Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [499]
He brought a flask from his pocket and drank deeply. She smelt the tang of spirits and thought, Thank God Odim doesn’t booze. Captains are all drinkers …
Fashnalgid gasped. ‘I’m not much catch, I know that. The fact is, girl, I’m worried about this errand I’m on. They’ve landed me with a real sherber this time, my scab-devouring regiment here. I reckon I’m going mad.’
‘You’re not from Koriantura, are you?’
‘I’m from Askitosh. Are you listening to me?’
‘It’s freezing. We’d better get back.’
Grudgingly, he came along, taking her arm in the street, which made her feel like a free woman.
‘Have you heard the name of Archpriest-Militant Asperamanka?’
With the wind about her head, she gave him only a nod. He wasn’t as romantic as she had hoped. But she had been to listen to the Priest-Militant just a tenner earlier, when he had held an outdoor service in one of the city squares. He had spoken so eloquently. His gestures had been pleasing and she had enjoyed watching. Asperamanka! – what a gift of the gab! Later, she and Odim had watched him lead his army through the city and out by the East Gate. The guns had shaken the ground as they passed. And all those young men marching off …
‘The Priest-Militant took my oath of fealty to the Oligarchy when I was made captain. That’s a while ago.’ He smoothed his heavy moustache. ‘Now I’m really in trouble. Abro Hakmo Astab!’
Besi was deeply disgusted to hear this curse spoken in her presence. Only the lowest and most desperate would use it. She tugged her arm from his and quickened her pace down the street.
‘That man has won a great victory for us against Pannoval. We heard about it in the mess at Askitosh. But it’s being kept secret. Secrets … Sibornal lives on sherbing secrets. Why do you think they should do that?’
‘Can you tip our watchman so that he doesn’t make a fuss to Odim?’ She paused as they got to the outer gate. A new poster had been pasted up there. She could not read it in the dark, and did not wish to.
As Fashnalgid felt in his pocket for money as she requested, he said, in a flat way that seemed characteristic, ‘I have been posted to Koriantura to help organise a force which will ambush the Priest-Militant’s army when it returns from Chalce. Our orders are to kill every last man, including Asperamanka. What do you make of that?’
‘It sounds awful,’ Besi said. ‘I’d better go in first in case there’s trouble.’
*
Next morning, the wind had dropped, and Koriantura was enveloped in a soft brown fog, through which the two suns gleamed intermittently. Besi watched the thin, parched form of Eedap Mun Odim as he ate breakfast. She was allowed to eat only when he had finished. He did not speak, but she knew that he was in his usual resigned good humour. Even while she recollected the pleasures that Captain Fashnalgid could offer, she knew that she was, despite everything, fond of Odim.
As if to test out his humour, he allowed upstairs one of his distant relations, a second cousin who professed to be a poet, to speak to him.
‘I have a new poem, cousin, an Ode to History,’ said the man, bowing, and began to declaim.
‘Whose is my life? Is history
To be considered property
Only of those who make it?
May not my finer fancy take it
Into my heart’s morality
And shape it just as it shapes me?’
There was more of the same. ‘Very good,’ said Odim, rising and wiping his bearded lips on a silken napkin. ‘Fine sentiments, well displayed. Now I must get down to the office, if you will excuse me – refreshed by your ornamental thoughts.’
‘Your praise overwhelms me,’ said the distant cousin, and withdrew.
Odim took another sip of his tea. He never touched alcohol.
He summoned Besi to his side as a servant came forward to help him into his outdoor coat. His progress down the stairs, Besi obediently following, was slow, as he underwent the barrage of his relations, those Odims who squawked like starlings on every stair, cajoling