I worry about him; well, he’s my brother, I’m entitled. You see, ever since he left the army – the City army, I mean, after Maxen died – well, he’s just been marking time, drifting aimlessly along without any real purpose in his life, and it’s such a waste. I really thought I might have been able to get him involved with what we were doing on Scona – give him my job, basically, after all, he’d have done it much better than I ever could; and all I’ve ever wanted is to go home to the Mesoge and mess about playing at farming. And now,’ he continued with a sigh, ‘I’ve got what I want, and where’s Bardas? Serving time as a sergeant, for gods’ sakes, when he isn’t risking his neck down some hole in the ground, or slaving away in some miserable factory, when he should be making something of his life, achieving something he could be proud of. No, if Bardas beats the plainspeople and kills Temrai, coming on top of what he did at Ap’ Escatoy, he’s got to be in line for a proper job somewhere, possibly even on the fast track to a prefecture somewhere, even though he’s an outsider. ’ He smiled again, and leaned back. ‘So, and I know this must sound a bit callous, I’m sorry for Temrai and his lot, but I really want this war, for Bardas’ sake. It could be the answer to a lot of things for him.’
Gannadius took a sip of his cider. It still tasted just as foul, but his mouth was painfully dry. ‘As you say,’ he murmured, ‘it’s an ill wind. Well, I hope things work out for you with the duck project.’ It occurred to him that if the plainspeople were massacred, there wouldn’t be any duck project; in which case why was Gorgas bothering with it? But he decided not to raise the issue. Instead, he stood up, smiled, and walked away, rather more quickly than was polite.
And that, he reflected as he crossed the Market Square, ought to be the end of my grand adventure; home again (well, it counts as home for all practical purposes), safe and sound and none the worse for wear. But it didn’t feel like the end of anything; rather, it was as if he was hanging around waiting, like an athlete at a country fair who’s been knocked out of one event and has several hours to kill before he’s on again.
So, instead of heading for Athli’s house, where Theudas would be waiting and Athli would be inexplicably delighted to see him safe and well, he crossed over to the south side of the Square and headed inland, without knowing why, in the general direction of the brickyard and the wire mill.
Why a nation that adamantly refused to make anything it could buy or sell abroad had decided to make an exception in the case of bricks and wire, nobody knew. There weren’t even any theories (and Islanders had theories about everything); it was just a freak accident of commerce, to which no particular significance should or could be attached.
Unusually, the big double doors of the wire mill were open, and Gannadius stopped for a gawp.
At first, he couldn’t make out what they were doing. They’d set up a series of posts, in pairs, about four feet high and two feet apart; through each pair of posts ran a thin steel rod about half the thickness of the tip of his little finger. Each rod was as long as he was tall, and had an L-shaped handle at one end and a slot in the other. The factory hands had threaded wire through the slots and were turning the handles, wrapping wire tightly round the rods like the serving on the handle of a bow. When there was no more space on the rod for any more turns of wire, they lifted it up and off by way of a slot cut in the side of each post and carried it over to an anvil, where two men with cold chisels worked down the length of the rods, cutting off the loops of wire so that they fell to the ground as split-ended steel rings, which a couple of young boys scooped up in large baskets and carried into the back of the shop.