Resolution (27 page)

Two hours later, Tom climbed from the bath, sober but with every nerve shaking, every cell of his body feeling washed out and sick. At least he smelled clean.

Fresh clothes awaited him.

Dressed, Tom went back into the chamber where Elva now sat alone, and asked her: ‘What day is it?’

Elva pawned a set of diamond-chased stunwhips for sufficient credit to buy a passage back to the Collegium, where the techs should have finished removing Axolon from the wall and encased him in the floating sarcophagus. Where they were going to take the wrecked cyborg, and how they were going to make the final payment for the techs’ work in extracting him, neither Elva nor Tom had any idea.

There were two days left until the meeting with Jay which Tom had promised to attend. And it had been
three
days - three entire days - since Jay had told him of the meeting: seventy-five hours of alcohol-induced fragmentation which would never be clear in Tom’s mind; nor would he want them to be.

All of his cred-spindles were gone.

Elva sold her second-best graser pistol and Tom’s holodrama crystals in a small shop on the Seventh Stratum where no-one asked questions. For the time being, they would be able to eat.

Life reduces to basics very quickly.

On Ahdimday morning, Tom and Elva packed their few belongings, and made ready to leave the guest apartment. Elva had booked the arachnargos for the evening, and there was nothing left for them here save the meeting with Jay A’Khelikov, fulfilling Tom’s small obligation to the man who had mattered so much to Corduven.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tom said to the empty chamber.

Then they left.

It was the same amphitheatre that the Convocation authorities had used as a congress hall. Today, the tiers of seats were mostly unoccupied: the few nobles attending the meeting sat down at the front, in scattered twos and threes, totalling twenty-four people. Approximately three thousand remaining seats were empty.

Among the attendees were people Tom and Elva knew: Sylvana and her cousin Brekana; Lady V’Delikona with Jay on one side of her, a red-bearded Duke on the other side; Renata; Falvonn and Kirindahl. The rest, all noble-born, were strangers.

A black-robed Lord entered from the nearest passageway, climbed onto a quartz dais and cleared his throat. ‘My Ladies, my Lords.’ A hololattice grew slowly brighter beside him. ‘We are here to read the last will and testament of Brigadier-General Lord Corduven d’Ov—’

Blood-rush sounded in Tom’s ears. He lowered his head, blinking quickly.

I
shouldn‘t be here.

Elva’s grasp tightened on Tom’s forearm, as she read his intention to leave.

‘—collection, including my favourite epee, to Lady Elva Corcorigan, in the hope you will make fine use of it...’

With a sniff, Elva nodded.

The disposal of Corduven’s possessions was fast, as befitted a soldier. His artworks went to Sylvana and Brekana, save for some shadily specified holoprints which went to several of his old comrades - three of whom were here - along with those items of his weapons collection which he had not left to Elva.

Since Corduven had been military, not a Liege Lord, he had no demesne to dispose of, and that simplified what might otherwise have been a long and involved legal process. Jay sat stiff and pale throughout the proceedings, making an immense effort not to break down when some small favourite sculpture was left to him. Obviously, Corduven had already given Jay whatever major belongings he had wanted to pass on.

Then there were crystals, bequeathed to Falvonn, to Kirindahl—

Tom shook his head, withdrawing inside himself.

Dragon, uncoiling
—

He wanted to drink.

—
and so seductive.

Then Elva’s fingers were digging painfully into Tom’s skin.

‘—freeborn but then a servitor, from Salis Core to Palace Darinia, and then by dint of endless self-discipline and inborn talent, becoming the first commoner for a century in Gelmethri Syektor to be upraised to—’

Tidal wash of blood-rush in Tom’s ears once more.

No.

But the presiding Lord’s words continued.

‘—and since my parents’ death during the war—’

Tom was wrong. Corduven
had
become a Liege Lord, without Tom’s knowing it: inheriting his parents’ realm.

‘—to the man whose efforts were decisive in our victory against the Blight, I hereby bequeath my remaining possessions, including my realm, Demesne d’Ovraison, and the terraformer sphere known as Guillaume Globe, in which my late brother Gérard lived—’

Corduven. Don’t do this.

‘—to Lord Thomas Corcorigan, my friend and ally. Rule well, Tom, and be happy.’

Tom lowered his head.

No.

He closed his eyes.

My friend, no ...

And wept for Corduven at last.

~ * ~

18

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[5]

Spring brought a glistening sheen to Oxford’s spires, their mono-molecular protective films shining with promise. Young birds flew over the quiet streets or perched amid bright-green swelling leaves, warbling songs of challenge and invitation. Smartpaths flowed like turgid streams along the old roads - St Giles, Broad Street, past Keble College and the meadow beyond - while the narrower, cobbled streets remained as they had always been, recognizable to a visitor from a millennium before.

The proud dome of the Bodleian Library’s Radcliffe Camera; the quadrangles of St Hilda’s et al.; the Ashmolean’s forbidding columns: all retained their stately grandeur. The hidden tunnels beneath the streets still used cables and pulleys to draw books and crystals from college to college, in the hidden arteries of intellectual cooperation.

‘What a sodding dump,’ said Kian.

Leaning against his bicycle’s handlebars, he surveyed the twelfth-century architecture and shook his head. Gowns billowing, a group of scholars hurried towards some ceremony - perhaps the Latin swearing-in required of anyone joining the Bodleian Library - and Kian shook his head.

‘It’s not that bad.’ Dirk eyed the flapping gowns. ‘Though I hadn’t envisaged the fancy dress, I must admit.’

‘Trapped in amber. Probably think this is the centre of the universe, when it’s really a tiny provincial town.’

‘Which makes it different from Caltech’ - Dirk leaned back on his saddle - ‘exactly how?’

Kian shrugged.

‘Beats me, bro. Where to now?’