by Glen Cook
"Why should we trust you?"
"You shouldn't. I'm no different than any other prospective employee. You have to ask yourself, how can I hurt you?" According to Pinkus Ghort and others who had soldiered in Firaldia, Else understood that he had to conduct this interview on the paranoid edge. Firaldians who hired people to fight for them were often naive. Many fighters for hire were naive, too. And no one trusted anyone.
Fortunes, loyalties, allegiances, all shifted quickly in modern Firaldia. Treachery was a fact of life. For some, it was a way of life.
Insofar as Else Tage could see, the Firaldian Peninsula was where insanity went to retire. Nothing there made sense except at the most shallow level.
Paludan Bruglioni said, "Gervase?"
"Inigo Arniena and Salny Sayag recommend him so highly, you'd almost have to suspect them of wanting to get rid of him."
The third man said, "The Arniena have been having trouble meeting financial obligations because of the pirate raids."
Paludan grunted. "Those have hurt everybody."
"Them worse than anybody but the Benedocto. They aren't getting their rents or fees."
"Is that true, Hecht? Are they trying to reduce their expenses?"
"I don't know. There was talk that things aren't going well. But nothing concrete. Oh. There was something about selling an island. In the Vieran Sea. To the Sonsans. The Scoveletti family, I think. There's some kind of marital connection."
That got some attention. "Sogyal?" Paludan asked. "They're considering turning loose of Sogyal? Ha-ha!"
Rogoz had said that a mention of selling that island might seal the deal. Else did not know why. "I don't know. They didn't talk about it when I was around. I overheard by accident I think it's a big secret that's supposed to stay secret even after the deal is done. There's a lot of worry about Dateon and Aparion finding out too soon."
"Ha! Sogyal. Those fools never have understood how valuable that island is."
Paludan Bruglioni launched a long, rambling tale of treachery, marriages of convenience, more treachery, dowries, and even more treachery, that put a particularly well-located and easily defended island into the hands of the Arniena halfway through the previous century. Sogyal was so strategically located that the Patriarch, both Emperors, all three mercantile republics, and several lesser kings and dukes had tried to buy it. The Arniena would not sell. Their intransigence had led to unsuccessful attempts to take the island by force as Dateon and Aparion strove toward supremacy on the Vieran Sea.
Else just nodded, tried to look wise, and observed, "All Firaldian stories are long on treachery."
"This's wonderful news," Paludan said. "We can profit from knowing this. Gervase, Hecht looks like the man we want. Work out the details and get him set up. Let him have Polo permanently."
Else spent a day roaming the Bruglioni citadel. Nothing was off limits. "You don't want to go down there, though," Polo told Else when he considered a descent into the cellars.
"Thought I could go anywhere."
"You can. I'm just hoping you won't."
"Why not? What's down there?"
"Dirt and cobwebs and bad smells. Maybe a haunt or two. Nothing you'd want to find. Then a long climb back up."
"You're sure about that, Polo?"
"There're childhood fears, too. The boogerman lives down there."
"The boogerman is real, Polo. If you're in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and you're not ready for the boogerman, you can find yourself in a world of trouble. It happens all the time where I come from."
"This is Brothe, sir. This city exists because the Instrumentalities of the Night are real. You don't have to convince Brothens."
Else did descend the long stair.
The Bruglioni cellars could have come straight out of a spooky story. They had cobwebs, vermin, slime in places, puddles of seepage, and an impressive range of unpleasant odors.
And a few minor, unhappy spirits, hidden in the reservoirs of darkness.
Else soon understood Polo's reluctance to face the return climb.
Polo puffed and told him, "In olden times the whole city had cellars under it Still does, actually. Some way down deeper than this. Every ten or fifteen years there's a cave-in somewhere when part of the underground collapses because of what all has been piled on top since."
"Bet some interesting antiquities turn up when that happens."
"The antiquities were all looted in antiquity. They never find anything but dead people. Some of them old-timers but mostly ones that haven't been dead long at all."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning there's a class of Brothen who use the old catacombs. For shelter. And to hide bodies they don't want to turn up in the Teragi or an alley somewhere. Any loot down there will be something stolen in the last few days that is cooling off."
First glimpse of another side of the city, Else thought. A side that was always there, in every city, though always more so where the state was weaker. A side that had to exist so that there would be men to condemn to the galleys or the mines.
Paludan Bruglioni summoned Else to an evening meeting four days after his arrival. Bruglioni's quarters were austere enough for a monk.
Several Bruglioni youngsters, with bodyguards, were there to meet the new man, whose as yet ill-defined duties included teaching them how not to end up like their kinsmen in the Madhur Plaza. The bodyguards did not look comfortable. Only a glance was needed to see that they were not what they pretended.
Paludan and Gervase Saluda made no introductions. The senior Bruglioni asked, "Have you been using your time wisely, Hecht?"
"That's a subjective question, but I think so. I've been getting to know this place and the people who make it work."
"I've seem him," one of the young Bruglioni sneered. "Always with the cooks and servants. There's a valuable pastime for a warrior."
"If you'd known your staff you might have recognized Father Obilade's inconsistent behavior beforehand. In which case, those who perished in the Madhur Plaza wouldn't have been there in the first place. The man you discount, overlook, or take for granted will be the man who brings you down."
"Be quiet," Paludan told his youngsters. "You're here to learn, nothing more." The rage that drove him was close to the surface tonight.
The kid who had mouthed off was not yet sixteen. Dugo Bruglioni was a grandson of Soneral Bruglioni and the son of the oldest Bruglioni slain in the Madhur Plaza. Dugo bullied the staff. And did not do much else.
The help dared not fight back. Jobs were scarce and precious.
Paludan continued, "I don't want to hear anybody talk. Hecht. How well do you know the city?"
"Not well at all, sir. The Arniena gave me no chance to explore. My role in their scheme was defense and instruction."
"Learn your way around. Without attracting attention."
"Yes, sir." He was being told to go live his secret dreams, with pay.
"You worked with the Brotherhood in the Connec. Did you develop a passion for their ways?"
"None whatsoever. They're arrogant, self-important fools. They deserved what they got Though they were executing orders from the Patriarch. Which got modified every five minutes by the Bishop of Antieux. Serifs was such an idiot that nobody who didn't know him will believe the truth. I hear Principatй Doneto had him thrown off a cliff because he was such a miserable excuse for a priest."
"I've heard that rumor myself," Gervase said. "But it isn't true. Bishop Serifs did die in a fall, but while trying to escape from a Braunsknechts officer after he'd been captured by the Emperor's men. His death really was an accident"
"Really?" Else said. "That is interesting."
"Rumors make everything more exciting."
Paludan asked, "So you have no love for the Brotherhood of War?"
"None. As an organization. There were individuals I found likable. Why?"
"The Brotherhood murdered six Bruglioni. Including my only sons, Acato and Gildeo. And several nephews, one of
them the family's hope for the future. If I fall down dead right now, Dugo will take over. And would ignore you and Gervase. And would put the family down the shitter in a year. Unless one of our country cousins has sense enough to cut his throat"
Else said, "It may not fit the Bruglioni way but I have a suggestion."
Paludan brightened dramatically. He did entertain genuine worries about the Bruglioni future. “Tell me."
"Change the rules. Call in the best Bruglioni who've left the city."
Paludan grunted, gave Else a dark look.
Else said, "See who's doing the job out there. Bring them back where their competence can do the most good."
Paludan and Gervase stared at Else like he was a genius talking with the mouth of a fool. Because there was a tacit understanding that Bruglioni who left the city freed themselves from their Brothen obligations.
Paludan said, "That has possibilities, Hecht. I'll consider it." With condescension. “Tell us how to avenge ourselves on the Brotherhood."
"What? Revenge? The men responsible are dead."
Paludan scowled at Else, possibly wondering why he was ignorant one moment and well informed the next. Was he not supposed to know? What about the heads? How about what the priest went through before he fell into the Teragi a half mile upstream from Castella dollas Pontellas? Everyone in the Bruglioni citadel knew all that. Which meant the details would be common knowledge outside the citadel, too.
Else said, "In your place, I'd worry more about protecting myself from the Brotherhood."
"That's a good point, Paludan," Gervase said. "We don't want to get into a war with them."
Else suggested, "Give them the men who did the killing. Say they exceeded their orders."
"That's what they did do. They were just supposed to grab Rodrigo Cologni. So my boys could rescue Rodrigo from them. But the Brotherhood turned up. And Obilade's patsies had minds of their own. They were like supernatural monsters. Anyway, I couldn't give them up if I wanted. Obilade was the only one who knew how to get in touch."
Gervase said, "We're not going to have any choice about bringing family in from the country, Paludan. We need more people here with a stake in keeping family secrets."
Paludan whined, "What happened? Ten minutes ago I was busting with plans. I was going to make Sublime ache. Now I'm facing a potential siege. I'm surrounded by people I can't trust."
Gordimer the Lion's predecessor had used similar words to describe his own situation before his fall. Else said, "Don't change your goals. Just change your plans to reflect your strengths and weaknesses."
Gervase observed, "We have more weaknesses than strengths. We haven't kept our swords sharp."
Else said, “To plan, we need to know what our adversaries might be thinking. We need to know who our potential adversaries are. We need an honest assessment of our own strength. And firmly established goals."
"Meaning?"
"We need to find out what the Brotherhood, the Cologni, the Patriarch, and the Collegium are up to. We need to know how they see the Bruglioni. You have an uncle in the Collegium. He has friends. The Bruglioni have a tradition of being major players on the Brothen stage. You have vast resources. Get them catalogued. Imagine what can be done with them."
Else sensed that Paludan had received no training for the position he held. He was faking it and hoping for the best.
Paludan said, "Gervase, follow up on what Hecht's saying. Real life seems to be closing in. Dugo, boys, come with me." Paludan rose.
Dugo protested, "We were going out to …"
"Be quiet. Weren't you listening? People who have a grudge against us are probably planning to do something about it. I don't want you out where they can get you. Come along."
Dugo pouted. It looked like he would have to survive a harsh, close call before he started listening.
Gervase Saluda said, "If my chin keeps hitting my chest it's because I just witnessed the longest run of intelligent, responsible thinking ever seen from Paludan Bruglioni."
"Oh?" Else said.
"Until Acato and Gildeo were killed he spouted the same nonsense as Dugo. Which is why Dugo was all confused."
"How did he keep the family going, then?"
"Inertia. And he hasn't. Not well. He never really had to be responsible, growing up. He's always let things ride while he had a good time. He got away with it until the disaster in the Madhur Plaza."
"The world caught up?"
"It didn't change who he is but it did make him realize that there're challenges beyond just seeing if he can't bed more women than his father did. Even so, he passed the work on to us. He has no faith in himself."
"And?"
"You have to understand. Besides his character shortcomings, Paludan just isn't very bright. He isn't subtle. His preferred solution to any problem is to hit it with a hammer."
"The way Dugo would."
"The way Dugo would. Though now it seems he's started to catch on. He knows that he has to start doing the right thing. For the family's sake. Meantime, his major adviser, which would be me, might not be any smarter or subtler."
"Really?"
"My genius and my gullibility got us into this. Sylvie Obilade manipulated me. I sold Paludan on the priest. Like his ideas were mine. I thought Obilade wanted the best for the Bruglioni."
"Maybe he did."
"Sure, he did. He was a good priest. But he wanted to be something more. He wanted to make the Church all-powerful, temporally as well as spiritually."
"That doesn't sound exciting." Dreanger was not terrible but there were smaller principalities within the Realm of Peace where religious rule smothered everything.
"We need to make peace with the Church over Father Obilade."
"Being a country boy from the far frontiers I'm obviously missing some critical local angle. Six members of the Bruglioni household were killed. The priest caused that. The men who murdered them were killed themselves."
"So you think the scales are balanced?"
"Yes, actually."
"The Church wouldn't agree. If Church people screw you you're supposed to take it with a smile and beg for more because it feels so good."
"This will take getting used to." It might be the sort of thing he could use to stir confusion and distract the Patriarch from organizing a new crusade. "I need to know Brothe better. Like Paludan said. Even taking into account the natural arrogance of people who believe God speaks with their mouths, there's a lot of flawed thinking in this city."
"Going out there could be dangerous."
"How? Even if word is out that I've been hired nobody knows what I look like except a few Arniena. And they're on our side."
"I don't know."
"Uhm?"
"I'm not sure we should trust anybody out there, right now. I'm not sure why Paludan and I decided Rodrigo Cologni would defect. Father Obilade probably sold us. We know that wasn't true, now. Rodrigo kept faith."
“Treachery is the most popular sport in town. I'll learn what I can, outside. You get Paludan to decide what he wants to accomplish so we can start planning. Find out if he wants to hire real swords. Those bodyguards were make-believe."
"I don't think he'll stand for the extra expense. Right now we're completely clear on who to blame if anything goes wrong."
"I'll do my utmost to ensure that your faith in me is justified."
Else parted with Saluda still unsure of the man. Was he bright or dim? Was he manipulating Paludan Bruglioni? Was he Paludan's dedicated friend?
Brothe was unique among cities Else had known. It showed its age much more than did even the oldest pities of Dreanger. There were ruins everywhere. In Dreanger they cleared the old away in favor of the new. In Dreanger the surviving ruins were not inside cities, they were out in the deserts and mountains and, as it had been from the most archaic times, they were occupied only by the dead.
The priests who had tended them had been massacred by Josephus Alegiant a thousand years ago. Alegiant's s
uccessors had been massacred in turn by warriors of the Praman Conquest five hundred years later.
Reminders of the glory days of the Old Empire were everywhere, usually overgrown by creeping vines and brush. Remnants of triumphal arches still spanned the streets. Weeds and brush grew atop them. Else wondered where the soil came from.
Today's Brothe stood on ground ten to twenty feet higher than it had been in antiquity. In places the old low ground lay buried even deeper.
In Brothe the past was as omnipresent and intrusive as the Instrumentalities of the Night in the Holy Lands. It meant more here than elsewhere. Brothe's yesterdays defined its todays.
Sublime enjoyed local popular support because people thought he might resurrect the ancient glories.
In Brothe even the poorest of the native poor worshipped the city's past glories. And seemed indifferent to its present.
Yesterday's toppled memorials loomed large in the lives of squatters and drifters.
Poverty was ubiquitous, too. But that did not touch Else. Poverty and misery were the natural state of humanity wherever he went.
Else strolled around in what he hoped looked like random rambles. He noticed no obvious tail. Which might mean that someone with superb skills had been assigned to track him. Or someone with a supernatural assist.
He did not count on his new employer not to spy on him. He would never allow a stranger deep into his world as easily as he had gotten into that of the Bruglioni.
Else drew dark looks wherever he went. He did not understand. He did note that other foreigners drew equally malignant attention, though.
He had been on his own a long time. Had he forgotten a critical detail of his contact regime? Could life's vicissitudes have claimed Gordimer's local agents? He knew no names, just places to visit. The embassy of the Kaif of al-Minphet was to be approached only in extreme circumstance. A sailor's tavern on the riverfront, as far downstream as you could go and still be inside the wall, was just too far away. The only convenient contact resided inside the Devedian quarter.
