"Sorry?"
And that was another thing. Basso knew he ought to sympathise with a fellow sufferer; but he'd spent his life figuring out how not to be deaf. Instinctively he turned his good ear towards the speaker, watched his lips, came closer. Tragazes just made you say it again.
"How are things at the Bank?"
"Oh, quite quiet." Tragazes frowned. "We're a bit concerned about the Tremissis brothers. They're two days late."
Basso shook his head. "They're good for the money," he said.
"Oh, yes, of course. And they're only late because their ship from Rugeo got held back by the weather. But it bothers me that they're so overcommitted. If anything had happened to that one ship, they'd have had to default."
"On one month's payment," Basso said. "Which in their case I'd be happy to roll over."
Tragazes looked at him; mild, faintly disapproving, a wise subject bowing to the whims of a foolish king. "Of course," he said. "The collateral is very good. But we're a bit concerned, even so. We're keeping an eye on them."
Basso took a deep breath. "Personally," he said, "I'm more concerned about the Strength Through Simplicity. Is it true they want to borrow another ninety thousand?"
Tragazes nodded. "As a matter of fact, I authorised the loan just this morning. That brings the total up to three hundred and seventy thousand."
Just the question he'd been about to ask. "That's rather a lot."
Another nod. "We have debentures for two hundred thousand, and personal guarantees for the balance. Also, we insisted on full accounts for the last two years and a detailed projection of future commitments. It's a very sound business. We think they're poised to break into a very interesting new market."
Exactly what he'd have said to Antigonus, though he'd have used better words. "Keep an eye on them, too," he said.
"Of course."
Why did talking to this man make him feel like he was carrying bricks uphill? "So," he said, "what do you make of this business in Scleria?"
Tragazes, it turned out, made more or less the same of it as he did, though he contrived to make it sound dull and somehow obvious. He had that knack. And all the while, he sat perfectly still, as though only the parts of him required for answering questions were alive. Basso thought about that. It was almost as though Tragazes was aware that his reserves of energy belonged to his employer, and he wasn't prepared to expend a single movement if it wasn't entirely justified. When he'd completed his presentation (it was hard to think of it that way), he paused, blinked, and said, "Is there anything else?"
"I don't know," Basso replied. "You tell me."
Another pause, and the pale blue eyes seemed to glaze over, until Basso was sure he was about to fall asleep. Then he shifted ever so slightly in his chair (which creaked) and said, "We were wondering whether this would be a good time to take over the Land & Sea Credit."
Basso frowned, as though what he'd heard didn't make sense. "Why would I want to do a thing like that?" he said.
The explanation followed, smart as a military parade, and Basso realised that the arguments were good, the opportunity was real, and he hadn't thought of it for himself. Tragazes, on the other hand, had clearly gone into it in great depth. "Just a moment," he interrupted (and Tragazes shut up instantly, faster than any mechanism). "That's not bad," he said. "Why didn't you mention it earlier?"
"We still don't have the end-of-quarter results," Tragazes replied. "We would want to see a four per cent decline in domestic business, coupled with a slight rise in bad debt provision. That would tilt the balance of leverage just enough in our favour."
Well, of course. He felt like a peasant for having to ask. "Before we act, yes," he said. "But you might have mentioned it."
"Sorry," Tragazes said. "We didn't want to bother you with it till we were quite sure."
Of course they didn't. "It's a good idea," Basso said. "Yes, we'll do that, once we've got those figures. Thank you, you've done a good job."
But praise just seemed to skid off, like a file on hardened steel. "We've also been looking at the situation in Boezen," Tragazes said. "We feel that some sort of intervention may become necessary to stabilise the hyperpyron against the nomisma, which would of course involve us in buying quite heavily in the short term. However..."
A curious thing, Basso thought, and something he wouldn't have believed possible. Tragazes could make something like the Boezen currency crisis boring. He was, of course, quite right. If the Bank stuffed a huge wedge of Republican nomismata into Boezen over the course of the next month, it would stop the run on the hyperpyron; the Boezen Emperor would then have no choice but to up the gold content, maybe going back to the pre-war standard of twenty parts fine, which would result in Boezen effectively pricing itself out of the bulk timber market. The Bank could then sell hyperpyra at a profit. No way in hell was that boring, but Tragazes made it sound like it was. In which case--
"I approve," he said. "You carry on and do that, assuming it all pans out. Meanwhile, there's something else I'd like you to do for me."
"Of course."
"My nephew," Basso said. "He's very keen to join the Bank. Now, he's a bright lad with a good head on his shoulders, but he's new to business and he's never done a day's work in his life. I'd like you to have him sit in with you for a while, just to get the feel of things; maybe you could explain the basics to him, so he gets a proper understanding of what the work of the Bank is really all about. Would that be all right?"
The pale blue eyes blinked. "We'd be delighted," Tragazes said. "Only too pleased."
"That's settled, then," Basso said. "I'll send him over to you. No special treatment, mind. I want him to make himself useful."
"Of course."
Indeed. Of course, of course. "Thank you," Basso said, "that's all."
Tragazes stood up, practically filling the room, bowed his head--it wasn't his fault that a gesture evidently intended to convey sincere respect put Basso in mind of a bull about to charge--and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him. When he'd gone, Basso looked down at his left hand (the damaged one) and found that he'd been gripping the arm of his chair so hard he'd left nail-marks in the wood.
Bassano was late. He'd been held up, he explained, by the crowds in the streets, going home from the victory parade.
"Really?" Basso frowned. "I'd have thought your end of town would've been relatively clear."
"I didn't come from home," Bassano said.
Basso had ordered dinner in the small cloister, looking out over the lavender garden. It had turned out chillier than he'd expected, so he'd had them light the boilers to heat up the underfloor conduits. It took time, though, for the hot water to feed through, so he'd sent in for a brazier as well, and the breeze was blowing the smoke back towards the house. "Oh," Basso said. "Anyway, you're here now. You'll like this. Sea bass, in mustard sauce."
Bassano liked his food. "Thanks, Uncle," he said. "As it happens, I'm starving. I missed lunch."
They moved their chairs to avoid the smoke, which meant they had to look at the wall instead of the lavender beds. "Did you see Aelius' parade?"
"I caught a bit of it," Bassano said. "Where they were leading him through the Pig Market on that rope. He didn't seem awfully happy."
Basso laughed. "Don't suppose he was. It's hard to cut a dashing figure when you look like you're being led away to the gallows. Still, I asked him if he wanted the full traditional entry. Serves him right if he couldn't be bothered to look it up first." He poured the wine, but Bassano said, "If it's all right with you, I'll just have water."
"Really?"
Nod. "I'm going to get used to it by stages."
"Explain."
Bassano took off his gloves and laid them on the table. "I did as you suggested," he said. "I've enrolled at the Studium. Hence, no booze for a month. I don't actually have to lay off it until term starts, but--"
"You did what?"
Bassano grinned. "I'm going to be a priest," he
said. "Like you said I should."
"Oh." Basso put down his glass without drinking. "But I've just arranged for you to start at the Bank."
Bassano pulled a face. "Now he tells me. Why the change of heart?"
"It's what you wanted."
"And since when was that a good reason for anything?" It was a quotation, of course, from the collected aphorisms of First Citizen Bassianus Severus. "Mind you, that wasn't the only reason. Mother's been on at me. Basically, it was either join up or move out, and I simply can't face packing up all my stuff and finding somewhere. Also, I have genuinely been thinking about what you said. The priesthood's a good career, so long as you don't get bogged down in the religious side of things."
Basso had intended to shout at him, but it came out as a sort of ferocious laugh. "For crying out loud," he said. "Oh well. Tragazes'll be disappointed."
"The gentle giant? What's he got to do with it?"
"You were going to go and sit in with him for a month."
Bassano grinned. "Is that right? Well, in that case." He shook his head. "The idea being, I suppose, that after a month with Tragazes I'd run away and join the circus, or enrol in pearl-diving school or something."
"More or less," Basso admitted. "So that's all right. But seriously. You're not just doing it to please your mother?"
"No," Bassano said, running a fingertip round the edge of his empty glass. "But it is a factor, yes. I guess you haven't heard Mother's news."
Basso didn't like the sound of that. "I would, of course, be the last person to hear."
"Indeed." Bassano looked away. "She's getting married."
It would have to be that moment when they brought in the food: the very finest sea bass, caught that morning in the bay, in a sauce cooked by an Isacian that Basso had hired specifically because he knew how to handle sea fish properly. Neither of them even looked at it.
"Say that again," Basso said.
"You heard."
"All right. Who?"
Bassano waited a full three seconds before answering. "Olybrias. You know, he runs the--"
"I know who he is," Basso snapped, so savagely that Bassano winced. He wasn't too keen on loud noises. "But that's ridiculous," Basso said. "And anyway, she can't. He's not even a citizen."
"Actually, he is," Bassano said quietly. "Or he will be in three weeks' time, when the Donatives come out. Apparently he made a large contribution to Optimate funds, so the Labieni have adopted him."
"That's..." Basso could feel his chest tightening. He lowered his voice. "For God's sake," he said. "General Aelius isn't a citizen, and he's the Commander-in-Chief. What sort of sense does that make?"
Bassano had the grace not to point out the obvious flaw in that line of argument. "You could stop it," he said. "If you wanted to."
"Interfere with the Donatives?" Basso laughed. "Sure I could, if I don't mind committing political suicide." He shook his head. "You know, it's a crying shame we don't let women into politics. Think what a leader of the Opposition your mother would have made. It's the simplicity of it that really impresses me; that, and the sheer intensity of the malevolence."
Bassano looked at him. "So what are you going to do?"
"Me?" Basso shrugged. "Nothing. At least, not till I hear the rest of it."
"You think there's more."
"Definitely. And I can see several lines of attack she could be following, but until she tells me, I won't know which it really is. I'll say this for her, she makes life interesting."
He didn't have long to wait. A letter arrived the next morning: if his schedule allowed, could he possibly spare her half an hour, say at noon? If so, she'd call at the House; no need to send a carriage.
"Well?" he said.
He hadn't seen her for ten years. The shape of her face was basically the same, but she'd put on weight; she looked swollen, as if she'd been stung by a wasp, and her hands and wrists were soft and pudgy. There were streaks of grey in her hair; the fact that she'd left them grey was a statement in itself. She was wearing plain black, with no jewellery.
"Thank you so much for seeing me at such short notice," she said. "May I sit down?"
"Do what you like," he replied.
"Thank you." She perched on the edge of a chair, her hands folded in her lap. She looked as though she'd come to apply for a job as a nanny. "I suppose my son's told you my good news."
"For pity's sake," Basso snapped. "Will you stop that?"
She blinked at him; reminded him of Tragazes, which really wasn't good. "Stop what?"
"Being polite. It doesn't suit you."
"You might try it some time."
She's better at this than me, he thought, so I'd better change the rules of engagement. "Quite right," he said. "So, yes, Bassano did tell me."
"And you're happy for me?"
He gave in and sat down. "Oh, delighted," he said. "I'm sure you must be as happy as a songbird. You're going to marry my chief business rival, who also happens to be a high-profile supporter of the Opposition. Short of stabbing me in the neck, you could hardly have done a better job."
She smiled at him. "So you're not going to make difficulties."
"Sorry, no." He smiled back. "If you mean, am I going to veto his grant of citizenship in the Donatives, I'm afraid I can't oblige you there. When I decide to end my political career, I'll do it my own way, not yours."
"I'm so glad. We were hoping to get married as soon as the Donative formalities are out of the way. If we'd had to fight you in the courts..."
"You'd lose."
"Yes, but think of all the harm it would do you. So it's just as well you're going to be sensible, isn't it?"
He breathed out, until he'd drained all the air out of his lungs, then slowly breathed in again. "Why do you want Bassano to be a priest?"
"Because I don't want you luring him into the Bank," she replied. "But I'll come to that later. I just want your promise about the citizenship. To make sure we understand each other."
"I promise," Basso said sourly (and he thought: she's making me sound like a little boy). "All right," he said. "Can we stop messing about now, please? What's the deal?"
She looked at him as if he'd just propositioned her in the street. "You don't change, do you? You always have to attack, whatever happens."
"I'm sorry you think so," he replied. "But no, I don't. I'd far rather negotiate. So, please, tell me what you have in mind."
She nodded, rather gracefully, as if accepting his surrender after a long and unnecessary siege. "First," she said, "you leave my son alone. I don't want him coming here, seeing you, spending time with you. I don't want him writing to you, or you writing to him. Second, under no circumstances is he to join the Bank. Also, I don't want you giving him shares in the Bank or anything like that. He's going to be a priest. Do you understand?"
Basso nodded. "And if I agree, you won't marry Olybrias."
"That's right. Oh, I haven't quite finished yet. There are two other conditions."
Basso sighed. "You're pushing it," he said, "but go on."
"Actually, I'm being rather moderate. I would actually have quite liked to marry again."
"Olybrias?"
She shrugged. "The foundation of any good marriage is a shared passion. Olybrias hates you passionately. I suppose that makes him and me ideally suited. Also, he's a devout Pavian."
"I didn't know that," Basso said, "but it figures. Go on, then. Two more conditions."
"Yes." She unfolded her hands and put her left forefinger on her right thumb, as though counting. "Under his father's marriage settlement, Bassano comes into his money in six months. You're the sole surviving trustee. I want you to resign the trusteeship in favour of the Patriarch of the Studium. That way, he won't get his money until he's ordained, which won't be for three years."
Basso looked up. "That's--" He stopped himself. "Your idea?"
"Mostly. Second," she went on, "I want you to marry again. Since it may take you a while to find someone who'l
l have you, I'll give you three months--until the twins' birthday. In fact, I can't think of a nicer birthday present for them."
Basso's eyes were wide open. "Are you out of your mind?"
"Certainly not." From her sleeve, she'd taken a neat little rosary: one big gold bead for the Invincible Sun, a big silver bead for the lady Moon, and seven small silver blobs for the stars. She was picking at the Moon with her thumbnail. "The idea is that in due course, you'll give the twins a little half-brother, who'll inherit the Bank. I don't want that woman's children to get anything of my father's. Is that clear?"
That woman. Fair enough. "You know I can't agree to that," he said. "For pity's sake, who in their right mind is going to marry me?"
She frowned, just a little. "The First Citizen," she said. "The richest man in the City. I don't think you'll have any trouble. Just so long as she's fertile and capable of producing young, I really don't care. Of course, I'd prefer someone about half your age, so she'd have lovers. It'd be interesting to see what happens."
Basso looked at her. "I can't do that," he said.
"Pity." She stood up. "That condition isn't negotiable. Take it or leave it."
"The rest, yes." Basso jumped up and stood between her and the door. "That, no."
She took a step back. "Get out of the way, please. I want to go home now. You'll get your invitation to the wedding in a day or so. Do please try and make the time to come."
He didn't move. "Please," he said, "try and be reasonable."
"Reasonable." She spat the word at him, quietly but with an almost unbearable intensity. "I think we passed that stage quite some time ago. In fact, I've been quite unreasonably generous. Now please move away from the door so I can get through. You're just making a fool of yourself."
A solid lump was blocking his throat. If he couldn't get rid of it, he'd choke. Apparently, the only way was to stand aside. She passed him, taking care not to let even the fringe of her sleeve touch him. "Thank you," she said. "I'm sorry we couldn't sort something out, but there it is."
Her fingers were on the door handle. "All right," he said.
The Folding Knife Page 13
