"My father managed it." Gignomai closed one eye and rubbed it with the tip of his finger to get rid of a bit of dust or something. "Stheno always said I was the one who took after him most. At the time I was insulted, but I'm gradually coming round to his point of view. The thing is, I can almost understand him-my father, I mean. He was faced with what he saw as an impossible situation-his daughter, a met'Oc, f.u.c.king one of Luso's sc.u.m of the earth desperados. In so far as he's capable of love, he loved her, like he does all his children. But something like that, in the situation our family's in..." He shrugged his shoulders, the old Gignomai gesture, as though he was still fifteen years old. "I expect he'd have talked about the thin end of the wedge, except he wouldn't use a cliche like that. The point being, once we start interbreeding with these people here, we're lost, we cease to exist. If he spared her, and she did it again and got pregnant-it was something he simply daren't risk. He took no pleasure in it, I'm sure. I expect he made her die that way as much to punish himself as for any other reason. He'd have to watch her dying, to torture himself for bringing her up so badly that such a thing could happen. I can understand." He twisted his head round, almost as if trying to look over his shoulder. "I can actually imagine a different me, back Home, eldest son instead of youngest, head of the family, faced with something world-destroying like that to deal with, and doing the same thing myself. Got to be practical, you see. Got to make sure it doesn't happen again, no possible chance whatsoever, so you make the deterrent so unbelievably horrible-" He stopped. It was as though he'd been trying to force his way through a dense tangle of briars, the more caught up he got the harder he pushed forward, until eventually he was so deeply trapped he'd have to be cut out. "Well, of course," he said, "of course I understand. I appreciate the need to take effective action, not to let luxuries like morality or ethics stand in the way of doing what has to be done." He looked up, and for a moment Furio saw someone else behind his eyes, someone he remembered from a long way back. "You do see what I'm driving at, Furio, don't you? You do understand."

Furio thought, I hope not, because if Gig's right, to understand evil is to become capable of it. On those terms, I'd rather be really, really stupid.

"I can see that what your father did was appallingly bad," Furio said, slowly and carefully. "I can see you can't rest till you've brought him to justice. But this isn't justice. It's murder."

And Gignomai laughed with genuine amus.e.m.e.nt, as if at a pun or a smart comeback. "That's just silly, Furio," he said. "Just listen to yourself, will you? There's no law here, there's no magistrate, no advocate general, no governor, no garrison commander. I can't just go to the proper authorities and swear a complaint before a notary. G.o.d, I wish I could. Wouldn't that be wonderful; it wouldn't be up to me, I could leave it all to someone else. Well, I suppose that's what I'm doing. I've made it the mayor's business. Your uncle Marzo, the mayor." Furio opened his mouth to speak, but it was a false impulse, he had nothing to say. "And it's not just my father," he went on, "it's all of them. They sat and watched her starve to death at the dinner table, and they didn't do a d.a.m.n thing. You must be able to see it, Furio, you're not completely stupid. We've got to make sure it doesn't happen again, and there's only one way."

It was so hard to believe that Furio nearly gave up; it was like arguing with the sea. But he said, "What you're doing, the way you're going about it, the lies, all that stuff. Why not just go to the people in town and tell them the truth? Don't you think they'd see that justice has to be done?"

Gignomai gave him a look of pure contempt. "Be realistic," was all he said.

Furio was dead quiet for a moment. There had to be an argument, a way of using words to demonstrate that Gig's case was built on an enormous, glaring fallacy. There had to be one, but he simply couldn't think what it was. "You've got no right," he said. "You're going to get the people in town so angry with the met'Oc that they'll attack them, right? But your brother and his men have got weapons, there'll be men killed and injured. It's not their fight. You can't drag them in."

Gignomai's answer was cold and distant. He's right, Furio thought, he could have been a fine politician or a statesman. "I have a duty to make sure as little harm comes to them as possible," he said, "but what can I do? I didn't start it, all I can do is finish it." His voice changed abruptly. "Can't you understand I hate that it's got to be me? It'd be so easy just to say my family, right or wrong. Two evils don't cancel each other out. If I do this, I'll be just as bad as they are. All perfectly true, that's what's so horrible. I will will be as bad as they are. I already am. All I want is for it to be over, and me as far away as possible. But I am who I am. It's mine to deal with, n.o.body else's. And this is the only way I can do it, so this is what I'm doing. Cut away the garbage and you'll see it's absolutely straightforward." be as bad as they are. I already am. All I want is for it to be over, and me as far away as possible. But I am who I am. It's mine to deal with, n.o.body else's. And this is the only way I can do it, so this is what I'm doing. Cut away the garbage and you'll see it's absolutely straightforward."

It was as though Furio had been tied down, and had suddenly been set free. He stood up. "Sorry," he said, "but you can't do it. I won't let you. That's all there is to it."

Gignomai looked at him. There was love in his eyes, and a kind of grat.i.tude. "Why?"

"For your sake," Furio said. "Not theirs."

"Ah." Gignomai smiled. "I always did like you, Furio. Better than my brothers, though that's not saying much. But please, don't be a pain in the a.r.s.e. Sit down and we'll go through it all again, and I'll make you understand."

"No." Furio stared at him; and into his mind came the fairy tale about the man who married a demon in disguise, and only found out what she was many years later. "You think I'm going to let you carry on with this? You must be out of your mind."

He turned and walked quickly away, not looking round, and kept on going down the path, until he could see the cart, the horse tied to a tree, the way out, escape, home. He let go of the breath he'd taken when he turned his back on Gignomai, and made an effort to release his hand, which had frozen clenched shut. He was three yards from the cart when Gignomai, who'd taken the short cut through the trees, stepped smartly and quietly up behind him and hit him on the back of the head with a heavy stick.

The man who knocked at the door was a stranger, a short, square man with grey hair parted down the middle. "Gignomai met'Oc sent me," he said. Marzo looked over his shoulder and recognised the Tavio horse tied to the rail.

"Have you got it?"

"Right here." The stranger handed him something wrapped in clean white shirt-cloth. It felt like a pair of fire tongs.

"Thanks. Where's my nephew?"

The man took a step back. "Are you Mayor Opello?"

"That's me."

"Your nephew's decided to stay at the factory for a few days. Gignomai met'Oc needs his help with something. He said to tell you, he hopes you won't mind, and consider it as payment for making the tool."

Marzo made him repeat the message, then thanked him and asked if he wanted to come in and have something to eat or drink. No, he had to get back, thanks all the same.

Marzo took the thing he'd been given into the store, still wrapped in its cloth. He gave it to Teucer, who fumbled as she unwrapped it. It looked convincing, but he had no idea what it was supposed to be for.

"Well?" he asked.

She was turning a k.n.o.b, which raised two arms along a screw-thread. "How should I know?" she said. "I've never seen one before."

"Is it like the one in the book?"

"I think so. Let's try it out and see."

Marzo looked at the wood screw at the end of the threaded rod. He had a fair idea where that was supposed to go. "You carry on," he said. "I'll be in my office if anyone needs me."

He sat down in his chair. There was an inch left in the old bottle, and there was a new one next to it. He left them alone. He had a feeling that if he drank anything, he'd probably be sick. He pulled his stock book across the table towards him, opened it, stared at it for quite some time before he realised it was upside down. He tried to add up a column of figures, but kept losing count.

Some time later, he wasn't sure how long, he heard a terrible scream. He closed his eyes, then went back to the top of the column and started again.

The news spread quickly. The mayor's niece (n.o.body could quite bring themselves to remember her name, in spite of everything) had saved the Tavio boy when he'd been on the point of death by pulling a huge splinter of wood thick as a finger right out of his skull with a weird thing like a cross between tongs and a drill, which the met'Oc boy had made for her at his factory. She'd worked for six hours, they said, teasing the splinter out of the wound a shred at a time, while the boy's father and a couple of other men held him down, so tight he couldn't move a hair's breadth. It was generally agreed that the thing was a miracle, Opello's niece was a heroine and the mayor was a hero, and so was young met'Oc, who'd made the tool for nothing in no time at all. The boy was still at the mayor's place, weak, but mending remarkably quickly. Of course, they noted, she was from Home, where people were very different-that explained it and excused it, as if the mayor's niece had two heads, or wings.

In other news, the mayor's nephew, young Furio, was back at the factory, and the impression was he'd be staying there. It was generally a.s.sumed there'd been some kind of falling-out between him and the met'Oc boy, which had prompted Furio to leave the factory for a while, and which had now been sorted out. This was held to be a good thing, since the factory was marvellous and they were making good stuff there. It was even rumoured that young met'Oc was mining iron somewhere. If that was true, and the factory kept going the way it had started, it wouldn't be long before they could do without the shipments from Home. Just think what that would mean!

Furio opened his eyes and saw nothing. Then he heard the sc.r.a.pe of a flint, and a little orange glare in the darkness blinded him for a moment. The light gradually expanded, as a patient, methodical man lit a lamp.

"You're Aurelio," Furio said.

The face looked as though it had been rolled out and folded a few times, like the dough for making bread. The eyes were small, watery and bright. "You're Furio Opello."

"That's right." Furio wasn't aware of trying to move his left hand, not until he found he couldn't. It was attached to his right hand by three turns of good-quality cord, the sort they sold in the store for a thaler a furlong.

"I'm to tell you it's not how it looks," Aurelio said. "It's for your own good, he said."

"Leaving me tied up in a darkened room is good for me," Furio said. "You live and learn."

Aurelio grinned. "That's a good one," he said. "Also, he said to tell you, you're in no danger. When it's over, you'll be free to go." He paused, frowned. "I think that's everything," he said.

There wasn't enough light to make out whether he was armed, or if he was tied up too. "It's ten thalers if you untie me," he said, "and another ten if you stay out of my way while I kick my way out of here."

"Love to take your money, but I can't, sorry." Aurelio lifted his hands, which were tied together at the wrist. "Looks like we're stuck with each other," he said. "Cheer up," he went on, "I know the boss, this is just what he calls attention to detail. Sets a lot of store by it, the boss does."

Furio let the strength flow back out of his muscles. His back was against a wall, and he was sitting on the floor. His neck ached. "You here for your own good too, are you?"

"It's to stop me running away," Aurelio replied. "Not that I would, because I've got nowhere to go. But Master Gignomai, he likes to be sure. Always the same, ever since he was little."

Furio couldn't help grinning. "Known him long, then?"

"All his life," Aurelio replied. "Easily the pick of that family. Smartest, knows his own mind, doesn't give a d.a.m.n, just like his dad. Only," Aurelio added, with a crease to his face that wasn't quite a frown, "he's got that extra edge, if you know what I mean. The old man plays by the rules, always. Gignomai makes his own rules, and not so many of them."

Furio looked up, but he couldn't see rafters or the underside of the thatch, just more darkness, like a pool. "This must be the hammer-house," he said.

Aurelio nodded. "Just as well for you and me it's not running," he said. "Else we'd be off our heads with the racket. I've been a smith fifty years, I'm as near deaf as makes no odds, but that thing makes my head spin."

"Where's Gignomai?" Furio asked, but Aurelio just shrugged.

"I've been watching the shadow that crack of light under the door makes," he said, "and it was back where it started about an hour ago. Leastways, an hour more or less. I was counting, but I can't get my fingers where I can feel my pulse, so it's a bit rough and ready. Still, I'd say I've been here twenty-five hours. You, about four."

Furio looked at him. "You've been sitting there counting for a whole day?"

"Helps pa.s.s the time," Aurelio replied. "And I'm what you might call the precise sort. I like measuring things, you know where you are if you've got the numbers. That said, I lost count when they brought the food in, so the total's all askew anyhow."

"I'm sorry," Furio said. "I've made you lose count again."

"Doesn't matter. Talking's better than counting, anyway."

Furio had no idea what to make of that. He said, "You must know this shed pretty well. If I can get my hands free, what's the best way out of here?"

"Door's locked," Aurelio said, "and I think it's barred on the outside. Windows are shuttered. You could try shinning up the chimney, but you'd get stuck halfway, and G.o.d knows how we'd get you down again. You're better off staying put, if you ask me. Gignomai wouldn't have left us here if there was any danger."

Furio shook his head. "I need to get out," he said. "I need to get back to town and tell them Gig's gone crazy and he's trying to start a war. If I've only been here four hours-"

"Sorry," Aurelio said. "Can't do that."

"Why?"

"Because if you try, I'll stop you."

Furio was lost for words for a moment. "After he's tied you up and dumped you here for a whole day?"

"He's the boss," Aurelio said. "He knows what he's doing. You can bank on that."

Furio stared at him for a while, but Aurelio wasn't looking in his direction. Furio leaned his head back against the wall and tried not to move his neck.

"You've been with the met'Oc how long?" he asked.

"Fifty years. Fifty-one come the spring. Got taken on when I was twelve years old, been there ever since."

It was the question Furio didn't want to ask. "Gignomai had a sister."

"That's right, yes."

"What happened to her?"

Aurelio slowly turned his head and looked at him. "She went to the bad," he said. "Master Phainomai had her killed. Tied to a chair and starved to death. h.e.l.l of a thing."

Furio could feel his heart pounding against the walls of his chest, as though he'd been running, or carrying a load too heavy for his strength. "And you stayed there, after that?"

"Nothing to do with me," Aurelio said, almost casually. "h.e.l.l of a thing, but like I said, the old man goes by the rules, even when they don't suit. That way, you know where you stand."

"Gignomai's going to kill him," Furio said. "Him and his brothers, his mother too for all I know. The whole lot of them."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Aurelio said quietly. "Got a wild streak in him, that boy, but it runs cold rather than hot, if you follow me. Good-hearted, cares about people the way the rest of them don't, but single-minded. And patient, too. That's another way he's different from the others."

Furio gave up. It was like talking to a priest; he'd interpret scripture for you, but wouldn't ever venture an opinion about the content. "I don't suppose there's a knife or anything sharp lying around, is there?"

"Bit of old broken saw-blade, came out of the sc.r.a.p. That the sort of thing?"

"That'd do nicely," Furio said. "Where is it?"

"Under my foot," the old man replied. "Sorry."

So maybe Gig's right after all, Furio told himself, closing his eyes against the unnecessary light. Maybe they do all have to go. Maybe evil is a habit or a mannerism you can pick up from the people around you, without even noticing you've done it. Or maybe there's no such thing, and all that matters is to be practical. He tried to imagine the colony without the met'Oc; it was surprisingly easy to do. There'd be no more cattle raids, which would be just as well, since once the link with Home was broken and the rent quota no longer needed to be filled, the cattle would genuinely belong to the farmers, not the Company. What else? There'd be land up for grabs, for a little while-miserable land, more trouble than it was worth to plough. Whoever took it on would probably run sheep up there as a sideline. The silver, the furniture, the books-one way or another, he felt sure, they'd pa.s.s through Uncle Marzo's hands on their way back Home where they belonged. You could call it reparations, or plunder. He doubted very much whether Gig would show any interest in it. If he was bothered about wealth, he could make himself rich running the factory. Somehow Furio doubted whether anything on the Tabletop held any sentimental value for him. Quite the reverse.

In any case, Furio thought, he's got a long way to go yet. Maybe he'll fail. All he'd managed to achieve so far was a vague atmosphere of distrust, to some extent neutralised by Uncle Marzo's remarkable and totally unexpected success as diplomat and community leader. He'd need a really bold, magnificent stroke to get the colonists mad enough to attack the Tabletop, or years of slow, patient effort, like a single mole undermining a whole city.

The latest shipment was mostly shovels, picks and ploughshares, three barrels of nails, a barrel of gate hinges. Also, ten coils of wire-poor quality, Gignomai confessed, of irregular thickness and somewhat brittle, but the next batch would be better-and a new line: billhooks with steel cutting edges welded into soft iron for toughness and economy, hardened and drawn to purple to stay sharp all day, seasoned ash shafts, five dozen at a thaler a dozen.

Marzo picked one out of the straw and examined it. Still black and greasy from the tempering oil, no finish to speak of but a good, straight, well-balanced tool. From Home, three thalers a dozen if he could get them. He'd ordered twelve dozen, but there hadn't been any on the last three ships. On the other hand...

"Not much call for them," he said. "I mean, everybody's got one, and it's not as though they wear out in a hurry."

"Ah yes," Gignomai said with a pale smile, "but now people can have one and a spare. At that price, you can get one for the boy to use, and then there'll be two of you on the job and you'll get it done in half the time."

"Hedging's winter work," Marzo replied, arguing more from habit than conviction. "Time's not exactly of the essence." He wondered why he was bothering. Gignomai wouldn't lower the price-he was practically giving them away as it was-and Marzo had decided he'd take them as soon as Gignomai had told him what was in the crate.

"Fine," Gignomai said. "Tell you what I'll do. Sale or return. I'll leave them here and you don't have to give me any money until you've sold them. If they're still here in three weeks, I'll take them back and work them into hayknives. All right?"

Marzo just managed to stop himself whimpering with surprise. Achieving a deal like that without even trying was-well, disappointing. He felt almost cheated, as if his hard-earned bargaining skills had been utterly devalued. "If you like," he said, trying to sound casual. "And the same terms for the gate hinges?"

Gignomai gave him a beautiful smile. "The h.e.l.l with that," he said cheerfully. "Cash in hand or I take them back with me."

Marzo nodded, relieved. Back to normal. "Two thalers five."

"Three, and I want the barrel back."

Marzo opened his book and made a show of examining the figures, though of course he knew the balances by heart. "Cash in hand for the hinges, then," he said. "You want cash for the rest of the stuff, or shall I write it up?"

"Cash," Gignomai said. "Which reminds me of the main reason I'm here. I've been thinking." He perched on the edge of the long table and folded his arms, instinctively elegant like an animal. "Seems to me it'd make more sense for us to start buying our supplies direct from the farmers, instead of going through you for everything, now we're earning money. What do you reckon?"

Marzo exaggerated the shrug a little. "That's up to you," he said. "You do what you like."

Gignomai shook his head. "No, I want us to stay friends," he said. "I worked out there can't be much margin for you in supplying us, and it's a lot of work for you, with storage and carting."

"True," Marzo said, and left it at that, in case Gignomai had something else to offer.

"In return," (Ah, Marzo thought) "I suggest we draw a line under everything up to now. How would that be?" Marzo thought) "I suggest we draw a line under everything up to now. How would that be?"

"Sorry," Marzo said. "I don't follow."

"Simple. I don't owe you anything for what I've had from you so far, and you can have the sword, sell it, keep the money for yourself. Is that a deal?"

"But it's worth-" Marzo managed to bite off the rest of the sentence, but he had an idea the look on his face would tell Gignomai all he needed to know.

"Yes," Gignomai said, "ten, twenty times what I've had from you, sure. More like fifty. So what? Back up on the Tabletop it wasn't worth anything. Down here, it means I've been able to get the job done. For you, it's a pa.s.sage out of here and a nice life back Home for you and your family, if that's what you want. Amazing how one stupid bit of pointed metal can do so much good for so many people." He yawned, and stroked his throat; maybe he had a cold coming. "If you'd rather do it some other way I'm open to suggestions."

"No, that's fine," Marzo said, altogether too quickly. "Thank you. You're being very generous."