The Two of Swords: Part 12

by K. J. Parker

  Musen couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. He tried to think of the cards: Poverty, the Chariot, the Angel, the Drowned Woman (no, not her), the Cherry Tree, Destiny, Hope. There is always grace, he told himself, grace in life, grace in death, the one grain of grace that cures the flesh, grace disregarded in the mud and trodden on, but harder than diamonds. Death doesn’t matter, the fire and the hammer. Grace will draw us up and make us clean—

  The pressure had stopped. Using every last scrap of his strength, he breathed in, dragging the air past all the creases and the pain, like a man hauling a heavy sack up into a loft.

  “You clown, Musen,” Axeo said. “What the hell am I going to do with you?”

  “You really want to pack it in,” Axeo was saying, as he built the kindling up round the thin, guttering flame. “For one thing, all this getting beaten up and having the shit kicked out of you, it’s not good for you, first thing you know, it’ll ruin your health. I mean, you’re young now, you heal quickly, in six months or a year you’ll be up and charging about good as new, should you manage to live that long. But sooner or later it’ll be one boot in the kidneys too many, and you’ll be pissing every five minutes for the rest of your days. I ask you, is it worth it?”

  Axeo was heating up some chicken broth. He had three horses tied up in a barn, about half a mile from where the boats were moored. Two of the horses had saddles and bridles; the third was a packhorse, for carrying the supplies.

  “I don’t know how anyone could be so damned inconsiderate,” Axeo went on. “You do realise, if anyone ever finds out what you’ve done, and I let you live, not once but twice, that’s me finished. Out on my ear, lucky if they don’t string me up too. Yes, I know, sparing a fellow craftsman’s life – well, sparing, saving, all the same thing, really. But I have to point out, I’m not a saint, there’s a limit to the level of risk I’m prepared to expose myself to, even for a comrade in arms, even for a friend. I really mean it, Musen. One more stunt like that and you’ll leave me no choice.” He filled the ladle and sipped from it. “Just as well you’re in no shape to run any more.”

  Axeo had had to carry him the last couple of hundred yards; over his shoulder, like a sack. He’d brought bandages with him, for binding up the cracked ribs and the crushed hand, splints for the broken fingers. “You’ll never play the violin,” he’d observed. “Just as well you’re not musical. You aren’t, are you?”

  Axeo had taken the cards. Musen had watched him stow them away in a pocket, with a flap that buttoned down. It was his right hand Axeo had stamped on. He didn’t have nearly the same dexterity in his left.

  “Here,” Axeo said, and held out the handle of the ladle. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  Musen reached for it with his left hand, then hesitated. “Not hungry,” he said.

  “What? Don’t be so bloody stupid, eat the damned soup.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Fuck you, Musen. What are you, six years old? You do realise, don’t you, that thanks to your stupid, idiotic behaviour, Rasch Cuiber might fall before we can get these cards to the emperor. In which case, tens of thousands of people will die, and it’ll all be our fault, yours and mine.” He put the ladle back in the pot. “And after all the misery and pain and effort I’ve been to keeping you alive, you’ve got the ingratitude, the sheer bad manners to pull some sort of childish hunger strike and starve yourself to death. What does it take to get through to you, Musen? You won’t bloody listen and I’m just too bone weary to hit you any more. You won’t even tell me why you want the stupid thing.”

  “If I did, would you listen?”

  Axeo groaned. “Of course I’ll listen. Dear God, why must everything be so difficult?”

  “All right,” Musen said quietly. “You remember I asked you what we were stealing the cards for. You told me, it was to trade them for Rasch.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  Musen took a deep breath. “I met him, remember,” he said. “The emperor. It was when he wanted to buy the Sleeping Dog. I know how he thinks. About the cards, I mean.”

  Axeo frowned. “Go on.”

  “He’d never just swap ending the war for a pack of cards,” Musen said, “not even the pack he wants most of all, in the whole world. He wouldn’t do that, not if he knew they were safe somewhere, and you all know it. But if you went to him and showed him one card, and told him, if Rasch falls, you’ll destroy the rest of the pack—” He paused and looked at Axeo, who looked away. “I think he’d go for that, but I can’t be sure. And if he said no, you’d send him the cards, cut and mangled, one by one, until he gives in or they’re all spoiled. And I couldn’t let you do that.”

  Axeo sat quite still for a moment. Then he turned and met Musen’s eye. “You’re a bright boy,” he said. “I keep telling everyone, but they all think you’re stupid, just because you’re from Rhus and you act like a fool.” He sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve got my orders. And you know you can’t beat me.”

  “No,” Musen said. “But I can keep trying till Rasch falls and the cards are safe.” He shrugged. “Or I thought I could.”

  “Maybe you have.” Axeo poked the fire with a stick; it was going out, and there was no wood left. “God, I hope not. If all those people die—”

  “They’ll die anyway,” Musen said shrilly. “This time, or the next time, or they’ll just starve because there’s no more food. But the silver packs, once they’re gone, they’re gone, for ever.” He shook his head. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Oh, I understand,” Axeo said sharply. “I’ve seen it, the Sleeping Dog, the pack we sold to build Central. I was so angry—” He took a deep breath, then went on. “You know what? If I’d been a bit braver, a bit less of a chickenshit, I’d have stolen the Sleeping Dog myself, so they couldn’t sell it. I planned it all out. I had a plan, it would probably have worked, but I couldn’t be sure, and I lost my nerve, and now it’s gone. Probably I’ll never see it again. Oh, I understand all right. But building Central was a stupid reason, it was just vanity, it was obscene. I had to make a choice, Rasch or—” He looked up, and Musen saw his eyes were wet. “You know what?” he said. “It could so easily be me with the busted hand and the busted rib. I understand you, that’s why you’re still alive.” Then, quite suddenly, he laughed. “My idiot brother,” he said. “He’s got a saying. There’s always three reasons: the good reason, the plausible reason and the real one. And they’re all true. Oh, screw this for a game of knucklebones, now you’ve made me quote my brother, and that always riles me. You can’t have it, Musen, I’m sorry, but that’s final. Do you get that? Capisce?”

  Musen slowly let go the breath he’d been holding. “Actually,” he said, “that can’t be your brother. It’s Saloninus.”

  Axeo stared at him. “You what?”

  “That thing you said. It’s from Saloninus. You know, the great writer, hundreds of years ago. They taught us that at Beal Defoir.”

  “They’ll want to send you to Choris,” Axeo said. “After all, you’ve met the man, it’d make sense.”

  Riding hurt. Every movement the horse made twisted the broken rib and stretched the bruised one, and the pressure of the stirrup iron on the ball of his foot made his crushed toes ache. “They’d send a diplomat, surely. I mean, you’d need somebody trained, who could do all that.”

  “Indeed.” Axeo grinned at him. “Like me.”

  “You.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, like me. I’m perfect for the job, I’m used to dealing with the nobs and I’ve got a great deal of relevant experience in extortion. Actually, I’m something like his fourth cousin four times removed. I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew that. He’s a terror for stockpiling useless information, my cousin Glauca.”

  “They can’t make me go, can they?”

  It was starting to spit with rain. Axeo pulled his collar up round his neck. “Well, they can’t make you do anything, strictly speaking. But they can give you a di
rect order, and if you don’t obey, you’ll be excommunicated. So, in your terms, yes they can. Which is awkward, right?”

  Musen took a deep breath, in spite of the pain. “Maybe you should tell them.”

  “Are you mad? No, that’s got to be our little secret. Bloody awkward, really. I mean, you’re the best man for the job and the worst possible man for the job, both at the same time.” He grinned. “Test for you. What logical form does this situation represent?”

  “Paradox,” Musen said.

  “Correct, five marks. What else did they teach you at Beal, apart from logic?”

  “Oh, loads of stuff. Theology, doctrine and moral philosophy. I liked the theology.”

  Axeo frowned. “Yes, I imagine you did. Personally, I found it got in the way. It sort of tests your faith when you realise just how much rubbish your fellow believers are capable of believing. But I survived, which is all that matters. Did they make you read Saloninus?”

  “I went to the lectures.”

  Axeo laughed. “Quite,” he said. “Me, too, actually, I’m not a great reader, unlike my dear brother. Always had his nose stuck in a book, when we were kids. No, I got through the exams by sticking to the Method, and it never let me down.”

  “The what?”

  “The Method,” Axeo replied. “Don’t you—? Oh well. Its proper name is scholarship by intuitive revelation, and let me tell you, it really works. What you do is, you spend the whole term not reading the set texts and going out drinking instead, and then, the night before the exam, you sit up with the books and open them at random, and allow Him to guide you to the bits that are going to come up next day. You have to have faith, of course, but I did, so it worked a charm. I came third in my year, out of two hundred and forty. It’s just simple logic, really. If He wants you to serve Him, He can be relied on to see to the formalities.”

  Musen smiled. “I wish I’d known,” he said. “I got a blistered finger, reading all that stuff.” He shifted the reins into his damaged hand, just for a moment, while he flexed the other one to ease the cramp. “If I have to go to Choris, will you come too? Promise?”

  “Promise,” Axeo replied. “I think I’ll have to. After all, you’re now my fault, God help me.” He wiped rain out of his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll see you through. I have so far, haven’t I?”

  Musen didn’t answer that. “Will it be just us two, do you think? Or will they send someone else as well?”

  “Well now, that depends,” Axeo said. “Which would you rather?”

  Musen didn’t answer that either.

  They rode for three days. Musen’s ribs ached and he heard a lot about Axeo’s brother, not all of which he believed. At one point, after a long, rambling anecdote that didn’t seem to have a point to it, Musen said, “I can see why you hate him so much.” Axeo seemed shocked.

  “I don’t hate him, he’s my brother. Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “But you said— I mean, you keep going on about what’s wrong with him. Surely that means—”

  “God, no.” Axeo shook his head, just in case there was any doubt. “Just because he’s hopeless and a mess, I don’t hate him. If I went around hating people just because they’re not perfect, I’d loathe the whole human race and die of bile.”

  Musen thought about that. “So his good points outweigh his bad points.”

  “He hasn’t got any good points. No, I’m being unfair, he can whistle quite well. And he’s punctual. What you’re doing is confusing not liking very much with hating. I don’t like my brother, but I don’t hate him. I don’t go around thinking, the world will never be whole again until Oida is dead. But if he was sick and someone had to ride ten days each way across the desert to get medicine, I’d be off like a shot. He’s my brother, after all. That’s special. Never stopped me kicking his arse every chance I got, of course.”

  “But you hate that he’s rich and famous, don’t you?”

  Axeo nodded. “But only because it’s so bad for him. My fault, I guess, for being born first. If he’d been the eldest he’d have stayed home, learned to manage the estates, organise haymaking and the harvest and the sheep-shearing, he’d have been good at that. He likes people, gets on well with them, he’d have been good with the tenants and kind to servants. But instead he had to go off and make something of himself. Bricks without straw, in his case. And I blame myself for not bringing him up right. Still, there you go. You any good with a slingshot?”

  “Me? No, not really. What’s that got to do with—?”

  Axeo nodded. “Then I’m guessing that you were hitching a ride with the two women and the deserters attacked you. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  Musen had to wait a moment before he could answer. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Thought so.” Axeo took something from his sleeve. It was a lead sling-bolt, about the size of a wild plum. “It’s got the Tinzain arsenal stamp on it,” he said. “Western military-issue. Of course, there must be millions of the things floating about, thanks to Ocnisant and his pals.” He put it back in his sleeve. “I didn’t think you’d be capable of cold-blooded murder.”

  “I killed the old man. And the two boys.”

  “Yes, I know. But that was fighting, even the best of us tends to get a bit carried away. I was fairly sure you didn’t kill the women or I wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  The next day they reached the crossroads. There was a way station there. It looked deserted, but when they got close they saw a single horse tethered to a broken-down rail. For some reason that made Axeo grin.

  “Keep your face shut and leave the talking to me,” he said. “I think our luck may just have turned.”

  Inside the station house someone had lit a fire; unfortunate, since the chimney was obviously blocked. A man was sitting beside the hearth, wrapped in several blankets. He peered up out of them at Axeo and scowled. “Oh,” he said, “it’s you. Where the hell—?”

  “Sorry,” Axeo sang out merrily. “We got held up, this and that, you know how it is. Anyway, we’re here now. Musen, this is Corason. He and I go way back.”

  “Half of bloody Central’s out looking for you,” Corason grumbled. “For crying out loud shut the door, you’re letting the cold air in.”

  Axeo coughed loudly, then sat down beside him. Musen looked round, saw a stool and took it as far away from the smoke as he could go. “Did you get it?”

  “Of course we did,” Axeo said. “It’s right here, in my pocket. What’s the news?”

  “Last I heard.” Corason paused, and gave Axeo a nasty look, which he ignored. “Last I heard, Rasch was still holding out. Senza’s just sat there, and nobody can figure out why. Nor have there been any significant troop movements in the east. They’re all just staying where they are, like they’re waiting for something. So, as far as I know, the plan’s still on. Which is just as well. How can it take two grown men all this time just to ride a few miles along a road?”

  “Musen’s not been well,” Axeo said. “It slowed us up.”

  “It takes both of you to carry one small box.” Corason shrugged. “Well, you’re here now. Obviously, time is now of the essence. You two are to proceed directly to Choris, best speed possible, and do the deal.” He scowled some more. “I have to say, you weren’t the first choice for this mission. You’ll just have to do the best you can.”

  “Of course,” Axeo said. “Are you coming with us?”

  “What do you think?” Corason said bitterly. “And you know how I feel about travel. Still, there’s got to be two of us to dispose of Lodge property or it’s not valid.” He stopped, made a gasping noise and sneezed. “Right, then,” he went on. “You’d better give it to me.”

  Musen felt his heart stop, but Axeo said quickly, “No, I think I’ll hang on to it, if that’s all right.”

  “It’s not all right,” Corason said. “I’ve got seniority, you know that.”

  “Quite true.” Axeo sounded himself again. “But you’re a bloody awful swimme
r. Well, aren’t you?”

  “So?”

  “So,” Axeo said, “I heard on the way up that the Green River’s in flood and all the bridges are down, right out as far as the Great West. Therefore there’s a good chance we’re going to have to take our shoes and socks off and paddle. And you’re a shit swimmer and I’m not.”

  “Bloody hell.” Corason sounded deeply unhappy. “Can’t we go east and round?”

  “Of course we can, and it’d only add a week.”

  “Hell. In that case, you’re right, you’d better hang on to the bloody thing.”

  “Broad as it’s long,” Axeo said. “Of course, you’ll do all the talking when we get there.”

  “You bet I will,” Corason assured him. “After last time.”

  The road south wasn’t military specification, but it had at some point been made up with a mixture of crushed sandstone and field flints. Corason led the way, buried in a huge riding coat with a fur collar, and a military pillbox fur hat with earflaps. Musen trailed behind; after a while, Axeo dropped back to join him.

  “Who is this prick?” Musen asked.

  Axeo smiled. “It’s amazing how few people like him on first acquaintance,” he said. “Actually, he’s one of my oldest friends. It’s all right,” he added. “Nobody else likes him, and I have to try really hard.”

  “Yes,” Musen said, “but who is he?”

  “One of the ten High Commissioners for Ways and Means,” Axeo said gravely. “Which makes him a very important man indeed in the Lodge, and don’t forget it. That’s why we have to have him along. The Lodge can’t part with a valuable or significant asset unless two commissioners are present to witness and approve the transfer.”

  Musen knew about the High Commissioners; he looked at Axeo but said nothing.

  “I know,” Axeo said, “it’s a pain in the bum, but what can you do? Please don’t get any ideas; and please don’t let’s have any more of the nonsense, because Corason isn’t an old sweetheart like me, so either I’d have to kill you, or him. And, like I said, he’s an old friend. I’d hate to lose him.”