19

16th Side: Peace on the Border

In the great hall of the Bedesdale Tower, the trestle table was still set up. Per sat at one end, in the settle that had been dragged from the fireside, with Sweet Milk and Isobel on either side of him. On long benches on either side of the table sat the Elves, as well as several favored Sterkarm men. Wooden dishes of bread were set on the table before them, with crocks of butter, cold mutton, and jugs of small beer. The table was surrounded by lesser men, standing, and women and youngsters, listening with folded arms.

“All that you win while fighting for us is yours to keep,” Gareth said. “Elven will take nothing of it. All we ask is that you win.”

There was a cautious murmur of approval from those around the table, especially those standing. They liked the sound of this, but they were looking to the head of the table to hear what their leaders thought before becoming more vocal. However, they’d made their wishes clear.

Andrea listened in astonishment. There were many questions she wished to ask—such as: Who were the Sterkarms going to fight in Elf-Land? Windsor had always hated Marketing and Accounts, but setting the Sterkarms on them was over the top even for Windsor, surely? Or was the Inland Revenue the target? At that moment, though, she didn’t feel secure enough to ask rude, probing questions and draw attention to herself again. She had no friends in the room, not even among the Elves.

Per, inside the hood of the settle, was consulting with Sweet Milk and Isobel. Leaning forward, he said, “We are at feud with Grannams. We need Elven’s help against them before we fight battles for Elven.”

“And you shall have it,” Gareth said. “I have power to promise you that. More Elf-Soldiers, more Elf-Weapons. I promise you solemnly that Sterkarms will be lords of the border, with no enemies, because they will have no enemies left.”

The Sterkarms stirred and whispered. Andrea, looking around, saw glinting eyes and grins that made her hair move. They liked the sound of that, too.

“This help,” Gareth said, “will be in part payment for your help in Elf-Land.”

“Master Elf,” Per said, “I can no take my men and horses to Elf-Land now. Who will fight Grannams when they come for revenge?”

“You forget that we are Elven,” Gareth said. “We will take you into Elf-Land, and we will bring you back here, to Man’s-Home, one eye blink after you leave. In that eye blink, in Elf-Land, you might fight for a year—or two, or three, though it will no take that long. But however long it takes, you will be away from home for only one blink of an eye. I swear.”

There was a long silence while everyone thought this over; then a gentle murmur as they explained it to one another, to make sure they understood—and then a babble of confusion, delight, amazement, fear.

Andrea sat still and silent in shock. She had almost forgotten that what Gareth proposed was possible, because the Time Tube had always operated with a policy of keeping time in sequence on both sides of the Tube, to avoid problems of “Tube lag.” But of course, so long as they were returned to a time after they left, it could be fractions of a second later.

“I can also promise you,” Gareth said, “that Elven will be left here to guard tower even for that moment you’ll be away—”

“We do no all live in Bedesdale,” said one of the Sterkarms seated at the table. Indeed, Sterkarms were scattered thickly over the country, and even across the border, in what was rightly England. There were many Sterkarm towers and bastle houses, all of which needed defending.

“We will send men with—with rockets, to every tower,” Gareth said. “And—and—besides this, and besides help in defeating the Grannams once and for all, and besides taking no share of your booty, we will also pay you for fighting for us! We will pay you in Elf-Cloth, and Elf-Clothes, in wee white pills, and whisky, and—”

“Elf-Carts?” Per said. “Rocket shooters?”

“We will talk about that,” Gareth said.

A deep silence fell on the hall. Per talked quietly with Sweet Milk as Isobel leaned to listen. Slowly, voices rose around them as everyone discussed what had been said.

Per struck the flat of his hand on the table, making a loud, sharp noise. There was quiet. Looking at Gareth, Per said, “In Elf-Land, whom shall we fight?”

Andrea sat straighter, waiting for Gareth’s answer. This was what she was fascinated to know.

“You will not be fighting Elven,” Gareth said. “Or—no Elven like us. You will no be fighting Elven with weapons like ours. Do no fear that.”

Per looked puzzled. He spoke with Sweet Milk while chatter broke out again. Raising his voice, Per said, “If no Elven like you, then what kind of Elven? How many kinds of Elven be there?”

“There be many different Elf-Lands,” Gareth said. “Some of them are like ours, and some of them are like yours. We want you to gan into an Elf-Land very like yours and fight our enemies there, who are very like you, and—”

“Oh my God!” Andrea said, as it broke on her what this was all about. People glanced at her but were too interested in what else was being said to pay much attention.

“They have weapons like ours?” Per said.

“Very like yours,” Gareth said. “Swords, lances, pistols.”

“Whyfor have you need of us?” Per asked. “Your weapons knock down towers.”

“Ah,” Gareth said, “but we needed you to lead us to tower. We needed you to lead us to where Grannams were in ambush. That is why we need you in Elf-Land. You know land, you know how to cross it. You can be of priceless help to us.”

“We dinna ken land in Elf-Land,” Per said. “It be no our land.”

“It be exactly like this land,” Gareth said. “Elven that live there look exactly like you.”

Astounded comment and chatter broke out again. Andrea leaned on the table and put her head in her hands. “They look like us?” Per said.

“It be Elf-Work. They will make themselves look like you—to trick you. They be shape-changers. But they be not you. And if you will help us defeat them, we will pay you generously.”

An outburst of words broke on them from all sides; but the Sterkarms probably didn’t find the proposal as strange as Andrea did. The idea of mortal men being recruited to fight the Elves’ battles in Elf-Land was in their folklore—and so too was the notion that Elf-Land—or at least, some Elf-Lands—were identical to their own world and only subtly, magically different, so that people could step into them and never know that they’d left their own world and fate behind. They had many stories of people going into Elf-Land for an hour or a day and finding, on their return, that years had passed, so there was nothing new to them in the idea that time moved at different speeds in different worlds. And, of course, everyone knew that Elves were shape-shifters and could, if they chose, take on all sorts of forms.

Per struck the table again, calling for silence. “We need to talk about this. We’ll give you an answer tomorrow, Master Elf.”

Gareth nodded. “Shall we withdraw to our bowers? And meet here tomorrow?”

“That would be well.”

And the two sides parted, the Elves going out to their sleeping quarters above various storerooms in the courtyard. Andrea, as she went down the tower steps, had no doubt what the answer would be. The Sterkarms, turn down the chance of a fight, the chance of plunder, fame, and wealth? The Devil would turn nun first.

“Gareth,” she called as they ducked out of the tower’s low door into the courtyard. Her voice was tight. She didn’t want to talk to him and knew that he didn’t want to talk to her. “I need to have a word with you.”

He gave her the barest glance over his shoulder. “Tomorrow. I’m exhausted.”

“I need to talk to you now.” She walked at his shoulder. “I want an explanation.”

He turned and faced her. “Who are you to demand explanations? You could have got us all killed!”

Patterson and his men were walking ahead, on their way to their own sleeping quarters. Patterson turned back. “Got woman trouble, Gareth?”

The others laughed. “Need rescuing?”

They were all coming back, with jeering laughs and menacing swagger, all of Patterson’s men. Andrea found her breath catching in her throat. She knew they were all angry with her. It would be a mistake to let them see she was scared. Looking Patterson in the eye, she said, “On whose orders did you shoot Toorkild?”

That stopped him short for a second, but then he gestured as if knocking away a fly. “Give it a rest, you mad mare.”

“Are you saying that you didn’t shoot him?” Andrea watched his face. “Why deny it? Ashamed?”

A spark of anger lit in his eye. “I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve ever done. After all”—he grinned—“I’ve never fucked you.”

The other men sniggered. One clapped Patterson on the back.

Inwardly Andrea trembled with anger and nerves, but she refused to be either humiliated or intimidated. “Then you did do it. On whose orders?”

“I felt like it. Now, come on. Put Gareth down, and let’s get you locked up in your pigpen for the night.”

“Leave her,” Gareth said, sounding tired to death. When Patterson still stayed where he was, Gareth snapped, “For God’s sake!” He was annoyed with Andrea too, but Patterson’s crudity was unbearable.

Patterson shrugged. “Please yourself.” He turned and ambled away, his men laughing and sniggering with him, looking back at Gareth and Andrea and laughing again.

Andrea turned away from them and said to Gareth, “You’re sending the Sterkarms through to fight—well, the other Sterkarms. That’s right, isn’t it?”

Gareth sighed. “You’ve figured it all out. Why ask me? I just want to lie down and sleep.” He started walking toward his bower.

Andrea walked at his side. “Why? Why order such a thing? Is it just spite?”

“It’s a business decision, as always,” Gareth said.

“I suppose blowing people apart, burning people alive—that’s all business as usual? Trade by other means?”

Her words brought back to Gareth, with great vividness, some of the things he’d experienced recently. The smell of burning human fat and meat. A woman’s severed head. He’d been hoping not to think much of these things ever again. The contempt in Andrea’s voice too—a woman’s voice—made him feel as if some tender inner part of him was being sandpapered.

“Are you okay?” Andrea asked.

“I just want to lie down. Sleep.”

She said nothing more but followed him to his bower and was closely behind him on his ladder. She was in the room with him before he could do or say anything about it. With a groan he unlaced and pulled off his boots and lay down on the bed.

Andrea shut the door and seated herself on a chest against the wall. “Tell me about this business decision.”

He groaned and rubbed his hand over his face. “Oh, leave me alone.”

“No. I shan’t go away and I shan’t shut up until you tell me. Come on. Tell me.”

Gareth sighed. “It’s no big deal. If you have two dimensions open, then you have twice the trade, don’t you?”

“But Windsor made a real mess of things in—with—with the other Sterkarms.”

“In 16th-side A,” Gareth said. “Yeah. We alienated the natives. So when we came here—16th-side B—we went out of our way not to do that. We laid on trips to Elf-Land, clothes, truckloads of aspirin, whisky—we were Mr. Nice Guy, we really were. And James Windsor”—his tone took on an accusing note—“worked harder than anybody. Promoting peace. Fostering an alliance between the Sterkarms and the Grannams.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Andrea said. “The Sterkarms didn’t attack the Grannams, and—”

“No, they’d never do that, would they?” Gareth’s voice was sharp.

“This time they didn’t. And this time the Grannams didn’t attack the Sterkarms.”

Gareth, resting his forehead on his hand, turned his head sidelong and looked at her.

“The men who attacked the Grannams,” Andrea said, “were Patterson’s men, dressed as 16th siders. The men who attacked the Sterkarms were our men too—21st siders. Weren’t they? Both sides thought they were being attacked by the other, but they were being attacked by 21st siders. By us. And when everyone was outside, fighting, all the floodlights went on. And there were snipers on the hillside in the dark, picking off Toorkild. And Richie Grannam. And—all the leaders,” she said wonderingly. “Gobby Per. Everyone Per might listen to …” She looked at Gareth. “Why?”

Gareth gave a slight, weary smile. “Promoting peace?”

“By starting a war?”

“Look. You’ve got the Grannams, and you’ve got the Sterkarms. There’s Beales, too, and—oh, dozens of others. Always at each other’s throats, always raiding, always fighting. As I understand it, we already tried asking them nicely, in 16 A—just cut it out and pack it in, we said. They took no notice. How would you have stopped them? Would they have stopped if we’d paid them, do you think?”

Andrea grimaced and shrugged. “No,” she admitted. That was what FUP had done, more or less, in what she’d have to learn to call 16 A. The Sterkarms had taken their payments, asked for more, and gone on raiding and feuding anyway.

“And do you really think the wedding alliance would have stopped them for long?”

“Well, yes, it might.” Andrea thought about it. “No. Not really.”

“The trouble always was, they were too finely balanced. No one family had any superiority over another. So it went on and on and on, in low-grade power struggles. Solution? Make one side overwhelmingly powerful.” He saw realization dawn in Andrea’s face. “Yeah. Back the Sterkarms against the Grannams. Make the Sterkarms top dog. That’s how you make peace.”

“Peace for FUP to trade,” Andrea said.

“And peace,” Gareth said. “Eventually. For everyone. A lot of little Sterkarm kids will grow up in peace and prosperity because of this.”

“Is that what you tell yourself? A lot of Grannam children won’t.”

“And wouldn’t, either, if we just let this go on,” Gareth said irritably.

“The Sterkarms and the Grannams feud all the time anyway. They’ve been doing it for years—centuries, probably. So why this charade? Why the wedding—why pay out all that gold to persuade them to marry when you know you’re going to break it up? I just don’t—”

“For God’s sake, because we had to know when it would all kick off,” Gareth said. “We weren’t going to hang around, containing all their raids and shit, and hoping they’d start a feud sometime soon. What if they’d picked a feud with the wrong people? With the Yonnsenns or Dowglasses? We wanted them to feud with the other big powerful family, the Grannams, nobody else. Let the Sterkarms beat the Grannams out of sight, and there’s going to be no trouble from the other little families, at least not for a long time. And hopefully, by then, they’ll be so used to our rule … So. It was all set up. Bring the Sterkarms and the Grannams together, stage a ‘treacherous attack,’ and then back the Sterkarms. You’ve got to admit it’s clever.”

“Let me guess who thought of this,” Andrea said.

“James Windsor,” Gareth said.

“It’s such a game,” Andrea said. “If you don’t mind murdering people to further your five-year plan, why not just go to the Sterkarms and say, hey! How about if we massacre the Grannams for you?”

“And what if the Grannams won?”

“What?”

“Well, I’ve been told that the Sterkarms kicked ass in 16 A. You’d know, you were there. So you’ve got to be prepared. What if the Grannams won? If they did, and we’d openly declared war on them—well, that would be difficult. But if the Sterkarms treacherously attack them, and then use stolen Elf-Weapons to—” He was going to say “massacre the Grannams” but a memory rose up of exactly what that massacre had entailed. “To massacre the Grannams,” he said firmly, “then we’re off the hook.” This was the hardening he needed, he reminded himself. You had to be able to keep the big picture in view and face up to what had to be done, like an adult.

Andrea still sat on the chest, staring into space. “So now you’re going to set the Sterkarms on the Sterkarms. I suppose you’re going to do the same to—the first Sterkarms—the other Sterkarms—”

“Sterkarms A,” Gareth said.

“You’re going to do the same to Sterkarms A as you’ve done to the Grannams. Attack them with rockets and grenades. Wipe them out.”

“Impose peace,” Gareth said.

My Per, Andrea thought. Peace will be imposed on my Per. And my Toorkild—still alive in 16 A. And my Isobel, and my Sweet Milk, and Ecky and Sim and all the rest.

I can’t bear this, she thought. It’s surreal. Per killing Per. No.

“Why involve me?” she asked.

Gareth was rubbing his face. “Eh?”

“Why drag me into it? Why give me my old job back, just to drag me into this?”

Gareth sighed. “You were the candy, weren’t you?”

“What?”

“Didn’t you have an affair with Per Sterkarm in 16 A? I get the impression it was quite intense.”

“Ah—well—” Andrea felt her face warming.

“The long and short of it was: Make the Sterkarms top dog, but make sure the Sterkarms are led by somebody we can lead by the nose. So knock out all the experienced, older leaders—”

“Knock out?” Andrea said. “You mean murder.”

“Okay. Murder all the experienced leaders and set up a puppet leader—somebody young, inexperienced, easy to influence.”

“You mean Per?”

“Exactly.”

“You think Per is easy to influence?”

“Relatively speaking,” Gareth said. “Easier than Toorkild or Gobby. And we’ve been working on him, giving him lots of presents, taking him into Elf-Land, promising him things. Now that he’s the leader, we’ll be keeping him occupied with lots of shiny toys. You’re one of them.”

“Come again?”

“Well, that was the plan anyway. You’ve cocked it up a bit, haven’t you? But you were to be one of the presents to keep him sweet. A beautiful Elvish mistress. Windsor knew you were his type.”

Andrea was speechless.

“You were just supposed to sit around looking pretty.” Gareth sounded dubious about that. “And flirt. You weren’t supposed to tell the Sterkarms that we shot Big Toorkild. What were you thinking of? Windsor’s going to be furious when he hears about that.”

Andrea stood, waving her hands around her head, as if his words were so many buzzing flies. “Okay, I’ve heard about enough. I’m going.” She climbed down the ladder from Gareth’s bower to the alley below and picked her way through the mud and muck heaps to her own bower. As she went, her brain hurried and sallied, turning back and venturing again, thinking: How do I get from here to 16 A? How do I warn Per—my Per? How? How?