Alexander at the Worlds End Tom Holt

by Alexander at the World's End (lit)

  ‘it’s not like we actually put the poison in the honey our­selves. It’s

  naturally poisonous. Really, it’s just a tragic accident, this tainted stuff

  getting in with the good stuff. It’s like when the Thracian cavalry got the

  shipment of tainted wheat. There was no way anybody could know just by looking

  at it.’

  He grabbed my arm. ‘We know,’ he said.

  ‘Nobody can prove that,’ I pointed out.

  He stared at me. ‘We know,’ he repeated.

  I looked into his eyes until I had to look away. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Look,

  this can’t be the only register, it’s just a stock list, tells ‘em how much of

  everything they’ve got at any one time. There’s got to be another one somewhere

  that says who’s been issued with what. You know, the one we have to seal when we

  draw stuff.’

  Peitho thought for a moment. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t seem to be here,

  though. Well, of course,’ he went on, ‘they wouldn’t keep it here, would they?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said.

  ‘Think about it. All that sort of thing’s got to go through to the

  Quartermaster’s office. I’ll bet you what happens is that each set of stores

  hands in their returns to the QM’s clerks every night, so they can keep the

  tally up to date. That’s where those tablets’ll be,’ he went on, ‘in the

  Quartermaster’s office.’

  I sat down on a barrel. ‘Fantastic,’ I said. ‘That’s that, then.’

  He sat down beside me. ‘Not necessarily,’ he said. ‘We’re looking at this the

  wrong way, you know.’

  I looked up. ‘We are?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said, with a decisive nod. ‘We’re looking at it from the point of

  view of two evil bastards who’ve managed to lose a jar of poison they were

  planning to kill people with. That’s not how it is at all.’

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘How it is really,’ he said, ‘is, we — or rather you, you’re the one who knows

  all about fucking bees - you have reason to suspect, because of something you’ve

  heard just now, you have reason to suspect that the latest batch of honey might

  be tainted. Maybe even dangerous, so, being a responsible and conscientious

  officer, you’re going to dump the whole consignment, just to be on the safe

  side.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Well, it’s what anybody would do.’

  ‘All right, then. Imagine your dismay when you find that one of these jars has

  somehow already been issued—’

  ‘Issued out of turn,’ I pointed out. ‘Against regulations.’

  ‘Quite. Some clerk’s going to get his arse kicked for that, if there’s any

  justice.’

  ‘Heads will roll,’ I agreed. ‘A mistake like that could have cost hundred of

  lives.’

  Peitho looked up. ‘Still might,’ he said. ‘Come on, you’d better get yourself

  over to the Quartermaster’s, quick as you can.’

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Why me?’ I added. ‘You’re coming too.’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing to do with me,’ he replied. ‘You’re the fucking bee

  supremo. How would I have got involved?’

  I sighed. He had a point there. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll meet you back at your

  tent when I’m done.’

  ‘Better not,’ he said. ‘Just in case. I mean to say,’ he explained, ‘if

  something has gone wrong and half the camp’s dead already, I think I’d rather

  not be associated with you just now. You do see, don’t you?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ I said.

  ‘Logic,’ he replied.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  A nd that, dear brother, is how I came to be a hero of the war, a man who saved

  the lives of hundreds of his comrades. As some­one pointed out to me, on a

  strictly arithmetical basis, number of lives saved, I was among the top five

  great and glorious heroes of the war, because most of the jokers who got awarded

  the laurel crown and the desirable giftware for saving lives only saved one or

  two, or at the most five or six, in some battle or other. True, they risked

  their lives, got themselves carved up, whatever; but if you go by end result

  rather than circumstances surrounding the act of heroism in ques­tion, they were

  nowhere compared with me.

  The reason why I was such a great and glorious hero was that if I hadn’t raised

  the alarm, that jar of deadly poison would have gone in the wine for drinking

  the Queen Mother’s health on her birthday, and the consequences of that would’ve

  been drastic, to say the least. Hundreds, in fact, is quite definitely an

  understatement. Make that thousands.

  So great and glorious a hero was i, in fact, that it wasn’t enough for me just

  to get my laurel crown and desirable giftware from my superior officer (a man by

  the name of Diades, Chief Engineer; nice enough man in his way); no, I was to

  receive my rewards and honours from the hand of Alexander himself— ‘Perfect,’

  Peitho said, when I told him.

  I frowned. ‘Actually,’ I replied. ‘I’d rather there wasn’t any fuss at all. In

  fact, the sooner the whole thing’s forgotten about—’

  ‘I’m not talking about your stupid fucking laurel crown,’ Peitho said testily.

  ‘I’m talking about killing Alexander. You do remember, don’t you? Our plot to

  assassinate the King of Macedon?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I said.

  ‘Gods, are you dumb or what? Here’s a golden opportunity, handed to us on a

  plate by some god who loves us— I was shocked. ‘You’re not suggesting I kill him

  while he’s giving me my award?’ I said.

  He looked puzzled. ‘Why the hell not?’ he said.

  ‘Well...’ Unusually for me, I found I had trouble putting my thoughts into

  words. ‘It wouldn’t be right,’ I said. ‘Not when he’s being so—’

  ‘Nice?’

  ‘Well, for want of a better word, yes.’

  Peitho stared at me as if I’d just sprouted wings out of my ears. ‘I don’t

  believe it,’ he said. ‘A bunch of dried leaves and a three-obol tripod, and you

  go from being the man who was prepared to wipe out a whole generation of

  Macedonian aristocracy in one hit to some sort of Ideal Soldier. Dear gods,

  Eudaemon, if this wasn’t so bloody serious I’d wet myself laughing.’

  He was starting to annoy me. ‘It’s nothing to do with the damned crown,’ I said.

  ‘And yes, I still believe Alexander’s got to go. I’m really behind that, every

  step of the way. I just can’t see how I’m going to murder him face to face like

  that.’

  ‘Why not? Afraid of hurting his feelings?’

  I kicked over a stool. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘you tell me. There I am in his

  tent. When do I stick him with the knife? Before he hands me the laurel crown or

  after? I know; it’s his mother’s birthday, he might offer me a drink to toast

  her health. I could slash his throat out while he’s pouring me a cup of wine

  with his own hands. Or should I wait till he’s turned his back to pick up the

  tripod he’s going to give me?’

  Peitho shook his head. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘it’s a bit cold-blooded. That’s

  how it goes. I’m afraid there just isn’t a polite way to murder someone.’
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br />   I folded my arms and looked away. ‘Besides,’ I said, ‘if I killed him there and

  then, I’d never get out of there alive. What makes you think we’ll be alone in

  the tent, for one thing? He’s never alone. These days, when he goes for a crap

  behind the mess tent, there’s half a dozen ambassadors with him, not to mention

  the duty philosopher.’

  ‘All right,’ Peitho said, ‘you may have to take out a bystander. Big deal.

  You’re a soldier, that’s what soldiers do. They kill people.’

  I shook my head. ‘This is getting worse and worse,’ I said. ‘And even if I do

  succeed in killing Alexander, and six assorted staff officers, what then?

  Standing over the bodies with a dirty great knife in my hand, it’s not the sort

  of thing you can bluff your way out of.’

  Peitho thought for a moment. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You’re in there, getting

  your award for being a great hero. While you’re there, some clerk or adjutant

  goes berserk and kills the King. You’re too late to stop him, but at least you

  manage to wrestle the knife out of his hand and cut him down before he manages

  to escape. Who knows?’ Peitho added sourly, ‘Maybe they’ll give you another

  laurel crown for that.’

  ‘Nobody’s going to believe it,’ I said. ‘I’d be committing suicide, and you know

  it.’

  He glowered at me. ‘You’re the one who’s so desperate to be a hero,’ he said.

  ‘Why not be a real one instead of a bloody fraud?’

  ‘I resent that,’ I said. ‘And you’re beginning to get on my nerves.’

  ‘So?’

  I could see that things were getting out of hand. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘it isn’t

  helping matters us being at each other’s throats. At this rate we’ll end up

  killing each other before we so much as lay a finger on Alexander. Just accept

  it, I’m not going to kill him when I go to get my award.’

  ‘Fine. A wonderful opportunity wasted.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ I said patiently. ‘What I can do while I’m talking to him is

  to try and set up a real opportunity. One that won’t get me killed.’

  Peitho heaved a long sigh. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘let’s hear it.’

  ‘Try this,’ I said, leaning forward. ‘While he’s giving me the crown I whisper

  to him that I’ve got to see him alone. Urgently.’

  ‘You going to give any explanation? Or just rely on your silver tongue?’

  I marshalled my thoughts. ‘I’ll tell him I know all about a plot against his

  life,’ I said. ‘That’ll do the trick. He’s always ready to listen to stuff like

  that. Imagines plots and conspiracies everywhere, he does.

  ‘What, like ours, you mean?’

  I ignored that. ‘Then,’ I said, ‘when we’ve got him on his own, with no guards

  or adjutants or hangers-on, no witnesses — That’s how you do these things, must

  be. Careful planning. Thinking about it first. Not like that crazy bastard who

  assassinated King Philip.’

  Peitho didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘All right,’ he admitted, eventually.

  ‘I can see the logic. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Best of luck. You’ll need it.’

  ‘I’ve always hated it when people say that.’

  I never could be doing with polishing armour; oil and sand and a little twist of

  rag, round and round till your wrists ache. It all seems so pointless, somehow;

  the plain fact is, bronze isn’t meant to be all golden and shiny, its natural

  state is that sort of dull, rich brown, like oxtail soup. The patina is nature’s

  defence against verdigris and corrosion; scour it off and there’s nothing

  between the bare metal and the malice of nature.

  Still, I polished up my armour, and the rest of my gear, till I looked like one

  of those rich-kid soldiers who have five slaves employed full-time bulling kit.

  Don’t know why; perhaps I thought that Alexander would be more likely to trust a

  well-turned-out soldier than a scruffy one, or maybe I just needed to keep

  myself busy while I waited for my interview.

  Wasn’t the first time I’d been in The Presence, face to face —well, you know

  that, because I’ve told you. But I knew as soon as I put my head under the

  tent-flap that something was drastically different.

  For one thing, the tent was next best thing to empty. I remembered thinking, the

  last time, how the great man’s quarters were only just on the tidy side of

  cluttered — everywhere you looked there were things, bits and pieces he’d

  acquired in the course of his great adven­ture — the Shield of Achilles he’d

  pinched from the priests at Troy, for example, the severed ends of the Gordian

  Knot, the swords of mighty Persian warriors he’d slain in hand-to-hand combat,

  gifts of rare and precious tableware from kings and governors, relics (he was a

  sucker for those; shinbones of giants, genuine dragons’ teeth in a little jar,

  Hercules’ toothpick, Perseus’ left sandal, Theseus’ toenail-clippings, you name

  it, some toerag had palmed it off on Alexander of Macedon). Now there was

  nothing but a bed, a big wooden box the size of a coffin, and a single

  service-issue folding stool.

  And Himself, of course. He was sitting on the bed, staring blankly into space,

  his mouth slightly open. He stayed that way for about as much time as it’d take

  to count to forty.

  ‘Eudaemon,’ he said, eventually, without turning his head. ‘Euxenus’ brother.

  Come in, sit down.’

  You know that feeling you get when you know something’s badly wrong? I had that

  feeling. Hey, do you remember that old man who lived up near Acharnae, the one

  whose house we went to when we were lost up that way one time? Yes, of course

  you do; seemed quite normal, till he pulled out that trunk from under his bed

  and in it was his dead wife. I expect you remember how he insisted on

  introducing us, like she was still alive. Well, it was that kind of creepy,

  I-want-to-get-out-of-here-now feeling. Can’t say why I felt like that, exactly;

  maybe it was just the sight of that big wooden box that brought back the old

  memory. Gods only know what he’d got in there. His clean clothes, probably.

  Well, I sat down, perched on that folding stool like a pigeon on a thin branch,

  and waited. He was still staring into space. Carried on doing that for a very

  long time, until one of the men who’d brought me in, can’t remember who it was

  but it was one of the inner circle, made a sort of coughing noise and said,

  ‘Alexander.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ he replied, still staring into thin air. ‘All right, dis­missed.’

  I could tell the man didn’t want to go, but he couldn’t very well disobey an

  order. A moment later, there was just me and Alexander. I’ll be straight with

  you, Euxenus, I was scared. Well, you know I’ve never liked creepy stuff.

  ‘They tell me you’ve done a very great thing,’ he said, ‘saved the lives of your

  fellow soldiers. That’s good.’

  I didn’t say anything. Didn’t seem like I was expected to say any­thing. I just

  sat there.

  ‘It’s a good feeling,’ he went on. ‘I think I’m supposed to give you something

  now.’ He turned his head and looked me straight in the eye. ‘Do you think he

  knew?�
�� he asked.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Oh, never mind. I expect he did. A man like him, he’d have seen it. Doesn’t

  matter. You’re very fortunate, you know. We’ve both been very fortunate, to have

  known him. Still, you’d have thought he’d have mentioned it. Unless he was

  supposed not to, of course.’ He smiled at me. ‘It’s been hard for me, you know,

  coming to terms with it. If he’d said something, just given me some sort of a

  clue, maybe I’d have been able to cope with it a little better. Anyway,’ he

  said, ‘that’s enough of that, where’s that crown thing I’ve got to give you?’ He

  looked around. ‘Doesn’t seem to be here. Would you be terribly disappointed if

  we forgot about that? After all, it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?’

  I nodded stiffly. I knew I had to do my bit now, the speech about the conspiracy

  I’d so carefully worked out; but all I wanted to do was get the hell out of

  there. ‘Alexander,’ I said, ‘there’s something I have to tell you. It’s really

  important.’

  He looked up at me. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Go on.’

  I looked round, the way I’d practised. ‘I need to tell you when we’re alone.’

  ‘We are alone,’ he pointed out. ‘Fire away.’

  I remember one time when I was a kid and I’d scrambled up into that old apple

  tree in the top corner of the big field at Pallene. There was a big fat apple

  all on its own right at the end of a long, thinnish branch, and I’d set my heart

  on that apple. I remember the feeling of utter disgust when suddenly I wasn’t in

  the tree any more, I was on the ground with a broken branch between my legs and

  my head feeling like someone’d just belted it with a big smith’s hammer.

  ‘Go on,’ he said.

  I looked round again. I suppose I was trying to create the impres­sion that even

  though we seemed to be alone, there were hidden listeners hiding everywhere.

  Hiding behind what, gods know, since the place looked like it had just been

  raided by the bailiffs.

  ‘It’s a conspiracy, isn’t it?’ he said.

  It felt just like being punched very hard in the pit of the stomach; dizzy,

  frightened, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Just sat there.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he went on. ‘I know. I know all about it.’ And he smiled.