Now Ealstan did sit quiet. He didn’t care for Ethelhelm’s latest songs nearly so well as he’d liked the earlier ones. They still had the pounding rhythms that had made the band popular in the first place, but the words were just. . words. They lacked the bite that had made some of Ethelhelm’s earlier tunes grab Ealstan by the ears and refuse to let him go.
Sadly, he said, “Let me have that sack of receipts you were talking about, and I’ll see how much sense I can make of it.”
“Of course.” Even drunk--both on wine and on his own popularity- Ethelhelm remained charming. “Let me get them for you.” He heaved himself up off the sofa and went back into the bedchamber, wobbling a little as he walked. He returned with the promised leather sack, which he thumped down at Ealstan’s feet. “There you go. Let me know where we stand as soon as you have the chance, if you’d be so kind.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Ealstan promised.
“I’ll see you soon, then,” Ethelhelm said-a dismissal if ever there was one. He didn’t ask about Vanai, not a single, solitary word. He couldn’t have forgotten her; he had an excellent memory. He just-couldn’t be bothered? That was how it seemed to Ealstan.
He picked up the sack of receipts and headed for the door. The sack felt unduly heavy, as if it were more than leather and papers. Ealstan wondered if he were carrying Ethelhelm’s spirit in there, too. He didn’t say anything about that. After a while-as soon as he got outside Ethelhelm’s block of flats-he decided he was imagining things: the sack weighed no more than it should.
Every trash bin, every gutter on the way home offered fresh temptation. Somehow, Ealstan managed not to fling the sack away or to drop it and then keep walking. He was sure no beautiful woman, no matter how wanton, could arouse his desires like the sight of an empty, inviting bin. But he resisted, though he doubted Vanai would have been proud of him for it.
When he gave the coded knock at the door to his flat, Vanai opened it and let him slip inside. “What have you got there?” she asked, pointing to the leather sack.
“Rubbish,” he answered. “Nothing but rubbish. And I can’t even throw it away, worse luck.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked. “Those are Ethelhelm’s things, aren’t they?”
“Of course they are. What else would they be?”
“Why are you calling them rubbish, then?”
“Why? I’ll tell you why.” Ealstan took a deep breath and did exactly that. The more he talked, the more the outrage and sense of betrayal he’d had to hide while he was at Ethelhelm’s bubbled to the surface. By the time he finished, he was practically in tears. “He’s making all the money in the world-or all the money that’s left in Forthweg, anyhow-and he’s stopped caring about the things that got him rich in the first place.”
“That’s. . too bad,” Vanai said. “It’s even worse because he probably does have some of my blood in him. Forgetting his own kind-” She grimaced. “Probably plenty of Kaunians who’d like to forget their own kind, if only the Forthwegians and Algarvians would let them.” She set a hand on Ealstan’s shoulder for a moment, then turned back toward the kitchen. “Supper’s almost ready.”
Ealstan ate in gloomy silence, even though Vanai had made a fine chicken stew. After sucking the last of the meat off a drumstick, he burst out, “I’ve been afraid this would happen since the first time the redheads asked his band to play for Plegmund’s Brigade when those whoresons were training outside of Eoforwic.”
Vanai said, “It’s not even treason, not really. He’s looking out for himself, that’s all. A lot of people have done a lot worse.”
“I know,” Ealstan said. “That’s all Sidroc was doing, too: looking out for himself, I mean. That’s how it starts. The trouble is, that’s not how it ends.” He thought of what had happened to Leofsig. Then he thought about what might happen to Vanai. He had been angry. Now, all at once, he was afraid.
Nine
As happened so often when Pekka was intent on her work, a knock on the door made her jump. She came back to herself in some surprise; it was time to head for home, which meant that was likely her husband out there. Sure enough, Leino stood in the hallway. Only after she gave him a hug did she realize how grim he looked. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Sorceries making squibs instead of fires today?”
“No, the magic went about as well as it could,” he answered. “But they’re closing down my group, or most of it, even so.”
The sentence made perfect grammatical sense. It still didn’t mean anything to Pekka. “Why would they do that?” she asked. “It’s crazy.”
“Maybe so, but maybe not, too,” Leino said. “They don’t think so. They’re calling just about every practical mage who’s a man and under fifty into the military service of the Seven Princes-into the army or navy, in other words.”
“Oh.” Pekka deflated with the word, as a blown-up pig’s bladder might have done after a pinprick. “But how will they make better weapons if they send the sorcerers off to fight?”
“It’s a good question,” Leino agreed. “The other side of the silverpiece is, how can the soldiers fight without mages at the front to ward them and to use spells against the enemy?”
“But we haven’t got that big an army,” Pekka said.
“We haven’t now, no. But we’re going to,” Leino said. “Come on; let’s walk to the caravan stop. No use getting home late because of this, is there? I’m not going in tonight, or tomorrow, either. It won’t be long, though.” He started down the hall toward the door.
Numbly, Pekka followed. Having Olavin go into the army was one thing. Her brother-in-law would keep right on being a banker. He’d just be a banker for Kuusamo rather than for himself and his partners. If Leino went to war, he would go to war in truth.
As if reading her thoughts, he said, “You know, sweetheart, we’re only just getting started in this war. We’re going to need a lot of soldiers to fight the Gongs and the Algarvians both, and they’re going to need a lot of mages. When the Algarvians smote Yliharma, that was a warning about how hard this fight would be. If we don’t take it seriously, we’ll go under.”
“But where will the new things come from?” Pekka repeated as her husband held the door open so she could go outside.
He closed the door, then trotted a couple of steps to catch up with her as they walked across the campus of Kajaani City College. “From the mages who aren’t men under fifty,” he answered. “From the old men like your colleagues, and from women, too. We aren’t Algarvians, after all, to think women worthless outside the bedroom.”
“Will it be enough?” Pekka asked.
“How can I know that?” Leino said, all too reasonably. “It had better be enough-that’s all I can tell you.”
Two students, both young men, strode across their path. One of them looked back at Pekka. It meant nothing; it was no more than the way almost any man would eye an attractive woman. All of a sudden, though, Pekka hated him. Why wasn’t he going into the army instead of Leino?
Because he doesn’t know anything much. The thought echoed inside her head. She glanced over toward her husband. How unfair to have to go off and leave his family behind because he’d spent years learning to master a complex, difficult art. Knowledge was supposed to bring rewards, not penalties. Pekka reached out and squeezed Leino’s hand as hard as she could. He squeezed back, nodding as if she’d said something he understood perfectly well.
A good-sized crowd had gathered at the caravan stop in the center of the campus, waiting to go back to their homes in town. A news-sheet vendor cried out headlines: “Algarvians send dragons by the score over Sulingen again! Town in flames! Thousands said to be dead!”
“If it weren’t for the Strait of Valmiera, that could be us,” Pekka said.
Leino shrugged. “We have trouble fighting Gyongyos and Algarve at the same time. Mezentio won’t have an easy time warring on us and Lagoas and Unkerlant. He’d better not, anyhow, or we’re all ruined.”