Page 20 of Nemesis Mine
You sent more than one letter and you know it. I’m not stupid.
Well, opinions certainly differed on that. Maximillian’s handwriting was less perfect than he would have imagined. Loopy, a touch messy. He pressed down too hard with his quill.
How did he know?Didhe know, or was he just guessing?
I beg to differ. On both accounts. I sent just one letter. Perhaps you simply read it numerous times.
You sent me 43 letters pretending to be different people.
Damn, he’d counted. Cyrus couldn’t help but feel a little pleased. It was nice to have his hard work appreciated.
You received 43 angry letters? Perhaps I underestimated the readers of Athaca News and their ability to see through your lies. But I can hardly be held responsible for their ire.
The raven arrived the next afternoon.
You used the same quill and ink to write all of them. The same quill and ink that you used to write the one letter that you signed with your name. You smudged ink from that letter onto some of the others, so you quite literally left your fingerprints all over them. You tore up a reel of parchment to write the hate mail; my personal assistant was able to piece them all back together, so we know they came from the same source. Namely, you. Then of course there was the fact that the raven used todeliver the letters bore a tag on its leg which read “if undelivered please return to Cyrus, Earthshaker.” Would you like me to continue?
Cyrus stared at the parchment in silence, struggling with the dawning sense that he could, perhaps, have done a better job with his hate mail. But he’d been in the moment. He’d been in the thrall of his own creativity. He’d been tuned in to the “hate” part and not really focused on the practicalities of “mail.”
He took a deep breath and opted to sidestep.
What are you, some kind of fucking postal detective?
Wouldn’t need to be. As I said: stop sending me letters.
You’re the one who keeps replying. And you’re the one who lied about how our fight went to cover up the fact that you lost, so I’d say you’re the cause.
Three days passed without any response from Maximillian. Cyrus didn’t care about that, not one bit. He stayed in on the first day, and on the second. But he wasn’t waiting for Maximillian’s reply, it was just that it was raining, and he didn’t much fancy going out.
On the third day the rain dried up. Cyrus went out for a ride for some fresh air. If he told Soulripper all about Maximillian and their quarrel in an irritated chunter delivered directly into her twitching ear, that was only because venting cleared his head.
A raven arrived that evening as Cyrus knelt in his herbgarden, picking basil with more aggression than was strictly required. The bird landed a few steps away from him and held out its leg, imperious as its owner. A sprite sitting on the edge of Cyrus’s wicker basket paused halfway through cleaning its wings to tilt its head curiously. Anticipation stirred as Cyrus wiped his hand and took the letter. He gritted his teeth, annoyed at himself. It was the thrill of confrontation, that was all, but it was still more reaction than Maximillian deserved.
That’s how it’ll go down in the history books, and that’s what matters in the end.
There was another line of text beneath, smaller, scrawled out in a hurry or perhaps against Maximillian’s better judgement. The first three words had been crossed out and then rewritten as though he had tried to convince himself not to add it.
Late reply because I was wrapped up in an event at Dorre.
Cyrus read the hastily inked words, trying to decipher what had been going through Maximillian’s mind. It certainly wasn’t an apology for making Cyrus wait. Was he trying to ensure that Cyrus didn’t think he’d won, that it had taken Maximillian three days to figure out how to respond to him?
It seemed strange that he would let Cyrus in on any aspect of his life, offer up any detail for a wrongdoer’s reading. But Cyrus wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass.
Perusal of the latest news parchments provided the insight he needed. Maximillian had visited Dorre as part of his tour. He’d helped open a new school. There was a sketchof him standing with a gaggle of dewy-eyed urchins, one child resting on his hip and gazing at him with adoration. Cyrus’s lip curled.
I saw. Busy trying to impress the people before the vote, are we?
This time, Maximillian’s response arrived within a day. He’d touched a nerve.
What do you mean?
Just seems like you’re trying awfully hard. Needing to drum up some popularity, perhaps?
Maybe I just value helping people.
How sweet. I’m touched on their behalf. All those people with all those problems that they expect you to fix. Even a champion has to find it annoying, I’m sure.
Are you asking or telling?
