Through the Darkness

“Aye,” Ealstan said. No wonder Ethelhelm thought that way: the riots had made it into his district for a change. Ealstan started to remark that the Kaunian district had stayed very quiet; he wanted to remind Ethelhelm of the Kaunian blood the band leader was said to have. In the end, he didn’t say that, either: talking about Kaunians with Ethelhelm might also remind him of Vanai. When Ethelhelm looked to be drifting toward the Algarvians, Ealstan didn’t want to chance that.

He was my friend, Ealstan thought. And he was more than that--he was our voice, the only voice Forthwegians really had after the redheads overran us. And now he’s not any more. What went wrong?

Looking around the flat again, Ealstan saw what he’d seen before. Nothing had gone wrong for Ethelhelm. No, too many things had gone right instead. The drummer and songwriter had everything he wanted. He liked having everything he wanted, too. If the price of keeping it was going easy on the Algarvians, he would.

Had some redheaded officer come up to Ethelhelm and told him straight out that he’d better go easy or he’d end up in trouble? Ealstan didn’t know, and could hardly ask. He had his doubts, though. The Algarvians were smoother than that--unless they were dealing with Kaunians, in which case they didn’t bother.

Oblivious to his bookkeeper’s thoughts, Ethelhelm leaned forward and tapped the ledgers Ealstan had opened on the table in front of him. “Everything here looks very good,” he said--no small compliment, not when he’d been casting his own accounts before hiring Ealstan. He knew his way around money almost as well as he knew his way around drums and lyrics.

“You haven’t got all the silver in the world,” Ealstan told him, “but you surely do have a good chunk of it.”

“I never thought I’d end up with so much,” Ethelhelm said. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Ealstan managed to nod. He’d been comfortable--looking back on things, he’d been more than comfortable--in his father’s house in Gromheort. It certainly was nicer than the humbler circumstances in which he lived now. He’d saved a good deal of money here in Eoforwic, but what could he spend it on? Not much. And Ethelhelm didn’t seem to have a hint about the sort of life Ealstan lived these days. He didn’t act interested in learning, either.

But then the band leader flipped the ledgers closed, one after another. And he took a goldpiece from his belt pouch and set it atop one of them. “There you go, Ealstan,” he said. “Aye, a job well done, no doubt about it, especially considering the state of the receipts I gave you. Bloody leather sack!”

Ealstan picked up the coin and hefted it. It was, he saw, an Algarvian gold-piece, not a Forthwegian minting. It was almost worth more than twice what his fee would have been. “Here, I can make change,” he said, and reached for his own belt pouch.

“Don’t bother,” Ethelhelm told him. “You can use it, and I can afford it. Always good to know I can rely on the people close to me.”

By the powers above! Ealstan thought. He’s buying me, the same way he buys off the Algarvians. He wanted to throw the coin in Ethelhelm’s face. If it hadn’t been for Vanai, he would have. Of course, if it hadn’t been for Vanai, he’d still be living back in Gromheort. He put the goldpiece in his pouch and contented himself with saying, “Bookkeepers don’t blab. They wouldn’t keep any customers if they did.”

“I understand that,” Ethelhelm said. “You’ve certainly shown it to me.” He could still be gracious. He could, in fact, still be very much what he had been, except when it came to the Algarvians. Somehow, that was particularly distressing to Ealstan. Ethelhelm went on, “There, you’ve taken it even so. Good.”

“Aye, and thanks,” Ealstan said. He got to his feet and tucked the ledgers under his arm. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, then, and odds are you’ll be richer.”

“There are worse problems to have,” Ethelhelm said complacently, and Ealstan could hardly disagree with him.

Since the latest round of riots, the doorman at Ethelhelm’s block of flats had taken to staying inside, in the lobby. He didn’t position himself out where people could see him, as he had before--maybe he’d had a narrow escape. One more question Ealstan didn’t feel like asking. The doorman got up and held the door open for him. “See you again,” he said.

“Oh, that you will,” Ealstan said. The prospect should have made him glad, especially if it meant he’d see more goldpieces. And it did--to a degree. But it saddened him, too, because Ethelhelm inarguably wasn’t what he had been.