Exodus from the Long Sun tbotls-4

by Gene Wolfe

  “My figures for the Guard come from Generalissimo Oosik, who was certainly in a position to know. Those for the Army, from Sergeant Sand, the leader of those brave soldiers who saw that true loyalty lay in siding with the calde.”

  Potto was still grinning. “Excuse the interruption.”

  “I was about to say that since then we’ve gained strength, and you’ve lost it. By shadelow, we had nearly reached our present total of about fifty thousand. I’m referring to my own troops here. That night, every brigade of your Civil Guard went over to the calde except the Fourth. The Fourth and the Third, which was the generalissimo’s, had been holding the Palatine. The Fourth, commanded by Brigadier Erne was driven from it next day, and into the northern suburbs.”

  “Where it still is.”

  “That’s correct. We had fires all over the city to fight, hundreds of them, and we’ve been busy trying to get ourselves organized. When the Alambrera surrendered, we got thousands of slug guns and hundreds of thousands of rounds of arnmunition. We had to see to it that they went to people of good character. Furthermore, there’s a feeling that the Fourth Brigade might come over to our side in another day or two. Calde Silk and Generalissimo Oosik think so, and so do I. I’m told that His Cognizance is of the same opinion.”

  Remora cleared his throat. “It was, hmp!, Brigadier Erne who, um, entreated me to — ah — initiate? To set in motion these negotiations. I, er, thereafter — shortly thereafter — sought out the calde, whom, um, approved likewise. I can — am able and — ah — authorized. The brigadier’s viewpoint.”

  “Not now,” Potto told him. “General, could you crush the Fourth Brigade? Suppose Silk ordered it.”

  “Certainly, in two or three hours. Less if I had a few taluses and floaters, as well as my people. But we’d rather not, obviously, in view of the loss of—”

  “Not to me!” Potto chortled. “It’s not obvious to me! Is the bloodshed really what’s bothering you?”

  “I should think it would bother anyone.”

  “Well, you’re right, but you’re wrong too. The bloodshed wouldn’t bother me, but why shouldn’t you take five thousand prime troopers if you can get them? We would. Are those the only reasons, General?”

  “I’ll be frank. There’s another aspect. You, by which I mean the Ayuntamiento, are down in the tunnels with most of the Army and a few troopers.”

  “Nearly a thousand.”

  “Setting them aside, you must have about seven thousand soldiers down there.”

  Potto’s grin widened.

  “More? Very well, if you say so. Seven thousand was our estimate. In any case, if we got deeply involved in an attack on the Fourth, which shouldn’t be our primary objective anyway, you might make a sortie from the tunnels and strike us from behind. According to reports I’ve had, it takes at least four of my troopers to match a soldier, which means that your seven thousand that’s the figure we discussed — are equivalent to twenty-eight thousand of mine. We didn’t feel we could risk it. I should say that we don’t feel we can as yet.”

  Potto nodded rather too enthusiastically. “Someplace in all that verbiage was a morsel that seemed intelligent, my dear General. You said our Guard, or what’s left, wasn’t what you really wanted to destroy. That it was us. Why don’t you come down after us?”

  Remora looked deeply distressed. “Do you, er, Councillor… Is this — ah — productive?”

  “I think so. You’ll see. Answer me if you can, General.”

  “Because the tunnels are too defensible. I haven’t been in them, but they’ve been described to me. A dozen soldiers could hold a place like that against a hundred troopers. If we’ve got to, we’ll find a way, digging shafts and so on. But we’d rather not, which is why I’m here. Also there’s another consideration. You spoke of destroying the Fourth. Clearly, we don’t want to. Still less do we want to destroy the Army, which is of immense value to our city. We know that—”

  “You are an amazing woman.” Potto pushed his stool back and crossed the big kitchen to the stove. “A woman who talks sense whenever it suits her but can’t hear a kettle boil.”

  “Women generally talk sense, if men will listen to it.”

  “Those who are generals generally do, anyway. You’re right about the Fourth, and right about the Army and not tackling the tunnels, though you really don’t understand the situation at all. I’m our head spy, did you know that? I was in charge of Lemur’s spies, and now I’ve got Loris’s.” Potto tittered. “Who are generally the same, General, and mine. Do you really think all the troopers in the city are yours or ours? You simply can’t be that simple!” He lifted the big copper teakettle off the stove; it was spurting steam.

  Maytera Mint pursed her lips.

  “There are, um, an — ah — minuscule? Likewise. Token, eh? An — ah — few hundred…”

  “Two hundred, more or less,” she supplied. “Two hundred Trivigaunti pterotroopers commanded by General Saba, who also commands the airship. Two hundred’s a very small force, as His Eminence says, though with supporting fire from the airship even a small force might accomplish a great deal. General Saba has offered her help when we move against the Fourth, by the way.”

  “How kind.” Potto had carried the steaming teakettle to their table.

  “Not to you, Councillor. I realize that. But to us it is. It’s a gesture good will from the Rani to the new government of Viron, and as is greatly appreciated.”

  “Your diplomacy flourishes.” He raised the teakettle.

  “It does. It’s in its infancy, but it does.” Maytera Mint stood. “We need a teapot, and tea. Sugar, milk, and a lemon, if His Eminence takes lemon. I’ll look for them.”

  “I was about to ask you if my face looks dusty.”

  “I beg your pardon, Councillor?”

  “Whether it’s dusty. Look carefully, will you? Maybe we should go to a window, where the light will be better.”

  “I don’t see any dust.” She was struck, unexpectedly and unpleasantly by the lack of warmth in that face, which seemed so animated. Maytera Marble’s familiar metal mask held a whorl of humility and passion; this, for all its seeming plumpness and high color, was as cold as Echidna’s serpents.

  “It’s been packed away for years, you see.” Leaning back at an impossible angle, Potto scratched the tip of his nose with the steaming spout of the teakettle. “I’m the youngest member of the Ayuntamiento, dear General. Did you know that?”

  Maytera Mint shook her head.

  “Just the same, they thought this seemed too young, and asked me to replace it.” He contrived to lean even farther backward. A trickle of boiling water escaped the spout. “You don’t know about the Rani’s horde, either. Do you?”

  “What about it?”

  “My face?” Potto jabbed the spout toward it. “It was in storage. I said that, why didn’t you listen? Now I can’t see as clearly as I did. I may have dust in my eyes.”

  Before Maytera Mint could stop him, he raised the teakettle and tilted it. Seething water cascaded down onto his nose and eyes. Remora exclaimed, “Oh, you gods!” as Maytera Mint jumped back from the hissing spray.

  “There. That ought to do it.” Straightening up, Potto regarded her through wide blue eyes again, blinking hard to clear them of boiling drops. “That’s much better. I can see everything. I hope you can, too, my dear young General. The Rani’s horde has already set out, and there’s sixty thousand foot and fifteen thousand cavalry. I haven’t the luxury of an airship to keep watch on Viron’s enemies, but I do the best I can. Seventy-five thousand battle-hardened troopers, with their support troops, a supply train of fifteen thousand camels, and a labor battalion of ten thousand men.” Potto turned to Remora. “Trivigaunte’s men are of your school, Patera. No weapons. Or anyway they’re supposed to be.”

  Remora had regained his composure. “If this extensive and, ah, formidable force is — ah — marching? Marching, you said, eh? Then I take it that it can’t be marching here, or
you — um — the Ayuntamiento, more formally. Terms of surrender, hey?”

  Potto tittered.

  Maytera Mint squared her shoulders. “I wouldn’t laugh, Councillor. His Eminence is entirely correct. If the Rani is sending us a force of that size, your cause is doomed.”

  “It’s just as I feared,” Potto told her. He held up the teakettle. “Do you think it’s cooled too much?”

  “To make tea?” She took an involuntary step backward. “I doubt it.”

  “To wash eyes, so they can see. I think you’re right. Boiling water stays hot for a long time.”

  “I came under a flag of truce!”

  He reached for her, moving much faster than so fat a man should have been able to. She whirled and ran, feeling his fingertips brush her habit, reached the door a hand’s breadth ahead of him, and flung herself through. An arm hooked her like a lamb; another pinned her own arms to her sides. Her face was crushed against musty cloth.

  Sounding near, Potto said, “Bring her back in here.”

  Not so near, words failed Remora. “You cannot — I mean to say simply cannot — woman’s a sibyl! You, you—”

  “Oh, be quiet,” Potto told him. “Bend her over backwards, Spider. Make her look up at this.”

  Abruptly there was light and air. The man who had caught her was as tall as Remora and as wide as Potto; he held her by her hair and dropped to one knee, pulling her across the other.

  “My son.” Looking up at his heavy, unshaven chin, she found it horribly hard to keep from sounding frightened. “Do you realize what you’re doing?”

  The man, presumably Spider, glanced to one side, presumably at Potto. “How’s this, Councillor?”

  She rolled her eyes without finding him, and the thick fingers would not let her turn her head.

  His voice came from a distance. “I’m putting the kettle back. We can’t have it cooling off while I give you the rules.”

  Remora entered her field of view, seeming as lofty as a tower when he bent above them. “If there is — ah — Maytera. General. Anything I can do…?”

  “There is,” she said. “Let Bison know what happened.”

  “Go back to your seat,” Potto told Remora, and he vanished. “Didn’t you wonder, my dear General,” it was Potto’s cheerful, round face opposite Spider’s now, “how I happened to be so near my own corpse? Or what became of Blood’s? Blood was stabbed by your friend Silk. Let’s not call him Calde. We’re no longer being so polite.”

  “Let me up, and I’ll be happy to ask you.”

  “It won’t be necessary. Blood’s body has been hauled away already, you see. And you do see, don’t you? At present. I ordered that my own wasn’t to be touched, because I think we may be able to fix it. I came in person to pick it up, with a few of my most trusted spy catchers. Spider’s their jefe. I’d use soldiers, but they’re awfully sensitive, it seems, to mention of a calde, though you wouldn’t think it to look at them.”

  From a distance, Remora called, “Councillor? Councillor!”

  She shut her eyes. If she was never to see again, the last thing she saw should not be the high smoke-grimed ceiling of the kitchen in this ruined villa. Echidna, rather, her face filling the Sacred Window. Her mother’s face. Bison’s, with its quick eyes and curling black beard. Her room in the cenoby. Children playing, Maytera Marble’s group because she had always wanted them instead of the older girls this year and the older boys before Patera Pike died. Auk’s face, so ugly and serious, more precious than a stack of cards. Bison’s. Cage Street, and the floaters firing as the white stallion thundered toward them.

  “Did you hear that, my dear General?”

  “Hear what?” Maytera Mint opened her eyes, remembering too late that scalding water might be poured into them.

  “Tell her, Patera! Tell her!” Potto was giggling like a girl of twelve, giggling so hard that he could hardly talk.

  “I — ah — um — proposed an, er, substitution.”

  “He wants to take your place. Really, it’s too funny.”

  She tried to speak, and found that her eyes were filling with hot tears, irony so cheap and obvious as to be unbearable. “No, Your Eminence. But… But thank you.”

  “He, um, Potto. Councillor. He wishes to, um, secure your — ah — collaboration, hey? I, um, endeavored to point out that to, er, spare me you would, eh? Whatever he wants.”

  “I can already make you do anything I want.” Potto was back. He held the teakettle over her. “What I’m trying to do is what she’s done for years. Educate.” Giggling, he covered his mouth with his free hand. “Wash the dust out. Clarify her vision. Have I explained the rules?”

  “Er — no.”

  “Then I will. I have to. You want to save her, Patera?”

  She could actually hear Remora’s teeth chatter. She had always supposed the business about chattering teeth was a sort of verbal convention, like hair standing on end.

  “You made your offer, and I said no. But you can save me the trouble of washing her eyes.”

  “I, um, every effort.”

  “I’m going to ask questions. Educational questions. If her answers are right, we postpone the eyebath. Or if yours are. Ready? Spider, what about you? When you see the kettle tip, you’ll have to hold her tight and keep your hands clear.”

  “Any time, Councillor.”

  “I’ll start with an easy one. That’s the best way, don’t you think? If you really want children to learn. If you aren’t just showing off. Did you know Silk’s friend Doctor Crane?”

  She shut her eyes again, finding it difficult to think. “Know him? No. Maytera Marble mentioned him once, the nice doctor who let her ride in his litter. I don’t think I ever saw him. I’m sure I haven’t met him.”

  “And you never will. He’s dead.” Potto sounded pleased. “Your turn, Patera. What about you?”

  “Crane, eh? A doctor? Can’t, um, place him.”

  “He was a spy. Let’s give the poor fellow his due. He was a master spy, some say the Rani’s best. Trivigaunte had more spies in Viron than any other city. It still does, though they have no jefe now. Why do you think that is, Maytera? More spies than Urbs or Palustria?”

  “All I can do is guess.” Her mouth was dry; she tried unsuccessfully to swallow. “The Rani’s a woman, but all the other cities near ours have male rulers. She may have been more sensitive to the danger you and your cousins presented.”

  “Not bad. Can you improve on that, Patera?”

  “I, ah, cheating.”

  Potto giggled. “Double credit for it. Go ahead.”

  “His Cognizance, eh? He told me. Not in so many words, eh? No mountains. First, um, er—”

  “Objective,” Potto supplied.

  “Indeed. Next, ah, year. Spring. Not long now, hey, Councillor? Winter has, um, commenced.”

  “General, this is your area of expertise. Say another force is opposing yours, which is larger. Would you rather fight your way across a mountain range or a desert?”

  “I’d want to see the desert,” she hedged.

  “You can’t see either one, and if you won’t answer you won’t see anything.” The teakettle tilted a little.

  “Then I prefer the desert.”

  “Why?”

  “Because fighting in mountains would be like fighting in tunnels. There would be narrow passes, in which we’d have to go at the enemy head-on. In a desert we could get around them.”

  “Correct. Patera, I haven’t been giving you many chances, so you first. Two cities I’ll call Viron and Trivigaunte are separated by a lake and a desert. A big lake, though it’s been getting smaller and turning brackish. That’s the situation, and here’s the question. If the easiest city for Viron to attack is Trivigaunte, what’s easiest for Trivigaunte? Think carefully.”

  “For, ah, them?” Remora’s voice quavered. “Us, I should say. Viron.”

  “Do you agree, my dear General?”

  She had begun a short prayer to Echidna while R
emora was speaking; after murmuring the final phrase she said, “There could be other answers, but that’s the most probable. Viron.”

  “I’m putting the kettle on again,” Potto told her. “Not because you’ve passed, but because you may fail right here, and I want the water hot enough to do the job. Listen carefully, because we’re going from geography to arithmetic. Listen, and think. Are you ready?”

  She compelled her mind and lips. “I suppose so.”

  Potto tittered. “Are you, Patera?”

  “Ah… I wish, Councillor—”

  “Save it for later. It’s time for arithmetic. The Rani of Trivigaunte has seventy-five thousand crack troopers in Viron. The so-called calde’s general has fifty thousand untrained ones, and the traitor commanding the Calde’s guard has about eighteen thousand fit for duty, of doubtful loyalty. If these numbers have you mixed up, I don’t blame you. Would you like me to stop here and repeat them, General?”

  “Let me hear the rest.”

  “We’re getting to the crux. Rani, seventy-five thousand. You, fifty thousand. Oosik, eighteen thousand. All these are troopers, armed bios. Now then, the Ayuntamiento, which opposes all three of them, has eight thousand two hundred soldiers and a thousand troopers underground, and another five thousand on the surface. The question is, who rules Viron? Answer, Patera.”

  “The — ah — you do. The Ayuntamiento.”

  “One drop for that,” Potto said. “I’ll fetch the kettle.”

  Maytera Mint squeezed her eyes shut, clenching her teeth as a single scalding drop struck her forehead. Locked in a private nightmare of fear and pain, she heard the opening of the door as if it were leagues away. A new voice spoke in the reedy tones of an old man: “What’s this?”

  Remora, overjoyed: “Your Cognizance!”

  Almost carelessly, Potto said: “This is a nice surprise, I had men posted. Another prisoner’s welcome, just the same.”

  She squinted upward. The sere old face over hers was one she had seen only at a distance; she had not realized then how its eyes glittered.

  “Release her!” Quetzal snapped. “Let her go. Now!”