"I didn't think of it," Basso said quietly.
"I think you should go down and talk to your sons," Bassano said. "They're feeling rather sorry for themselves. I reckon they need a good shouting-at, to get their circulation moving."
Basso stayed where he was. "It's true," he said. "I didn't think of it. Why, do you suppose?"
"Oh, I expect you're losing your touch," Bassano said cheerfully. "Or else you couldn't be bothered to apply your mind."
Basso said; "That's rather harsh, isn't it?"
"Yes," Bassano replied. "And my back hurts, and I need to wash my hands. The banisters at the Victory are covered in grease. I guess it's because they spit-roast so much meat." He paused again, then said, "Well?"
"Thanks," Basso said.
Bassano smiled. "You're welcome," he said. "So, did I pass?"
"It wasn't meant to be a test. You weren't supposed to be involved, even."
"I know. But did I pass?"
Basso nodded. "One of us did," he said. "And I don't think it was me."
"Agreed," Bassano said. He stretched, like a cat. "You owe me seventeen thousand nomismata."
"Seventeen..."
"Interest," Bassano explained. "Not a nice man, despite appearances."
"For crying out loud." Basso pulled a comic-grief face. "Promise me one thing," he said. "Next time you want to borrow money, go to the Bank."
Thirteen
Quite suddenly, the war was ready. Even Basso, who'd got it all drawn out on paper, admitted he was taken by surprise. Two days earlier, all he'd been able to see were huge, insuperable problems. He solved them, fully expecting to find more springing up in their place. But there weren't any. Everybody was where they were supposed to be. The ships were tied up at the dock, all the supplies and equipment loaded. The senior staff had patched up their differences and were actually on speaking terms with each other. There was hay for the horses, bacon and boots and blankets; tents, guy-ropes, tent pegs, mallets; shovels, picks, entrenching tools, surgical instruments, baskets, hayboxes, buckets, bottles, rope, nails, saws, hammers, spokeshaves and rivet sets, butter and candles and horseshoes and lamp wicks and sheeps' wool grease, seven miles of ox backstrap sinew, needles and hobnails, folding chairs and travelling inkwells, a quarter of a ton of best shredded-linen paper, charcoal, cups, plates, eight-gallon pans and fire-irons, mittens and calibrated surveyors' poles and shield covers, a hundredweight of dried oak-apples (for making ink), three Hus-Vesani dictionaries and two million arrows. Twelve thousand Cazars had been paid, hair-cut and shaved, clothed, trained and told what to do and where to sit on the ships. A hundred and forty-seven copies of Standing Orders had been written out and delivered to the officers. The Patriarch had blessed the expedition in Temple, the House had ratified Aelius' command, the Bank had advanced the government an extra quarter-million nomismata, the spear-shaft turners had delivered on time (just) and the last consignment of five thousand shield cover strap buckles had been prised out of the foundry. People who knew about such things promised a favourable wind for an hour after first light in the morning. Everything, unbelievably, was done and perfect.
Basso gave his nephew two going-away presents. One was a brigandine coat: two thousand carefully shaped spring-tempered steel plates sandwiched between a leather backing and a red velvet outer layer, articulated to allow total freedom of movement. Basso had had it specially made (he'd secretly borrowed several of Bassano's favourite coats for the armourer to take measurements from); it was proof against sword, lance and Cazar composite bow at five paces, and the collar and shoulder seams were double-ruffed and slashed over silk underlay, in the latest City fashion. The other present was the complete Dialogues of Scaphio Metellinus, in one volume, written so small that the book fitted easily in the pocket of a standard-issue greatcoat, but still legible by candlelight (Basso tested this for himself). Aelius also had a present for him: a Type Fourteen riding sword (short blade, wide at the hilt, tapering to a keen point, broad double fuller; best watered Auxentine steel). Melsuntha gave him a fur-lined hat reinforced with horn plates. His mother gave him a folding triptych showing the three evolutions of the Invincible Sun, inscribed with appropriate verses from the Book of Admonitions.
"What I was hoping for," Bassano said, "was five pairs of thick wool socks. But it's the thought that counts."
They rode together in Basso's closed coach as far as the bottom of Portway, and neither of them said anything all the way. As Bassano opened the coach door, Basso said, "Well, look after yourself."
"You too," Bassano said, and walked away.
Basso drove to meet the House representatives, who were there for the official launch ceremony. Basso kept his speech short and trite, and formally handed Aelius his commission. Bassano stood behind Aelius and just to his left; he looked sombre, and Basso could see he was trying very hard not to shiver in the cold. Some priest said a prayer. To conclude the performance, Basso had to grab Aelius by the neck, shake him and say, "Come back victorious or not at all." It was traditional (Glabrius had said it to the younger Passienus at the siege of Luma, six hundred years ago), but Basso couldn't help thinking that Aelius always seemed to be on the thick end of Vesani military ritual.
"Look after him," he whispered.
Aelius nodded. "It'll be fine," he replied.
Then Aelius and his party boarded the flagship, a band started playing noisy music, sails were unfurled and slowly filled, anchors were raised and the ships started to wallow lazily away from the edge of the City.
It was considered to be bad luck for the First Citizen to watch the fleet out of harbour, so Basso left the rostrum, went back to his coach, drove home and got on with some work.
Tragazes had asked for an appointment.
"As yet," he said, "there's really nothing to worry about. However, if we continue to lend to the Treasury on this scale, in six months' time it's likely that we will technically be overcommitted."
"Technically," Basso repeated. "What does that mean?"
Tragazes explained that according to best practice, the Bank should not lend more than four times its reserve. Should that limit be exceeded, existing loans should be called in to maintain liquidity, or assets should be liquidated to provide cash in hand. Technically.
"But we're lending to the government," Basso pointed out, "and the government is me. Besides, if we reach the point where the government's forced to default on its borrowing, financial ruin will be the least of our problems. We'll be more concerned about getting out of town before we're lynched by the hunger rioters in the streets."
Tragazes didn't react at all. "I have an obligation under standing rules of procedure to bring the matter to your attention," he said.
"Well, you've done that," Basso replied. "Thanks. Anything else?"
Tragazes looked down at the papers in his lap. "The most recent loan to the Treasury is secured against the government's projected income from sale of war plunder, captured enemy arms and equipment, livestock and personal chattels," he said. "It's incumbent on me to point out that under the Bank's constitution, these commodities do not represent adequate collateral for a loan exceeding fifty thousand nomismata, since they are both uncertain as to value and also potential, as opposed to being assets in hand."
Basso waited. Then he said, "And?"
Tragazes didn't quite shrug. "It's my duty to mention it to you."
"Right. Any other business?"
Another glance at the crib sheet. "There are unsettling rumours concerning the Hope and Courage trading partnership," he said. "We have reason to believe that four of their ships have been impounded by the Praxinoan authorities for excise violations. If this is true, it's likely that the Hope and Courage will not be able to make its periodic interest payment on time. They are indebted to us in the sum of nine hundred thousand nomismata."
Basso shook his head. "They're good for the money," he replied. "It's all secured on the Naevius family estates; vineyards, mostly, out east."
&n
bsp; "I was about to draw your attention to the reports of predicted crop failures--"
"It'll be fine," Basso interrupted. "If they can't make the payment on time, reschedule. Antigonus used to say, old money's worth twice as much as new money in hard times. They aren't going anywhere."
"In that case," Tragazes said, "thank you for your time."
(On the other hand, Basso told himself, as Tragazes closed the door behind him, he's a very efficient chief clerk, and I pay him to be annoyingly fussy. Means I don't have to do it myself.)
For the rest of the day, he found that he was taking rather longer than usual to plough through the routine work. He'd always had the gift of ferociously intense concentration, which brought with it the ability to see the simple question at the heart of the complex and apparently insuperable problem; now he caught himself reading paragraphs two or three times and still having their meaning bounce off him, like stones off a shield. He found the experience disturbing, and decided to run away from it.
Since the first assassination attempt, he'd been under strict orders from Aelius, his cabinet and the House not to go anywhere in public without the minimum prescribed number of suitably trained and equipped bodyguards. The House had even passed a law (the Safety of the First Citizen Act), any breach of which would render him liable to official censure and a small fine. Naturally, Basso respected the law, unless it was absolutely inconvenient.
He'd noticed that one of the grooms in the main stable was in the habit of leaving his coat and hat hanging from a nail in the back of the tack-room door. It was about the time when the horses would be getting their evening feed. He opened his study door very quietly, stopped to listen, then crept down the back stairs and out into the east yard. He located the grooms by the sounds of buckets on stone and voices, then walked quickly across the yard and into the tack room. The coat and hat were where he'd expected to find them. He put on the coat (slightly too long for him, and tight across the shoulders), crammed his head into the hat and pulled the brim down; thought better of it (only suspicious characters walk around with their hat brims pulled down, unless it's raining); in case he forgot later, he put three silver solidi in the coat pocket, by way of rent.
Nobody about. He headed across the main courtyard, then remembered that a groom wouldn't come and go by the front gate. He doubled back, hoping nobody was watching.
He couldn't go via the back yard, because the owner of the coat might see it walking past and wonder why. So he slipped into the feed store, opened the west-facing window, scrambled through it and dropped down into the laundry yard. Using the hung-out washing as cover, he took a diagonal line, which left him only five yards of exposed ground to cover before he reached the side door of the kitchens. He was taking a risk, he knew; the stable staff were discouraged from using the kitchens as a short cut to the back gate, and the cook was inclined to savage offenders. But she wasn't there. A kitchen maid said something as he hurried past, but he pretended he was deaf. A quick twist of a handle, and he was out into the street.
(That's bad, he thought. Back gate not locked, and I doubt whether that slip of a girl could fight off a band of heavily armed assassins. I can give Aelius' security man hell about that later. The thought pleased him, and he smiled.)
Having won his freedom, he wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do with it. Traditionally, he knew, the good prince slips out of the palace in disguise in order to go among the people, find out about their concerns and grievances and listen to what they really think about him. But he wasn't in the mood for anything like that. What he really wanted, he realised, was a nice civilised evening out, like he hadn't had for fifteen years--a play at the Blue Court (a comedy, for choice), followed by dinner at the Parrot, if it was still there, a nightcap in the Virtue Triumphant, and home to bed by midnight. But he wasn't exactly dressed for that; nor (he discovered, checking his pockets) had he brought enough money. So he decided to go to the dog races instead.
Basso's views on gambling were well known. It was the only form of charity, he used to say, where you give money to the rich, the greedy, the disproportionately fortunate and the selfish. Tonight, however, he felt the urge to try out his luck, just to make sure it still worked. He put half a solidus on Divine Retribution at six to one. The resulting three solidi went on Arrogance Confounded at four to one, which meant he had a whole nomisma to bet on Victory, at seven to one. There was a five-nomismata limit, so he pocketed two nomismata and bet the full five on a double for the last two races: Outrageous Fortune at three to one, followed by Just Deserts at nine to one.
"Are you sure?" the bookmaker asked.
"Yes."
The bookmaker shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, and handed him the small bone disc that recorded the bet. "You'd be better off buying yourself a new coat, but it's up to you."
One hundred and thirty-five nomismata. Or, to be precise, one hundred and thirty-two nomismata and thirty-six solidi, since the bookmakers' ring didn't have enough gold coin. It was, the bookmaker who paid him said, the biggest win in living memory; he almost sounded proud, though probably he was just being brave.
"You want to be careful," he added, "going home with that much money on you."
A fair point, Basso reflected, and one that hadn't occurred to him. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he had an idea people were looking at him. If he got stabbed to death in an alley on his way back to the Severus house, it would be a wonderful parable for the ambivalence of fortune; also, a bloody stupid way to die.
He considered the bookmaker, who was looking very sad. "Here's an idea," he said. "I've got more money than I can safely carry, and you've just been cleaned out of your working capital. Yes?"
The bookmaker gave him a nasty look and nodded.
"So," Basso went on, "what would you say to selling me... what, a quarter share in your business?"
"Get stuffed," said the bookmaker.
"Fine," Basso said. "Your choice. A hundred and thirty-five nomismata's just about to walk out of your life for ever, but that's entirely up to you."
The bookmaker scowled at him. "I'd have to talk to my partners," he said.
"No hurry," Basso said.
He made a point of staying near the portico, where the lighting was good and there was a fair crowd, milling about eating and drinking. He bought himself a beef pancake and a pint of beer, and discovered that his tastes had changed since he was sixteen.
"A tenth," the bookmaker said.
Basso shrugged. "I ought to ask to see the books."
"There aren't any books. What do you take us for, the Charity & Social?"
Basso smiled. "Private joke," he said. "All right. But it'll have to be written up properly, with a deed and everything."
The partners sighed. "Fine," one of them said. "First thing in the morning."
Basso grinned. "Like hell," he said. "We'll go and wake up a lawyer."
When the lawyer asked his name and he replied, he was greeted with both suspicion and scepticism. They didn't believe he was Prince Bassano (prince, he noted, with amusement and interest); for one thing, he was too old, and for another, Bassano was off with the army, at the war.
"Well of course I'm not actually him," Basso replied. "I'm his steward. He wanted to try his luck at the dog races, so he sent me along. All right?"
Whatever, the partners said, and the lawyer retired to write up the agreement, leaving Basso and the partners in the cold waiting room. At first, there was a sullen silence. Then one of the bookmakers asked: "Is that right, then? You work for the prince?"
Basso nodded.
"So what's he like, then? Really."
"He's all right," Basso said. "Why, what do you reckon to him?"
The partners looked at each other. One of them said, "Bit of a chip off the old block, if you ask me."
Basso nodded. "Is that a good thing?"
Someone laughed. "Tell you what," he said. "If he's got some of his uncle's luck, we could do with it in the business."
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br /> "Wonderful thing, luck," Basso agreed. "So you think he takes after the old man?"
"Don't really know," another one said. "Like, we only know what we're told, and that's probably a pack of lies. He seems all right. Bit of a toff, but then, aren't they all?"
Basso reminded himself that he wasn't going to be the traditional good prince tonight, and changed the subject. Prince, though: the word seemed to be following him around, like a butcher's dog. So he talked about the war. The bookmakers all thought it was a good idea and likely to succeed; ten to one on, they were offering.
The lawyer came in with the document. They signed, with the lawyer's red-eyed housekeeper as witness. Two solidi, for an hour's work. We're in the wrong business, the bookmakers said.
"I'll hang on to this," Basso said, folding the document and shoving it in his pocket. "Well, pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen," he said. "I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other in future."
The partners' faces showed no trace of expression of any kind. "Of course," Basso went on, "there'll have to be a few changes in the way you do things. For a start, you'll have to start keeping books."
A meaningful silence. Then one of them said, "We can do that."
"And of course," Basso went on, "you'll cook them, you wouldn't be human if you didn't. And that's fine, so long as you're not greedy. A little imagination is one thing, but I don't like being taken for an idiot."
The next silence was distinctly awkward. Basso went on: "For one thing," he said, "if you mess with the Severus family, you might get rather more luck than you can handle; the other sort, I mean. You could trip and fall under a cart, or your house might burn down. Even worse, some bastard could report you to the Revenue. Please bear in mind, we're practically the government. So accurate and conscientious accounting is in your best interests as well as ours."
The Folding Knife Page 36
