Creation Machine (22 page)

Yes. Money. He caught the eye of the accountant, who nodded. Now it was just a matter of wait and see.

The crowd surrounded the ponds. Garamende had thrown the eel fight open to all comers – although ‘all comers’ up here still meant a select group. The front row sat in recliners, tilted a little forwards so they had a good view down into the water.

The recliner next to Alameche creaked as its occupant shifted. He was a fat, pasty man whom Alameche recognized vaguely. The man leaned towards him. ‘Hodil, my Lord. A privilege to meet again.’

Even at this range and with the smoke for competition, Alameche could smell the man’s sweat – a sour, unhealthy, fearful smell. The smell rather than the name triggered his memory: Hodil had been a minor courtier, dismissed for some equally minor fault. He nodded, and then pointed at the pond. ‘Have you bet?’

Hodil shook his head, making his chins wobble. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘I am uncertain, to be frank. I believe I saw you place a wager, Lord. Can you advise me?’

Alameche leaned closer. ‘Wiser heads than mine recommended the green,’ he said. Then he pulled his head back before he had to inhale.

Hodil’s eyes widened. Then he nodded vigorously. ‘Thank you, Lord! I will take your advice. If I can find . . .’ He faltered, looked around, and then brightened. ‘Ah! Here, sir!’

Alameche followed the man’s gaze and saw an accountant walking towards them. He thought the man looked less than enthusiastic.

He became aware of Garamende, leaning towards him again. He turned, matching the lean.

‘Our friend Hodil is heavily mortgaged, and the accountants know it.’ Garamende paused to smile at some new arrivals. ‘A single unfortunate investment could put him beyond the reach of rescue.’

Alameche raised his eyebrows. ‘Indeed? Well, well.’ He turned to watch as the accountant approached Hodil. Certainly the transaction seemed to take longer than necessary; Hodil was animated, his porcine body seeming to lift out of the recliner as he tried to reinforce his point, whereas the accountant seemed unmovable. Alameche made up his mind. He reached out and tapped the accountant on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me?’

The accountant turned, began to scowl, blinked, and then bowed.

Alameche waved him up. ‘The gentleman there?’ He indicated Hodil. ‘You may accept his business with confidence.’ He watched long enough to see Hodil’s face light up, while the accountant’s fell. Then he turned away, and stared at the pond.

The two vast fish – he supposed eels
were
fish – were still circling, in a kind of dance that looked unpleasantly erotic. The crowd was getting impatient; someone threw a coin into the water. There was laughter, and more followed.

Then the green eel – erupted.
There was no other word for it
, thought Alameche. The creature’s body lashed like a severed cable and lifted its whole length out of the water in a boil of foam, curling as it did so into an upturned crescent with its tail poised at the highest point and its head almost in the water. The laughter stopped, and was replaced by a collective intake of breath.

For a moment the eel seemed to hang in the air. Then its head and the front third of its body fell back into the water, and its rear half cracked with the force of a braided steel whip.

The jewelled tail struck the water immediately above the head of the black eel with an impact that Alameche felt in his chest. It was a beautiful, stunning, lethal
coup de grâce
that threw up white waves in the pond and soaked the onlookers. They stood up and began to applaud, and Hodil gave a cry of delight.

Then they fell silent. The waves were clearing, but the water in the pond was still writhing like a boiling pot.

Somehow the intended victim had evaded the death blow, and now the two eels were entwined, turning over and over in a queasy pastiche of a lovers’ knot. Where their bodies broke the surface they writhed with muscle, and the heads and tails flailed and thrashed. Alameche found himself perched on the edge of his seat, the breath harsh in his throat. Next to him, he could hear Hodil panting.

For a long moment the bodies rolled and plaited. Then one of them tensed and straightened, with the other wrapped round it in a constricting spiral. There was a gasp from the crowd. The eel that had straightened was the green. Its mouth, rising out of the water, was open in a rictus of angular teeth, and its eyes were bulging and wide.

There was a moment’s silence. Then the crowd leapt to its feet. Alameche found himself joining them. After a moment he realized that there was a gap to one side of him. He looked down and saw Hodil slumped in his seat.

Garamende’s elbow dug into his ribs. The fat man was grinning ruefully. ‘Something of a reverse,’ he said. ‘Sorry about that. Did you lose much?’

Alameche shook his head. ‘No. I won much.’ He saw Garamende’s eyes widen, and added, ‘I am very bad at taking advice. Especially when it seems obvious. And besides, it may be useful.’ He nodded towards Hodil.

‘Ah.’ Garamende raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Look,’ and he pointed to an approaching group of accountants. ‘They come, beaks open, seeking carrion.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Alameche studied the group for a moment. Then he leaned close to Garamende. ‘I think I will watch their technique for a while. I might learn something.’

The other man laughed softly. ‘You might learn all kinds of things, you old bastard. But by the end of the night I bet you’ll have taught them something too.’

Alameche sat back. ‘Perhaps. Let’s see.’

Hodil hadn’t tried to leave. He remained slumped in his recliner, one arm swinging listlessly. Alameche had half expected him to make an appeal, but he seemed beyond even that. Or possibly above it, in the end.

It was almost a generous thought. He silenced it, laughing inwardly at himself. Then he watched.

The group closed around Hodil. Alameche could see nothing but turned backs, but even those were radiating trouble. The conversation, if that was the right word, went on for a long while. Every now and then the bodies shifted and he caught a brief glimpse of Hodil. He was generally making a resigned gesture.

Then the conversation came to an abrupt halt. The ring of accountants stood up all at once and backed away, leaving one standing in front of Hodil. He had something that looked like a genuine antique piece of paper in his hand, and he held it out in front of him as if he was about to read a proclamation.

‘The Honourable His Grace the Duke Verrasetes Prisp of the Tribe Hodil! You are declared in default of debt, to the extent of seventy-four million standard on this instance. Other instances are noted.’ The man cleared his throat. ‘By statute here writ, your estates, goods and titles are held forfeit . . .’

Alameche felt Garamende’s elbow in his ribs. He raised an eyebrow.

Garamende’s voice was a hiss. ‘Hell’s ring-piece, man, what are you waiting for? That’s a pre-packaged wrap-up. If he gets to the end of that little speech old Hodil’s estate will be entwined in the Defaulters Court until his grandchildren are dead of the pox. Speak up, or there’ll be nothing left to speak for.’

Alameche nodded. He turned towards the declaiming accountant. ‘Ah, excuse me?’

The man lowered his paper. ‘My Lord?’ His voice was testy, and Alameche made a note to find out his name.

‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘It had slipped my mind that My Lord Hodil and I were betting in tandem.’ He waved a hand. ‘Use my account.’

‘Indeed, my Lord.’ The man looked flustered. ‘Excuse me. I will need to confirm . . .’

‘Of course you will.’ Alameche looked away.

It didn’t take long. There was a hurried conversation among the accountants. Then the one with the paper turned back and held it out to Alameche. ‘My Lord? The debt is transferred.’

Alameche took the paper and nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘No doubt you are busy?’

The man flushed and bowed himself away. Hodil watched him go, and then turned to Alameche, his face even paler. He gripped the arms of his recliner and rocked backwards and forwards until he had enough speed to stand up. His loose robes hung damply on his vast body, making him look like a sack. He gave a quick, nodding bow. ‘My thanks, Lord. You have saved me.’

‘Indeed?’ Alameche allowed himself a smile. ‘Well, I am sure you will find some way to return the favour. Shall we walk?’

‘Of course.’ The man was trembling. Alameche wasn’t surprised.

Handlers had gathered round the pool to net the stricken eel, which was still writhing erratically. Alameche and Hodil threaded through the watching crowds and strolled along the terrace. Away from the fight pond it was quiet, and the evening air was warm and smoky. To Alameche’s relief there was a slight on-shore breeze; he took care to stay upwind of Hodil.

They walked in silence for a while. Then Hodil cleared his throat. ‘Ah, you mentioned returning the favour . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘May I ask, Lord . . . do you have anything in mind?’ Hodil looked down at his sweat-stained robes, and then back up at Alameche. He shrugged. ‘As you know I have little, and my position at Court is sadly reduced.’

‘I know.’ Alameche smiled at the man. Then he looked down. They were passing one of the ponds. He gestured at it. ‘The eels in there – will they fight today?’

Hodil followed his gaze. He shook his head. ‘No, Lord. Those are merely pets, not champions.’

Alameche watched them for a while. There were two circling the pond in opposite directions, staying close to the walls and passing each other only a few hand’s breadths apart. ‘They look nervous,’ he said, and nodded back towards the fight ponds. ‘Perhaps they know something’s going on.’

Hodil nodded. ‘Very likely. They are sensitive creatures. They have excellent hearing.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Alameche turned to face the other man. ‘Hodil,’ he said quietly, ‘I suspect that you also have good hearing.
Is
something going on?’

Hodil looked at him steadily. ‘You are not speaking of eels, Lord.’

‘No, I’m not.’ Alameche stared out to sea for a moment. It was dusk, and the few boats that were still away from their moorings were carrying coloured riding lamps that left dotted trails of light across the tops of the shallow waves. From time to time they blurred a little, as if some disturbance in the air had obscured them for a second.

He was tired, that was the problem. He shook his head and turned back to Hodil. ‘You were at the Games?’

‘Of course.’ The man seemed to swell, if that were possible. ‘A superb spectacle.’

‘Did anything strike you?’

‘About what, Lord?’ The face screamed innocent incomprehension, but the eyes were everywhere and the sweat smell, which was now strong enough to be offensive even with the wind against it, had the tinge of terror.

Alameche almost felt sorry for the man. Almost. He reached out and patted him on the shoulder, suppressing a wince at the clamminess of the material under his hand. ‘Come on, Hodil. Talk to me. Tell me what people are talking about. Tell me, even more, what you think they are
not
talking about.’ He patted the shoulder again, noting that it had become wetter even as he spoke. Then he added, as if he had just thought of it, ‘Or, if you’d rather keep your counsel we could walk along to the end of the ponds. You know? Where our host Garamende keeps his special . . . pets. Has he shown you?’

Hodil shuddered. ‘Yes, he has.’ His eyes flicked down for a moment. Then he sighed heavily. ‘Very well.’ He glanced at the eel pond, and added, ‘But please let us get away from these
ghastly
fucking fish.’

On the landward side of the terrace the ground stepped up yet further towards Garamende’s house. A spindly timber ramp wandered up the slope through stands of dense, rather spiky-looking dark green bushes. About halfway up, the ramp turned abruptly through a right angle and opened into a sort of landing half a dozen paces across. It stuck out over a steep part of the slope. Hodil lumbered on to it, panting, and leaned on the seaward rail. ‘This will do,’ he said, and blew out his cheeks. ‘I hope.’

Alameche looked around. ‘Do you fear being overheard?’

Hodil laughed. ‘Very much, but mainly by you.’ He laughed again, tailing off in a wheeze, and then fell silent.

Alameche waited.

Eventually Hodil pushed himself away from the rail and turned round. ‘As you have bought me, I had better deliver payment. The Games, then.’ He shook his head. ‘What possessed the Patriarch? The ambition he showed is beyond anything we could dream of. Even before the Games people were whispering that we are over-extended, that the taking of Silthx was a jump too far.’

‘Were they? What else?’

‘That he is a liability. That he draws attention to us. That he endangers us. Perhaps even that he is in thrall to a foreign power. They talk of two options.’ Hodil stood up a little straighter. ‘One, that the Patriarch must go, however that can be attained, and replaced by you. Or, that you must both go.’

Alameche nodded. ‘Just those? Does no one expect His Excellency to stay?’

‘Everyone expects him to try. But nobody expects him to succeed.’ Hodil smiled a little. ‘The view seems to be that you can light his funeral pyre, Lord – or die on it.’

‘I see.’ Alameche found himself drumming his fingers. He stilled them. ‘I’ll need names, Hodil.’

‘I am sorry, Lord.’ The man drew himself up. ‘I won’t say them.’

‘Oh, you will.’ Alameche took a handful of Hodil’s robes, clenching them hard enough that he actually felt a trickle of perspiration squeeze out of them and run down his wrist. The sensation and the reek of the man almost made him retch, but he suppressed the urge and pulled Hodil close to him. ‘You can give them to me now,’ he said quietly, ‘or you can scream them in the ear of the Carnifex in a few hours, but either way I will have them.’

Hodil’s face had turned a sickly yellow, but he shook his head quickly. Alameche opened his hand, and Hodil tottered backwards until he bumped into the rail. Then he collapsed into an untidy sitting position. Without taking his eyes off the man, Alameche raised his voice. ‘Kestus!’

There was a pause, and then footsteps behind him, and then the security chief was at his elbow. ‘Yes, Lord?’