CHAPTER 2
His mother screamed curses at the Grand Selector as they dragged him away. ‘My baby! Don’t take him from me, please!’
It was too unbelievable not to be a dream. Torbidda opened his eyes and listened instead to the storm outside the dormitory, and children weeping in the dark, weak islands adrift in a predatory archipelago. Other voices catcalled and teased, but no one ventured out of their cubicles. That first night was a period of watchful waiting, of study. Like an al-Buni grid, they had to learn the rules before advancing.
RATATATATATA TATTARATA TA TARA RAT AT AT AT T T T
The bell was the lambs’ first lesson: that belligerent mechanical rapping would henceforth marshal Cadets’ hours, dictating when to study, eat and bath; when to sleep and when to rise—
‘Let’s go, maggots! An engineer’s got to outpace the sun!’
The second-year who’d processed them yesterday was monitor today, and her first duty was to familiarise the lambs with early rising. ‘Anyone still sleeping when the bell rings tomorrow gets a visit to Flaccus’ tower. Next week, it’s automatic expulsion. That’s right: back to the mills. Back to mines. Back to the streets. You don’t want that, and I don’t care. Let’s go! Let’s go!’ Torbidda was learning already to distinguish between the babble of new accents; her broad singsong came from the Concordian contato.
The dormitory was a long, wide hall with a curved roof. Light beams from high circular windows crisscrossed the dusty space, making Torbidda think of the belly of an overturned ship. There were four rows of cubicles, with a corridor running alongside either wall and in the middle; the two doors were in opposite corners. Each cubicle had a single bed and a wardrobe, and a modicum of privacy was provided by thin blue curtains hanging from a steel bar. The back-to-back wardrobes formed a narrow walkway for adventurous midnight prowlings.
‘Keep Flaccus waiting down at the shooting course and he’s liable to use you for a target!’ the monitor shouted as the last of the lambs ran out. Somehow, Torbidda didn’t think she was making that one up.
Bernoulli, the Guild’s founder, had wanted his Cadets as deadly as possible, as quickly as possible. They would first be taught to use projectiles, including hand-cannons and bows, and then knives. Only those who survived the initial cull to become Candidates would learn the more sophisticated martial arts, which were more deadly than any weapon.
The lesson took place on the shooting course. The mountain face above the course was upwind from the factories, and pockmarked with craters. Though yesterday’s gales had ebbed somewhat, a misting rain obscured their targets – but Grand Selector Flaccus made no allowance for these difficulties. ‘Think the Forty-Seveners had your advantages?’ he drawled. ‘Conditions in battle aren’t always favourable, Cadets.’
By the day’s end, their brains would be exhausted from calculating arcs and rates of descent, their eyes and throats raw from the gunpowder and their fingertips bleeding from plucking bowstrings – but everyone’s aim would have improved. Flaccus was an impatient, harassing tutor, and the Cadets were soon grumbling, and taking revenge by making up increasingly fanciful reasons for his missing finger, from condottieri proof-of-life to the Guild’s punishment for incompetence. Leto said Flaccus was a field commander who had lost his first command, and the Guild had had to pay his ransom; teaching Cadets was his demotion.
‘For which he’s determined to make us pay,’ Torbidda said grimly.
Although Leto couldn’t match Torbidda’s speed at calculating distances and gradients – none of them could – he proved to be an adept archer. Leto had grown up on the Europan frontier, in the legionary camps commanded by his famous father, Manius Spinther. Most of the aristocracy lucky enough to survive the Re-Formation held onto their empty titles until their purses were empty too, but the Spinthers were different; they adapted to the changing times. While Bernoulli’s star was rising, various prominent Spinthers renounced their titles and sent their sons off to learn the mechanical arts, and when the storm came, they escaped the worst ravages of the mob – by being part of that mob. ‘Engineers have no family,’ Leto liked to say, ‘but a Spinther is always a Spinther.’ His cousins had all been through the Guild Halls and now it was his turn. Torbidda, perceiving that Leto’s first loyalty was to family, stored that away and counted himself lucky to have found such an ally.
He was clumsily nocking an arrow when Leto whispered, ‘Torbidda, look! That’s Filippo Argenti!’
Flaccus was whispering deferentially to the newcomer, a stolid, middle-aged man with the blank, weatherbeaten face of a mason. The vivid red of the First Apprentice’s gown looked unreal against the scarred landscape of the firing range. Others began to notice his presence and soon every Cadet was hitting wide of the mark – all except Leto, who continued to hit bulls’-eyes with perfect nonchalance. After watching for a few minutes, the First Apprentice clapped his hands and walked onto the firing range. The Cadets immediately lowered their weapons.
‘I need a volunteer. Someone willing to shoot me. Anyone?’ He paused, then sighed with theatrical relief when none stepped forward. ‘Well, that’s gratifying.’
Laughter dispelled the tension still remaining from yesterday’s induction.
Argenti looked around, and then started, ‘Brothers and sisters, welcome. I once stood where you stand. You’re asking, will I make it?’ He looked from face to face, nodding as if to say this was quite natural. ‘I won’t lie, some of you won’t. First year will be tough, but just remember that you’re not alone. If the Guild seems cruel, remember: it is not senselessly cruel. We winnow with reason. We need the best.’
He looked up at the brutalised crags behind the range. ‘The Guild is a mountain with many peaks – Old Town, New City, the Guild Halls – but really, they are one. Our strength is our unity. What is our strength?’
‘Unity,’ came the eager response.
‘Just so. Unity depends on team spirit. No tower can stand with each brick vying to be higher than the others.’
He stopped in front of Torbidda. ‘Each must be content in its place. The mortar that binds them must be—’
‘Trust?’ said Torbidda in a dry whisper. He felt Leto’s unease.
‘Trust! Exactly. I am First Apprentice not because I learned how to climb, but because I learned how to trust. It’s all very well to say so; you need to see it.’ Like a cheap magician he produced a small red apple from his sleeve and looked around brightly. ‘I need a volunteer. Whom can I tempt?’
Leto subtly shook his head, but the warning was unnecessary; Torbidda had already spotted Flaccus’ ill-concealed eagerness. The boy who’d been crying in the queue yesterday put his hand up.
The First Apprentice smiled kindly. ‘What’s your name, son?’
The blond boy had to think for a moment. ‘… Forty-Two, First Apprentice.’
‘Not your number. Don’t you have a real name?’
‘Oh! Yes, First Apprentice. Calpurnius Glabrio.’
‘Well, Calpurnius, I am a decent shot, and I need a volunteer.’
‘What must I do?’
‘That’s the spirit. Step up to the target. Place this on your head.’ There was an intake of breath and the Apprentice said in a loud voice, ‘Go back if you’re afraid. There’s no shame in it.’
Calpurnius solemnly took the apple and walked up to the target. ‘I trust you, First Apprentice.’
The Apprentice took careful aim and released. The arrow took the apple with a wet thunk-kuh-kuh. Calpurnius joined in the applause. Quickly, the Apprentice nocked another and shot again. The force drove Calpurnius back and pinned him against the target.
As the boy screamed, the Apprentice turned around. ‘Why have you stopped applauding, children?’
He looked back at Calpurnius, took another arrow, drew back and released. The screaming stopped. ‘What are you thinking now, Cadets?’ he snarled. ‘That this was unfair? I tell you: it is necessary. The Guild is an army, and an army is only as strong as its weakest member. You’re here because you’re clever, so I won’t patronise you. We take you young, when it is still possible to change you – to mould you. You have begun to climb the mountain, and now the only way out is up. Your peers will not help you. They will do everything to make you stumble. Each summit is further up, and the higher you go, the purer the competition – and the further to fall. There’s no safety down here, either. Believe me, the laggard will quickly find himself without allies.’ This time his smile was sour and weary. ‘As you climb higher, you’ll appreciate that we Apprentices are not to be envied. Having reached that final peak, we can only watch as our competition surrounds us. But that’ – he looked around with hostility – ‘is as it should be.’
He turned once more to Torbidda. ‘You, boy: what is your name?’
‘Sixty, sir.’
He smiled kindly. ‘I mean your real name.’
‘Sixty, sir.’
The smile disappeared. ‘Fetch me that apple, Sixty.’
‘No, sir.’
‘That’s the correct answer.’ The Apprentice turned and walked over to the target. ‘You will hear talk of factions: engineers against nobles, Empiricists against Naturalists. Ignore these chimeras. All alliances are temporary. Your competition is all around you. Make alliances, by all means, but know this: all friends must eventually become rivals.’ He pulled out the arrow and removed the apple. ‘Calpurnius wanted to be loved. You must rise above that temptation.’
‘This’ – he threw the apple to Torbidda – ‘is for saying no to me.’
As Torbidda caught the apple, the First Apprentice’s fist moved.
After a moment’s numbness, sharp pain spread throughout Torbidda’s chest. He sat up and coughed blood. He was several braccia from where he had been standing. Every Cadet was staring open-mouthed. The man in red looked down at him. ‘And that is for not shooting me when you had me in your sights. I wait for you, all of you. Come and cut my throat someday.’
Torbidda watched the First Apprentice walk slowly back to the Guild Halls, wondering how, if that day ever came, he would find the courage to do it.
First Apprentice Argenti’s demonstration had left Grand Selector Flaccus almost giddy. ‘That’s what it’s all about, Cadets,’ he huffed with admiration. ‘Man domesticated himself along with the dog. We must be wolves again.’
One of the Cadets threw up, and Flaccus snatched Torbidda’s apple and threw it at him viciously. ‘What did you expect? The Guild is not the Curia. The Guild Hall is not a seminary. Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself. You’re receiving an unrivalled education at great cost to the State. Some say war’s a cheaper and better school for engineers; some say it’s wasteful to educate so many when so few of you will survive …’ Flaccus obviously shared this view. ‘… but the Colours say waste’s inevitable when mining. They want the best, and the best are those who survive. All right, break’s over. Back in line.’
As they reassembled, Torbidda caught the eye of the boy who’d vomited. The boy blushed in anger as he wiped his mouth. He stood shoulder to shoulder with the others and nocked an arrow. Torbidda looked away and did likewise.
‘Take aim—’ Flaccus roared.