by K. J. Parker
There was a rumble of approval from round the table. Gorgas looked as if he wanted to say something, but didn’t.
‘Next point,’ Niessa went on briskly. ‘I’m afraid this mercenaries business is pure fantasy. Now, I’m not even going to discuss the practicalities - recruiting men we could actually trust, getting them here and so on - because none of it’s relevant. We can’t hire mercenaries for the simple reason that we can’t afford to; which brings me neatly on to the main point we’ve got to cover today, which is budgets. The plain fact of the matter is that unless we stop spending like farmers at a fair and cut a third off these projections, we’ll be bankrupt in a matter of months. And that,’ she added, ‘isn’t up for discussion, it’s plain truth, and we’ve got to deal with it.’
‘Go on,’ said a man at the end of the table.
‘I’ve cancelled the following projects,’ Niessa said. ‘Forca, I’m sorry but your grain depots are going to have to wait. Gorgas, the commerce raiders. Lehin, the curtain walls across Novice point. Thanis, we’ll have to postpone repayment on the unsecured loan stock; let’s just cross our fingers and pray it doesn’t start a run on the rest of our securities. If we cut those, and if we all make sure we’ve trimmed all waste right back to the bone in our respective departments, we’ve at least got a chance of seeing it through to the end of the quarter without bleeding ourselves dry. Obviously there’s not going to be a dividend for the foreseeable future, which means a lot of our securities are going to be sold off cheap on the foreign exchanges; I’ve got no option but to buy in at least a major percentage, just to keep confidence in the markets from caving in. With deferred payment options and using nominees I can put off settlement to next quarter, but it means we’ll be looking for a further ten per cent cutback then, so you’d better start planning ahead for that.’
‘Easy,’ Gorgas muttered. ‘To begin with, there’s the wages of all the men who’re going to get killed because of this quarter’s cuts. All it’d take is one massacre and we could be back in the black.’ He leant forward across the table, his weight braced on the palms of his hands. ‘Niessa, don’t you understand anything about this war? Or are you just ignoring it, hoping it’ll go away? I invite you to think of it in these terms. Each major defeat makes us weaker. The weaker we get, the harder it’ll be for us to keep trading; which means reduced revenues, further cuts, further weakness. We can’t run this war according to best counting-house practice, Niessa; those rules don’t work here.’
‘Nonsense,’ Niessa replied. ‘Everything we do is war in some form or another. We’re at war with every major bank in the world. It so happens that this war is in three dimensions rather than the usual two.’
Ironically, the first ship to reach Shastel from the Island was the privateer Reprisal. A few days later, she was joined by five others, the Butterfly, True Virtue, Meriz’ Chance, Return and Equal Measure. The crews were the usual mix of Islander underclass and foreign miscellany, and the first thing they did was take their melodramatic privateer thirst to the usually quiet and sombre inns of Shastel Quay.
One exception was the midshipman of the Return. He walked up the hill from the Quay as far as the middle gate, turned left, climbed the hundred and fifteen steps of the Cloister Stairs and stopped to ask the way to the Faculty of Applied Philosophy. The research fellow who pointed him in the right direction was puzzled by the unlikely combination of scruffy third-hand cuir-bouilli armour, neat short white hair and cultured Perimadeian accent, but really didn’t want to get involved, and so made no comment. The stranger, who had somehow made it up the steepest stairway on Shastel without getting out of breath, thanked her politely and walked briskly away, leaving the research fellow to her speculations.
At the faculty gate, the Perimadeian stopped again and asked the porter where he might find Doctor Gannadius.
‘Depends,’ the porter replied. Like most Shastel porters he was a retired sergeant-at-arms, fully capable of recognising a pirate when he saw one; and the halberd leaning against the corner of the front office of the lodge was definitely not just a war souvenir. ‘You tell me what you want with him first. Then we’ll see.’
The Perimadeian smiled. ‘Certainly,’ he said. ‘I’m his cousin. And of course,’ he went on, before the porter had a chance to speak, ‘you can’t just take my word for that; so I suggest that I stay here where you can keep an eye on me while you send your boy to ask the good Doctor if he can spare a minute or so for Olybras Morosin.’
The boy was duly despatched. He came back a few minutes later, trying to keep up with Doctor Gannadius, who was exhibiting a turn of speed that was quite possibly unique in the Faculty’s history.
‘Olybras?’ he panted, leaning on the pillar of the lodge gateway. ‘Is that you under all that leather?’
‘Hello, Theudas,’ the stranger replied. ‘You’ve put on weight, haven’t you? Mind you, it’s been thirty years.’
‘I—’ Gannadius stopped, took a deep breath. ‘You’re alive, then?’ he said.
‘Apparently. And so, it seems, are you. I always said that if we lived long enough, eventually we’d find something we had in common. For pity’s sake, Theudas,’ he went on, scowling, ‘either invite me inside or tell me to go away, before your porter stares me to death.’
‘I - Oh, come in. Follow me.’ Gannadius nodded to the porter, who nodded back and retreated into the lodge like a watchdog who’s been forbidden to bite a dinner guest. ‘This way. Olybras, it’s - well, it’s good to see you.’
‘Really?’ Olybras shrugged. ‘There’d no accounting for tastes, I suppose. I don’t remember us ever liking each other terribly much in the past.’
A flicker of annoyance moved the corner of Gannadius’ mouth. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘But this morning I really believed that I had no family at all left in the whole world, and now, right out the blue, I’ve got one again.’
‘Quite so,’ Olybras replied. ‘A pity it has to be you, but on balance it’s a good thing. By the way, how come the funny name? Last time I saw you, you were still just plain old Theudas Morosin. Presumably it’s some sort of magic thing.’
‘It’s not magic,’ Gannadius started petulantly; then he took another deep breath and moderated his tone of voice. ‘It’s - it was traditional in my Order that when you reached a certain status, you assumed one of the traditional names. Gannadius was the second Patriarch of the City, and since I’d always admired—’
‘I get you,’ Olybras interrupted. ‘Swank, in other words. Putting on airs. Well, jolly good luck. I know that sort of thing always meant a great deal to you. It’s nice to know you nearly made it to the top of the greasy pole before the whole thing ceased to have any vestige of meaning.’
Gannadius stopped and glowered at him, to no apparent effect. ‘And what about you, Olybras?’ he asked sweetly. ‘Doing all right for yourself, I see?’
Olybras laughed and shook his head. ‘Obviously not,’ he said. ‘The best I can say for myself is that I gracefully reclined on hard times rather than falling on them. This time last year I still had my own ship, even if it was just a floating coal scuttle. But it simply fell apart one day, died of old age and malice, and now here I am, chief beetle-crusher on an Island privateer, at my age. My only consolation is, I never had any talents to fritter or promise to unfulfil.’
Gannadius pushed open the door to his lodgings and led the way in. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘the life seems to agree with you. You look revoltingly fit and healthy.’
‘Oh, I am,’ Olybras said. ‘It’s one of the few benefits of having to work for a living. Plenty of exercise, only just enough food, and lots and lots and lots of bracing sea air.’ He looked around, chose the most comfortable chair and sat in it. ‘Have you got anything to drink?’
‘Wine or cider,’ Gannadius said.
‘Oh, wine, with a bit of honey and cinnamon if there’s any going. We acquired a barrel of that fortified Jairec stuff last month, and we’re still only halfway through it. It makes
your teeth hurt for days afterwards.’
Gannadius sighed and grated his last half-inch of cinnamon. ‘So that’s what you do, is it? Acquire things?’
‘Go on,’ Olybras said, ‘you can use it if you like. The P word. I don’t mind.’
‘I suppose piracy is an honourable profession, in its way. It all depends on who you rob.’
Olybras shook his head. ‘Anybody who can’t get out of the way quick enough,’ he replied sadly. ‘Remember when we used to play pirates, Theudas? I seem to remember you always insisted on being the pirate captain, and I was the hapless merchant. Of course, you were bigger than me then. You had a mean left hook in those days.’
Gannadius winced a little. ‘True,’ he said. ‘But you never showed any early aptitude for speculative philosophy, so the irony isn’t quite symmetrical. Still, you were always the bookish one back then. Poetry, wasn’t it, and metrical romances?’
Olybras smiled. ‘Tales of adventure and heroism on the high seas,’ he said. ‘Anything not directly concerned with the tanning industry. Just my horrible luck to end up wearing the foul stuff. Father would be proud to see me today, I guess.’ He slouched back into the chair and sipped his wine. ‘By the way,’ he said, ‘whatever became of the yard? I lost touch.’
‘Cousin Pallas took it over from your father,’ Gannadius said, rather severely. ‘And when he died—’
‘Pallas died?’ Olybras frowned. ‘Well, of course he did. But I’d assumed he died when the City fell. Somehow that doesn’t hurt so much. When did he die?’
‘Oh, twelve years ago now,’ Gannadius said. ‘One of the chemicals disagreed with him, and in the end it poisoned him.’
Olybras shook his head. ‘He was like me,’ he said, ‘he never wanted anything to do with the business. He should have cleared out, like I did. Like we did,’ he added. ‘Let’s not forget that, Theudas. All right, you didn’t run away to sea, you ran away and turned respectable instead. None of us stuck around though, except poor old Pallas. Sorry, you were saying.’
‘After he died,’ Gannadius continued, ‘his daughter took it over. You never knew Pallas had a daughter, did you?’
Olybras put down his cup. ‘Actually, I did,’ he said. ‘Asbeli, I seem to remember. But I never met her. Presumably she—’
‘As far as I know,’ Gannadius said. ‘Like I said, until today I thought I was the last one left. I somehow assumed you’d come to a bad end somewhere along the line, after we hadn’t heard anything for such a long time.’
‘There was no reason for me to stay in touch,’ Olybras muttered. ‘For a while, in fact, I had something which could have passed for a life of my own. Things looked as if they were starting to go well. I had a wife. In fact,’ he added, ‘I had two, but the second one was purely a matter of convenience, for when I made the Moa run. Everybody has a second wife in Moa, it’s how their society’s organised. And anyway, she died a few years ago. But I had a real wife in Perimadeia. And a son.’
Gannadius looked up. ‘You’ve got a son?’ he said. ‘Congratulations. ’
‘Ah.’ Olybras looked at him. ‘That’s a moot point. In fact, that’s what I came here to ask you.’
‘Ask me?’ Gannadius raised his eyebrows. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you might be able to tell me if I’ve still got a son,’ he said, standing up and helping himself to more wine. ‘No more cinnamon? Oh, well, never mind. I’ll bring you some up from the ship a bit later on, we’ve got five cases of the stuff. No, I had a son all right, though I wasn’t any sort of father to him. I left him and his mother to get on with it when I lost the White Rose - that was my fourth ship, or was it my fifth? Anyway, when she went down I somehow never got around to going home, and I heard a bit later that Methli’d found someone else, which was her good luck. And Theudas - did I happen to mention I named my son Theudas, Theudas? - he would only have been, what, four years old at the time. They were better off. Anyway, I naturally assumed they’d shared in the common misfortune when the City was destroyed, and I made myself deal with it accordingly.’
Olybras stopped talking for a moment and sat still, rocking the wine round in the bottom of his cup. Gannadius waited until he was ready to continue.
‘And then,’ Olybras went on, ‘this job came up; this business between Shastel and Scona. I’d gone to the meeting about it, and afterwards I heard a lot of City voices coming from a wine shop and went in to investigate. I don’t know if there’s enough of us here, but we’ve got a fair number of people from Home on the Island and we like to make a bit of show of sticking together, that sort of thing - anyway, the point is, when you hear City voices, you go over and introduce yourself, just in case they’ve got any news about anyone you want to know about. I got talking with a man who knew some people who’d known some people I knew, and after we’d been chatting aimlessly for half an hour or so I suddenly realised from what he was saying that the Doctor Gannadius of Shastel he’d mentioned a few times as an example of one of us who’d fallen on his feet was really my cousin Theudas Morosin hiding behind a silly name. Obviously I found that nugget of information mildly intriguing, and I started paying a bit more attention; just as well, because that was when it started to get interesting. You see, talking about you led on to talking about the people you worked for briefly when you first came to the Island, and there was another City name: Athli Zeuxis. That led us on to the Loredans; and then this man let fly with the thunderbolt. “What did you say your name was again?” he said, so I told him; and he thought about it and said, “And you reckon you had a cousin, Theudas Morosin?” and I said yes, that’s right. “Well,” he said, “that’s odd, because I heard that name recently, Theudas Morosin; but it wasn’t a man our age, it was a kid, maybe around twelve, thirteen years old.” Well, I stayed calm and tried not to let myself go all to pieces. “What about Methli Morosin?” I asked, but he hadn’t heard of anyone by that name, just a boy. Well, to cut a long story short, I asked for details and he said this boy lived on Scona and was apprenticed to one of the Loredan brothers; the crazy one, he said, the one who lives out in the wilderness and makes furniture or something of the sort. It was common knowledge up that end of Scona, he said; what with him being a stranger and the Boss’s brother.’
‘You mean Bardas Loredan,’ Gannadius said in a small, apprehensive voice.
‘That’s it,’ Olybras replied. ‘And then I heard some story about Bardas Loredan having taken the boy with him when he got out of the City at the end; I tried to follow it, but I didn’t have much luck, I was too busy stopping myself from falling off the settle.’
‘Bardas Loredan’s apprentice is your son?’ Gannadius interrupted.
‘That’s right. And presumably your cousin, once removed. Or should that be second cousin? Gods know. Anyway, once I’d got as much out of this fool as I could, I went round the docks asking after a berth on anything that was going to Scona. And that’s when the horrible irony of it hit me: because of the war and this big charter deal with Shastel being talked about all over the place, of course nobody was going anywhere near Scona under any circumstances. I nearly burst into tears, I’m telling you; it was unbelievable. But I pulled myself together and kept ferreting away, until I heard a rumour that the colonel and his apprentice had been sent away by the family and weren’t even on Scona any more.’
Gannadius nodded. ‘That rumour’s almost certainly true,’ he said. ‘In case you’re wondering why I sound so sure, Bardas Loredan’s a friend of a friend - Patriarch Alexius, as a matter of fact. Apparently they met up during the war.’
‘That’s what I heard,’ Olybras said. ‘But beyond that, nobody knew anything; like where he went or whether there was a boy with him. And, like I just told you, there was no chance of getting through to Scona, so I made up my mind to try the next best thing and came here. And now I’m asking you: do you know anything about where Bardas Loredan’s gone? And if you don’t, what about this magic of yours, is it any good for doing useful work,
like finding people? I’ve heard stories that suggest it just might be.’ He put his cup down on the table and leant forward. ‘And before you say it, yes, I know there’s no such thing as magic, just applied philosophy. Which is why I want you to apply your philosophy and find my son. Your cousin. Or is that too much to ask, for family, when you’re already doing as much for strangers?’
‘How did you—?’ Gannadius started to say; then he leant back in his chair, feeling ill. ‘Damn you, cousin,’ he said, ‘you’re not another one, are you?’
Olybras laughed. ‘I suppose it must run in the family.’ He shook his head. ‘I have a slight ability, nothing more; I used to think it was just occasional bursts of good luck, except that didn’t fit in with the general pattern of my life. After all, it didn’t make sense; most of the time my luck is reliably lousy. I can predict with a fair degree of certainty that when I come to a crossroads in my life where things could go either way, good or bad, they’ll go bad. Except that just occasionally, I could see the crossroads, or turning-point, whatever you care to call it, I could actually see it coming, like a dream, and then if I was quick and extremely careful, I could get hold of my luck and bend it, the way you can bend steel when it’s red hot. If I got it wrong, of course, it’d snap instead. I’d try and bend it my way, but something would go wrong and I’d have made everything worse. But this dream-vision thing only happens once in a blue moon, and there doesn’t seem to be any proportion to it; it can be something really important, like a bad storm or a pirate attack, or something really trivial, like losing an anchor. I really didn’t give it much thought until I got talking one day with my ship’s cook on the White Rose. He was a City man - fascinating life he’d led, I’ll tell you about it one day when we’ve got time - and he’d been a student at the Academy for a couple of years, till he got into trouble and dropped out. He explained the basics of the Principle to me and I found out the rest for myself. But he was the one who taught me how to eavesdrop on the voices I hear in my sleep sometimes.’
