by K. J. Parker
“It comes at a price, of course,” Calojan said, on the way to the peace talks. “To raise that many men in a hurry, I had to strip the garrisons out of all the major cities on the north coast. In practice, they’re defenceless. I’m hoping that the Cosseilhatz haven’t figured out yet what I’ve done, so they won’t know they can just walk in there and kill a quarter of a million people if they want to.” He shook his head. “I told the governors to get the civilians out by sea, as quickly as possible, but whether they’ll be able to get everyone to leave or not, I just don’t know.”
Aimeric nodded. “You can see their point. I wouldn’t want to do it.”
“While we’re on the subject.” Calojan stopped. They were under the Arch of Gaiseric, between the Horsefair and the North Foregate. The escort stopped too, discreetly out of earshot. “I’m afraid you’ve got to go.”
Aimeric opened his mouth, but no words came.
“Sorry,” Calojan went on, “but I don’t want you around here any more. You’re a clever boy and you’ve been useful, but you’re too stupid to see when people are using you. I suggest you go back to the Vesani Republic. You liked it there, didn’t you?”
“You can’t. Gesel won’t let you.”
“I’ve spoken to your sister.” Calojan looked past him, as though he was no longer there. “She agrees with me. I’m going to marry her, by the way.”
He couldn’t have heard that right. “You what?”
“Strictly political,” Calojan said. “That way, Gesel will know her child will be safe, and it’ll give me more legitimacy as regent.” He rubbed his eyes with his thumbs; he sounded exhausted. “If it’s a boy, he’ll succeed me when I die. If it’s a girl, when she comes of age I’ll divorce Gesel and marry her. It’s all agreed.”
Unbelievable. “Divorce Gesel and—”
“Her suggestion,” Calojan said. “For all her unfortunate manner, your sister’s a very intelligent woman, very practical. I think we’ll work well together.”
Aimeric felt his knees go weak. “I don’t want to go.”
“Of course you do. Go back to the University, finish your degree. Get drunk a lot and bet on the lizard fights. Oh, and take that bloody woman with you. I don’t want to see her around the place when I’m in charge.”
Aimeric shook his head. “You can’t do this.”
“Sorry,” Calojan said. “But I can do what the hell I like.”
“It’s for the best,” Gesel said, when he finally got to see her that evening. “For your sake, too. You’re so naïve, Aimeric. People make you do things, and you can’t see it. Look at that girlfriend of yours. She’s got you wrapped round her little finger.”
Aimeric tried to grab her arm, but she was too quick for him. He took a step back. “Is that what all this is about? You don’t approve of Orsella.”
Gesel shook her head. “It’s about saving the City and two million people,” she said. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You never did care about anybody except yourself.”
He went to the factory, but Ermanaric wasn’t there. Soldiers had come and taken him away, they told him. They’d also seized all the Scona oil, the jars, the raw materials, everything. They’d made a real mess of the office, papers everywhere, the locked strongbox smashed open, all the ledgers and account books taken away; also, all the money in the big steel chest. They hadn’t even given a receipt.
So he went home and told Orsella, who already knew. She wasn’t angry or upset. She was packing, with the unhurried efficiency that only comes with long practice. One case—long, thin and flat, elegant but robust rust-brown pigskin with brass clasps—was already standing by the door. The other, a more conventional rectangular shape, was half-filled with clothes.
“We ought to take money,” he said.
“Don’t be silly.” She considered a green velvet dress, frowned, dropped it on the floor. “It’s bulky, it’s heavy, and if we get robbed, it’s gone for ever. Bills of exchange drawn on the Zeuxis brothers, however, take up virtually no space at all.” She tugged the corner of a piece of paper out from under her sleeve, then poked it back in again. “I sold this house ten days ago,” she said. “Just in case.”
“You sold—”
“Your signature’s so easy a child could do it. Or you, even.” She frowned. “Don’t glower at me like that. Either we were moving to the palace or getting strung up or thrown out; in any event, we wouldn’t be needing this place any more.”
He hesitated. “Are you going to leave me now?”
She neatly folded and packed a silk chemise before answering. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Aimeric.” Her not-now-I’m-busy voice. “I’m not going to leave you. After all, what good would it do?”
“But I’ve lost everything and you don’t love me. So why stay?”
She tried the lid of the case; it wouldn’t shut. “Lean on this for me, would you?” He did as he was told and heard a soft click. “You haven’t exactly lost everything,” she said, “thanks to me. You’ve lost everything except six thousand solidi with the Zeuxis brothers and five thousand with Boioannes and Tragus. Oh, and you also own a ship.”
“Do I?”
“Everyone should own a ship,” she said, “they’re so useful for getting out of places. Unfortunately it’s not here right now, it’s on its way back from the Republic. I thought you’d last another couple of days. A rare example of miscalculation on my part.”
“You bought a ship.”
“Also,” she said, “a nice house in the Republic and a sort of hunting lodge thing on Scona, though it’ll be a cold day in hell when we go there. I hate Scona. Still, the price was right and it pays to diversify.”
He stared at her, awestruck, as though in the presence of the Lady Moon herself. I don’t deserve her, he thought; and all interpretations of that statement are equally valid. “You arranged all that.”
“Of course I did. Someone had to, and you’re so innocent, it never crossed your mind to put something away for a rainy day. I forged drafts on the business. When Calojan goes over the books, he’s in for a nasty surprise.”
Aimeric sat down on the bed. “Who are Boioannes and Tragus?”
“Second biggest bank in Mezentia. Good reputation, very solid. You get better rates with the Mursuphlus, but I think they’re over-extended in textiles.”
He looked round the room. Now he came to think of it, there was nothing in it he recognised, apart from one icon he’d brought from home. She’s my whole life, he thought, or all of it I actually care about. If only I could be with her, nothing else would really matter.
“There,” she said. “All done. I suggest we go now.”
“Now?”
She nodded. “If I was your brother-in-law-to-be, I’d send half a dozen kettlehats, in the middle of the night. There’s probably a passage for us on a grain freighter. Knowing Calojan, steerage. I’ve booked us on board the Roebuck, for the Republic. I know the captain from way back. We’d better get a move on.”
He leaned across and lifted his icon down off the wall; the Invincible Sun handing a small model of the City to Florian. It fitted in his pocket. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s go. Thank you for taking me with you.”
She frowned at him. “I do love you,” she said. “Sort of. Also, the accounts in the Republic are in your name. Women can’t have bank accounts over a certain amount, would you believe.”
She let him carry the big case, so he could feel useful. They walked in silence as far as the Yarn Market; then she said, “You didn’t tell me about the fire oil.”
“I assumed you’d find out.”
She shook her head. “For once, you did a really good job of keeping a secret. I only found out because Ermanaric didn’t want his wife to know about the barmaid at the Austerity. Really, Aimeric, that could’ve been so useful. It could have kept us here, if you’d let me deal with it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you aren’t. Still, too
late now. I don’t suppose you happen to have the formula?”
“No.”
“Ah well. I assumed not, or Calojan wouldn’t be letting you go, he’d have killed us both instead.”
It was a long way to the docks, but Orsella insisted that they walk; he wasn’t quite sure why, but he knew better than to argue. Since Calojan’s return, the queues had melted away. Nobody wanted to leave now, and it was quite likely that most of those who had would be coming back. Even so, Aimeric was surprised to find the dockside practically deserted; no dockers loading or unloading, no passengers sitting on their luggage, no officials nosing through bills of lading with impatient captains. They found the Roebuck, but there was no gangplank, and nobody to be seen on board. Eventually, after they’d stood around feeling helpless for a rather long time, they saw a tall, sad-looking man in a thick brown coat, identified by Orsella as the Roebuck’s captain.
“Sorry,” he said, “but if you want your money back, you can forget it. I’ve lost enough on this trip as it is.”
Orsella said, “You mean you’re not sailing?”
The captain looked at her. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“The Republic’s gone,” the captain said. “All gone, nothing left. Nothing but rubble and ashes.”
Once again, Calojan’s prompt action forestalled any public display of panic. Soldiers on the streets put any thought of riots or demonstrations out of people’s heads, and the curfew was brought forward by an hour. The Exchange was closed for business for three days, and the Stamp Office declined to put official stamps on any commercial documents until further notice, which effectively put a stop to financial speculation and prevented runs on the banks. Since the offices of chancellor, prefect and archdeacon were presumed to be vacant, Calojan assumed their powers and issued a package of interim measures to keep the economy working and money circulating until the full impact of the disaster was properly understood.
They had come, according to the best available accounts, quite unobserved and wholly unexpected. A number of sea-going vessels—some reports referred to rafts or floats, others to oversized flat-bottomed galleys; the number was somewhere between two and five hundred—appeared in the Gulf on the morning of the sixteenth Feralia. There was a heavy mist, which undoubtedly helped, but so far no convincing explanation had been given as to where the ships, or rafts, had come from, or how they managed to cross the Gulf in plain sight and land on the Crescent in plain sight, without the Vesani navy or coastguard doing anything to stop them. Once ashore, they attacked with unbelievable ferocity, killing and burning at will and without restraint. Most reports agreed that they didn’t seem interested in looting, only in destruction; they herded people into large buildings, jammed the doors and set fire to them. When people tried to escape through the landward gates, they found them closed and barred from the outside; there was no reliable information about that, but it had to be assumed that there had been some sort of carefully co-ordinated support operation, with land forces moving in to block the gates. As a result, there were very few survivors, a couple of hundred at most; the crews of half a dozen ships that happened to be sailing out as the attackers came in, a handful of merchants and merchant-seamen who slipped past the massacre on the Crescent and managed to launch; a team of workers making repairs to the underground cisterns, who came off shift after it was all over and emerged to find the city in flames.
The only information available concerning the identity of the attackers came from a very unreliable source. A crewman on board a ship that passed the flotilla as it entered the Gulf had mentioned to a crewmate that he thought the rafts looked familiar; he’d seen something like them once, mnay years ago, on the great lakes far away to the north-east. Most unfortunately, that man couldn’t be questioned by the investigating authorities. His ship reached the City a full day before the news broke, and the man in question had finished his service and was signed on to another ship, leaving immediately for Mezentia. Efforts to trace him had failed, so all that was known was what he’d said to his colleague, who freely admitted that, at the time, he hadn’t been interested and wasn’t really listening. About all he could remember was the name of the people who used the rafts on the great lakes. They were called, he was pretty sure, the Goida.
It was touch and go for three days; on the fourth day, the imperial doctor sent by Calojan at Chauzida’s request announced that king Raffen was out of danger and would probably make a reasonably full recovery. He left detailed instructions for his patient’s care, refused to accept any reward and returned to the City under a flag of truce.
“Marvellous character,” Raffen said, when finally Joiauz was allowed in to see him. “Incredibly clever and miserable as hell. Clearly he thought I shouldn’t be treated and should be left to die, but I’m guessing he was under orders that failure wasn’t an option. I reckon he pulled me through the fever by sheer force of personality.”
Joiauz shook his head. “I told Chauzida not to bother asking, I thought they’d never agree to send us a doctor. But Chauzida insisted. He said it never hurts to try.”
Raffen laughed, then winced; three broken ribs. “He’s smart,” he said. “What’s better, from Calojan’s point of view; a dead martyr or a live king under an obligation? Still, I’m not complaining. It’d be really frustrating to die right now, just when it’s starting to get interesting.”
“They told you, then.”
“About the Goida? Oh yes. Heard it from the doctor, in fact; he’d got it from his assistant when she came in with some stuff he needed. I think Calojan wanted us to know right away.”
Joiauz nodded. “He’s pitching the idea that we now have a common enemy and we need to settle our differences and come together,” he said. “I have to say, it’s gone down rather well. You probably don’t realise just how terrified my people are of the Goida.”
“If it’s them,” Raffen said. “But yes, I had got the message. Anyway, let’s not go into all that right now. My friend the doctor said I’m not to think about business for at least another three days, or it’ll kill me. To be honest, I’m really glad of the excuse.”
Joiauz frowned, but let it go. “We’ve finally got some numbers for you, if you feel up to hearing them.”
Raffen looked straight ahead at the side of the tent. “Go on.”
“Four hundred killed,” Joiauz said, “another two hundred-odd badly injured. It could have been worse,” he added, when Raffen didn’t react. “After all, most of the artillery crews were your people.”
“It could have been far worse,” Raffen said, without perceptible expression.
“We lost a hundred and seventy-six,” Joiauz went on, “including Semplan and two elders of the Grey Dove. I think we killed something like four imperials, though they won’t give us a figure. They took all the catapults, apart from six that sort of fell to bits after the first shot. They’re mounting them on the wall right now, as a matter of fact.”
“It’s a fair trade,” Raffen replied, in the same flat voice. “They gave us third-rate armour, we give them jerrybuilt siege engines. That way, everyone gets what they deserve.”
“What I’m getting at is,” Joiauz went on, “the council has decided that any attempt to attack the City, now they’ve got all that extra firepower, would be suicidal. So we’re giving up. We’re going to negotiate a settlement.”
Raffen yawned loudly. “Because of the Goida.”
“Because of the Goida, and because Calojan’s not dead after all, and because we don’t want to get smashed to bits by rocks from our own engines. And because Chauzida says so.”
“Ah well.” Raffen folded his arms on his chest; the customary attitude of a dead body on a funeral pyre in Selbst tradition, though Joiauz probably didn’t know that. “Not much I can do about it lying here. And not much we can do about it if you decide you’ve had enough. Peace it is, then.”
“You don’t want peace, do you?”
“Peace is
all I want.” A slight hint of vehemence, quickly controlled. “And there won’t be any peace until that city is levelled and put back to pasture. But not to worry. I’m sure you people know what you’re doing.”
Joiauz was feeling uncomfortable. “I’d better let you get some rest,” he said. “Chauzida would like to come and see you tomorrow, if you think you’ll be up to it.”
“Of course.” Raffen let him get right to the doorway, then said, “Joiauz.”
“Yes?”
“Is it true you tried to murder your nephew?”
Joiauz was perfectly still. “Who told you that?”
“Oh, I can’t remember. Well? Did you?”
“Yes,” Joiauz said.
“Ah.” Raffen nodded sleepily. “And he’s forgiven you.”
“Yes, he has. Which is just like him, and a damn sight more than I deserve.”
“Of course. You’re both fools, you know. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that if you rob a man, you really do need to kill him too. And make sure about it. Shoving him down a well isn’t enough, and neither is sticking his head up on a pole, apparently. Make really, really sure he’s dead, it’s the only way.”
Joiauz pulled back the tent flap. “That’s what you’ve learned, is it, after all you’ve been through and all the extraordinary things you’ve done?”
Raffen thought for a moment before answering. “Pretty much, yes.”
“I’ll see you around, Raffen.”
Raffen smiled. “Count on it.”
Between them, they had enough cash money to get to Lonazep. “Where the hell is Lonazep?” Aimeric asked. She told him and he went slightly pale. “All right,” he said, after a long pause. “I guess we’ll just have to walk from there.”
“Maybe,” she replied. “Maybe not.”
The ship was a stone transport, built to carry huge blocks of granite from the Lonazep quarries to the four corners of the known world. There were only three corners now, and the City wouldn’t be buying any more premium-grade building stone for a long time, so the ship’s owners had diversified into second-hand clothes. It was a buyer’s market—the captain had brought in a cargo of flour, dried fish and raisins, and in return he was overwhelmed with silks, furs, even one or two pieces of the genuine imperial purple, forbidden by law except for members of the emperor’s immediate family. He packed the stuff up in bales and filled his hold and all the available space on deck. He wasn’t sure where he was going to sell all that high-class merchandise, but he couldn’t resist the bargain.
