Rats in a Sack
Cosca squinted as he stepped out onto the roof of the tower. Even the sunlight seemed set on tormenting him, but he supposed he richly deserved it. Visserine was spread out around him: jumbles of brick-and-timber houses, villas of cream-coloured stone, the green tops of leafing trees where the parks and broad avenues were laid out. Everywhere windows glinted, statues of coloured glass on the rooflines of the grandest buildings catching the morning sun and shining like jewels. Other towers were widely scattered, dozens of them, some far taller than the one he stood on, each casting its own long shadow across the sprawl.
Southwards the grey-blue sea, the smoke of industry still rising from the city’s famous glass-working district on its island just offshore, the gliding specks of seabirds circling above it. To the east the Visser was a dark snake glimpsed through the buildings, four bridges linking the two halves of the city. Grand Duke Salier’s palace squatted jealously on an island in its midst. A place where Cosca had spent many enjoyable evenings, an honoured guest of the great connoisseur himself. When he had still been loved, feared and admired. So long ago it seemed another man’s life.
Monza stood motionless at the parapet, framed by the blue sky. The blade of her sword and her sinewy left arm made a line, perfectly straight, from shoulder to point. The steel shone bright, the ruby on her middle finger glittered bloody, her skin gleamed with sweat. Her vest stuck to her with it. She let the sword drop as he came closer, as he lifted the wine jug and took a long, cool swallow.
“I wondered how long it would take you.”
“Only water in it, more’s the pity. Did you not witness my solemn oath never to touch wine again?”
She snorted. “That I’ve heard before, with small results.”
“I am in the slow and agonising process of mending my ways.”
“I’ve heard that too, with even smaller ones.”
Cosca sighed. “Whatever must a man do to be taken seriously?”
“Keep his word once in his life?”
“My fragile heart, so often broken in the past! Can it take such a buffeting?” He wedged one boot up on the battlements beside her. “I was born in Visserine, you know, no more than a few streets away. A happy childhood but a wild youth, full of ugly incidents. Including the one that obliged me to flee the city to seek my fortune as a paid soldier.”
“Your whole life has been full of ugly incidents.”
“True enough.” He had few pleasant memories, in fact. And most of those, Cosca realised as he peered sideways at Monza, had involved her. Most of the best moments of his life, and the very worst of all. He took a sharp breath and shielded his eyes with a hand, looking westwards, past the grey line of the city walls and out into the patchwork of fields beyond. “No sign of our friends from Talins yet?”
“Soon. General Ganmark isn’t a man to turn up late to an engagement.” She paused for a moment, frowning, as always. “When are you going to say you told me?”
“Told you what?”
“About Orso.”
“You know what I told you.”
“Never trust your own employer.” A lesson he had learned at great cost from Duchess Sefeline of Ospria. “And now I’m the one paying your wages.”
Cosca made an effort at a grin, though it hurt his sore lips to do it. “But we are fittingly suspicious in all our dealings with each other.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t trust you to carry my shit to the stream.”
“A shame. Your shit smells sweet as roses, I am sure.” He leaned back against the parapet and blinked into the sun. “Do you remember how we used to spar, in the mornings? Before you got too good.”
“Before you got too drunk.”
“Well, I could hardly spar afterwards, could I? There is a limit to how much a man should be willing to embarrass himself before breakfast. Is that a Calvez you have there?”
She lifted the sword, sun’s gleam gliding along its edge. “I had it made for Benna.”
“For Benna? What the hell would he do with a Calvez? Use it as a spit and cook apples on it?”
“He didn’t even do that much, as it goes.”
“I used to have one, you know. Damn good sword. Lost it in a card game. Drink?” He held out the jug.
She reached for it. “I could-”
“Hah!” He flung the water in her face and she yelped, stumbling back, drops flying. He ripped his sword from its sheath and as the jug shattered against the roof he was already swinging. She managed to parry the first cut, ducked desperately under the second, slipped, sprawled, rolled away as Cosca’s blade squealed down the roofing lead where she had been a moment before. She came up in a crouch, sword at the ready.
“You’re getting soft, Murcatto.” He chuckled as he paced out into the centre of the roof. “You’d never have fallen for the old water in the face ten years ago.”
“I didn’t fall for it just now, idiot.” She wiped her brow slowly with her gloved hand, water dripping from the ends of her wet hair, never taking her eyes from his. “You got anything more than water in the face, or is that as far as your swordsmanship reaches these days?”
Not much further, if he was honest. “Why don’t we find out?”
She sprang forwards and their blades feathered together, metal ringing and scraping. She had a long scar on her bare right shoulder, another curving round her forearm and into her black glove.
He waved his sword at it. “Fighting left-handed, eh? Hope you’re not taking pity on an old man.”
“Pity? You know me better than that.” He flicked away a jab, but another came so quickly behind it he only just got out of the way, the blade punching a ragged hole in his shirt before it whipped back out.
He raised his brows. “Good thing I lost some weight during my last binge.”
“You could lose more, if you’re asking me.” She circled him, the point of her tongue showing between her teeth.
“Trying to get the sun behind you?”
“You never should’ve taught me all those dirty tricks. Care to use your left, even things up a little?”
“Give up an advantage? You know me better than that!” He feinted right then went the other way and left her lunging at nothing. She was quick, but not near as quick as she had been with her right hand. He trod on her boot as she passed, made her stumble, the point of his sword left a neat scratch across the scar on her shoulder, and made a cross of it.
She peered down at the little wound, a bead of blood forming at its corner. “You old bastard.”
“A little something to remember me by.” And he twirled his sword around and slashed ostentatiously at the air. She lunged at him again and their swords rang together, cut, cut, jab and parry. All a touch clumsy, like sewing with gloves on. The time was they had given exhibitions, but it seemed time had done nothing for either of them. “One question…” he murmured, keeping his eyes on hers. “Why did you betray me?”
“I got tired of your fucking jokes.”
“I deserved to be betrayed, of course. Every mercenary ends up stabbed in the front or the back. But by you?” He jabbed at her, followed it with a cut that made her shuffle back, wincing. “After all I taught you? All I gave you? Safety, and money, and a place to belong? I treated you like my own daughter!”
“Like your mother, maybe. You’ve left out getting so drunk you’d shit in your clothes. I owed you, but there’s a limit.” She circled him, looking for an opening, no more than the thickness of a finger between the points of their swords. “I might’ve followed you to hell, but I wasn’t taking my brother there with me.”
“Why not? He’d have been right at home.”
“Fuck yourself!” She tricked him with a feint, switched angle and forced him to hop away with all the grace of a dying frog. He had forgotten how much work swordplay required. His lungs were burning already, shoulder, forearm, wrist, hand, all aching with a vengeance. “If it hadn’t been me it would’ve been one of the other captains. Sesaria! Victus! Andiche!” She pushed home each hated name with a sharp cut, jarring the sword in his hand. “They were all falling over themselves to be rid of you at Afieri!”
“Can we not mention that damn place!” He parried her next effort and switched smartly to the attack with something close to his old vigour, driving her back towards the corner of the roof. He needed to bring this to a close
