The Two of Swords: Part 6

by K. J. Parker

  “Anything?” she asked quietly.

  He didn’t smile. “You’re quite right,” he said. “Killing my brother is the most important thing, assuming he’s not dead already. To that end I’ve sent tens, hundreds, of thousands of good men to their deaths, and I did it because it had to be done. But every single death was one too many, and I’m damned if there’s going to be any more, if I can possibly help it. Compared to them, I’m afraid you just don’t signify. I’m sorry,” he added, “really. But that’s how it is.”

  She looked at him. “All right,” she said. “I believe you. You’re cruel and nasty and you’re prepared to hurt me. So, what do you want to know?”

  He breathed in slow and deep, out again the same way. “Oida isn’t just the go-between,” he said. “He works for the lodge. Is that right?”

  “Yes.” He noticed her hands were quite still and relaxed under the table. “Yes, Oida’s first loyalty is to the lodge. As is mine.”

  “What does he do for them?”

  “What he’s told,” she replied. “It’s what we all do.”

  Senza nodded. “Who does the telling?”

  “I don’t know.” She lifted her head and looked at him. “That’s the truth, and if you know anything about the lodge, you’ll know it is. The lodge has a long and complicated chain of command, and at the top end you only know your immediate superior. You don’t know who’s above that, or who the real leaders are. Oida answers to someone, I honestly don’t know who. That someone answers to someone else. Maybe there’s a level above that, I really couldn’t say. It’s how we run things.”

  “All right,” Senza said. “I don’t suppose it matters all that much, in real terms. What’s more important is, what does the lodge want? What’s it trying to do?”

  He watched her face, but could see nothing he recognised. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s the lodge. We have faith. We do as we’re told.”

  “I really am very sorry,” he said. Then he clapped his hands, and the soldiers came back. He nodded, and they took her by the arms and raised her to her feet. “I’m inclined to believe you,” he said, “but that’s not good enough, I have to know. All right,” he said to the soldiers, and they led her away. He didn’t watch to see if she turned back to look at him.

  Later, he went to see her in the cells under the guardhouse. It was bright sunlight outside and dark in the cell, and it took his eyes a while to get used to the contrast.

  “They broke your arm,” he said.

  “Yes.” She was sitting on the floor with her back to the wall, cradling it in her lap.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Of course you are.”

  He didn’t want to look at her, but he felt he had to. “You didn’t tell them anything.”

  “No.”

  His mouth felt dry. “The chief examiner says he can’t be sure you’re not holding something back. He’s very experienced in these matters.”

  “I’d sort of gathered that.”

  “He thinks he should try again, just in case. Better safe than sorry, was what he said.”

  She closed her eyes. “I can see his point,” she said quietly. “After all, it’s his reputation at stake.”

  He swallowed. It wasn’t easy to do. “Are you sure there’s nothing you can tell me?”

  Just the ghost of a grin. “I wish there was, believe me. But unfortunately there isn’t.”

  He nodded. “There’s a very good surgeon here,” he said. “He’ll be able to save the arm, I’m sure of it. He patched me up once when I was in a hell of a mess.”

  “That’s a comfort,” she said.

  “I’m sorry.” He turned away and spoke to the wall. “I just wanted you to know, I understand what it’s like.”

  She looked at him as though he was stupid. “No, you don’t.”

  “I had a broken leg once. My men took it in turns to carry me. It was four days before we got to the outpost. It hurt like hell and by the time we got there I was hoarse from screaming.” He looked back at her. For some reason, he was angry. “Does that count?”

  “No,” she said. “No, it doesn’t.”

  Of course it didn’t. Now she’d made him feel ridiculous. All wrong; he was supposed to be torturing her, not the other way round. “You knew the risks,” he said. “When you joined.”

  “What the hell has that got to do with anything?”

  Nothing at all. “I’ll send the surgeon to set your arm.”

  “You can if you like. A bit pointless, though, don’t you think? If they’re going to break the other one tomorrow. Or will it be tonight? Or were you going to do a leg next?”

  “Please yourself,” he said.

  “Am I being ungrateful?” she said. “Stupid ungrateful bitch. Not a very attractive quality in a woman. Mind you, neither is an arm the wrong way round.” And then she laughed. “You look so stupid when you’re embarrassed,” she said. “Practically half-witted. Please go away now, it hurts when I laugh.”

  He banged on the door. The jailer took a long time, and for just a moment he was afraid he’d be stuck there, locked in, with her, indefinitely. The bright light outside hurt his eyes. He went and found the chief examiner. “Are you sure?” he said.

  The examiner was eating bread and cheese; he’d worked through and missed lunch. “It’s not a precise business,” he said mildly. “In my professional opinion—”

  “Yes?”

  He pursed his lips. “Probably she’s not got anything to tell us, but it could be she’s really strong and clever, it’s still too early for me to say. That’s why I recommended—”

  “I think we’ll leave it at that,” Senza said.

  The examiner shrugged a little. “As you wish,” he said. “It’s your decision, after all.”

  Then he went and found the surgeon. “Please do the best you can,” he said.

  The surgeon gave him a mild glare; you mean, as opposed to the careless, couldn’t-give-a-damn job I usually do, he didn’t say. “Of course,” he said. “Have they finished with her, by the way? Only if she’s got more coming, I’ll need to brace the splint pretty damn tight. The convulsions—”

  “All finished,” Senza said quickly. “And get her moved somewhere decent.”

  He climbed the tower and sat alone on the watchman’s seat for a while, but this time it didn’t help. All wrong. He couldn’t help wondering what Forza would have done if he’d got his hands on Lysao – cradling a broken arm in the dark, but she’d never have fought back, and she too would have nothing to buy her release with. Not that Forza would have minded too much about that—

  Could he really be dead? If so, that would change everything. Everything, and it’d be over. No need for any more of this. No more anything.

  That summer in the country; before – well, before. Forza on the white pony, his legs so long his feet trailed furrows in the tall, wet grass. They’d shot – Forza had shot – a hare, sixty yards (they’d paced it out), and they took it home, and Father laughed and let them both have a quarter of a glass of wine, even though they were far too young; it had tasted foul, but he’d swallowed it because it was a reward, it was actually drinking victory (and how bad it had tasted, and how it had burned inside him), and how Father had told Forza that since he’d shot the hare it was up to him to gut and skin it; but Forza was squeamish, he hated that sort of thing, so when Father wasn’t looking, Senza did it for him; and later, when they were alone, Forza had actually said, Thanks (out loud); and he remembered thinking: come what may, for as long as we live, I know Forza will always be on my side, and I on his, right or wrong, no matter what, and isn’t it a great thing to have the most wonderful brother in the world?

  “You again,” she said.

  He sat down on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

  “You really want to know?”

  Pain is not becoming. It had made her face thin, and she had a washed-out look that brought out the pallor of her complexion; she looked like parchment,
you could write on her— “No. No, I don’t think so.”

  She nodded. “So now you believe me.”

  He looked at her. You have to be able to read people if you intend to command armies. “No,” he said.

  Not what she’d been expecting to hear. “Is that right.”

  “Indeed. You may congratulate yourself. You beat Senza Belot.” He reached into the leather satchel he’d brought with him and took out a small wicker basket. He lifted the lid. “Honeycakes,” he said, “with almonds. Your favourite.”

  She looked at them as though she’d never seen anything quite like them before. “I’m surprised she left you,” she said.

  Not what he’d been expecting to hear. “What?”

  “Your Lysao,” she said. “A man who’s considerate, who finds out what you like. Women go for that sort of thing, you know.”

  He laughed. “That’s just attention to detail,” he said. “Which wins wars, but—”

  “And who’s prepared to admit he was wrong.”

  He shook his head. “I wasn’t wrong, though. At least, the chief examiner wasn’t, and I trust his judgement. And anyway, she wasn’t like that.”

  “Oh?”

  He frowned. “She hated it when I pulled stunts like that,” he said. “She said I only knew what her favourite cakes and flowers were because I had spies watching her every minute of the day, snooping round asking questions; she said it was horrible, creepy.” He made a very slight gesture with his fingertips. “I can see her point.”

  “And who considers the woman’s point of view,” she said. “Why did she leave you, out of interest? Come on, I’ve told you things. Now it’s your turn.”

  He looked at her. “Sorry,” he said. “You’ll have to break my arm first.”

  She looked right back. “Some day, maybe. Was it something you did?”

  He shifted a little. “Several times you referred to Forza in the past tense,” he said. “I tried not to react, because I assumed you were doing it on purpose to see how I took it.” He paused for a moment; it was almost as if he was trying to decide something. “Do you know if he’s alive or dead? Please,” he added.

  “I don’t think I like it when you say please,” she said. “Bad things tend to follow. But, yes, I know.”

  He nodded. “All right,” he said. “How about a trade? You answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.” She opened her mouth, but didn’t speak. He went on: “Someone once told me the key to negotiating is to give the other fellow something he actually wants – something you don’t want, preferably, but, like everything, it’s a question of proportion. Is my answer worth enough to you to buy your answer? Well?”

  She smiled at him. “You’re a clever man,” she said. “If you’d used your brains earlier, you might have spared me all this.” She lifted the splinted arm just a little. “By the way, no, it isn’t.”

  “Ah.”

  “Because you’d be getting two answers for the price of one,” she said.

  He touched his forehead with his middle finger, then lifted it off with a slight flourish; the fencer’s acknowledgement of a true hit. “You’re slightly too old and not quite pretty enough,” he said, “for which I am profoundly grateful.”

  “Ah.” She gave him a grave stare. “My grandmother had an expression: she’s prettier than she looks. That’s me. Also, you’re not exactly catching me at my best.”

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t ever love a woman who was stronger than me,” he said. “That’s why she was perfect, of course. I don’t know how much you know about these things – quite a lot, I should imagine – but there’s a type of armour that’s actually designed to crumple when it gets hit; it absorbs the strength of the blow and stops it churning your insides into dog food. In other words, it succeeds by failing, it’s strong through weakness. That’s her. You’d never think of hitting her, because if you did, she’d have won. So, we never fought.” He stopped. “Well done,” he said. “You got that for free.”

  She shrugged. “You gave it away as bait,” she said. “Show an opening, invite an attack.”

  “Indeed.” He smiled. “Would you like to come and work for me? I’ll give you command of a regiment.”

  With her good hand she moved a few strands of hair away from her face. “The hell with it,” she said, “you’re too sweet to lie to. I’m sorry, I don’t know if Forza is still alive or not. Nobody seems to know, not even Oida and his friends. So I can’t play, because I haven’t got any stake money. There,” she went on, “you got that for nothing, so we’re even.”

  He leaned back a little and folded his hands; it was a little-boy gesture, which he usually avoided. “She left me for another man,” he said. “I think. I don’t actually know. And who he is I have no idea.”

  Her eyes widened a little. “I don’t know this game,” she said. “How do you play?”

  “Easy. We give each other something for nothing. Whoever gets what he or she wants is the winner. I think,” he said gently, “it’s your turn.”

  She was looking at him as though he was a badly written letter; she could make out some of the words, but not quite enough. “What I told you about the lodge is basically true,” she said. “Oida answers to someone, I don’t know who. That someone has a superior, but Oida doesn’t know who he is, or whether he’s the top man or not.”

  Senza frowned. “You already gave me that.”

  “Yes, but this time it’s true.”

  That made him laugh. “All right,” he said. “My other question is, what does the lodge want?” He paused, then went on: “How much will that cost me?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry,” she said. “You can’t afford it.” She was reading his face again. “Does that mean I get my toes crushed in a vice or something?”

  The thought had just crossed his mind. “No,” he said, “that counts as cheating.” Suddenly, without quite knowing why, he stood up. “I fold,” he said. “You win. And now it’s your moral duty to have grandchildren, so you can tell them: I made Senza Belot admit defeat, twice. Thank you for your time.”

  “My pleasure,” she said. “Do stop by again if you have a moment. We could play chess.”

  Senza smiled at her. “Not bloody likely,” he said.

  Later, he thought about the celebrated battle of Cereinto, the largest and bloodiest engagement of the Third Solantine War. The Federalists, under Marshal Aistu, were determined to stop the Loyalists, under General Lios, from reaching Astapaloeia. The Loyalists were desperate to get past Aistu’s army and reach the port of Pesymon before the autumn storms cut off all further supplies from home. After a slogging match that lasted from just after dawn until mid-afternoon, General Lios’ heavy dragoons finally burst through Aistu’s pikemen and opened a gap through which nearly the whole of his surviving army was able to pass. The result was that Cereinto was saved and the Loyalists entered Pesymon just as the supply ships were sighted in the bay. Both sides, quite justifiably, claimed a glorious victory, and Cereinto was taught in military academies right across the empire as a classic example of a battle won by both sides, until Acobius, in his commentaries on Aistu’s History of the War, pointed out that Cereinto only happened because both commanders had completely misread the other’s intentions, and the same results would have been achieved, and without the loss of eleven thousand lives, had the battle never taken place at all.

  So, Senza told himself as he walked up the steep spiral staircase to the top of the gatehouse tower, the best battle is the one that doesn’t happen; instead, we negotiate, we trade, we give and take. Unfortunately, in the real world, certain formalities tend to supervene: abductions, broken arms. Only when all the clutter is out of the way can the real business be done.

  Bullshit, he thought. But Forza would have stayed and watched.

  Alone on the turret, he watched the sun set. He tried to project the tactical grid into the blue darkness, but he couldn’t see the lines. It was almost impossible to avoid the conclusion that
Oida, Oida’s friends, the lodge, wanted him to win; whether or not Forza was dead, they had more or less given him Forza’s apparently leaderless and shambling army, wandering lost in the wilderness, trying to limp home like a wounded animal. Furthermore, they’d sought to bribe him to accept this amazingly generous gift by telling him where Lysao was.

  All right; take it at face value, just for a moment. Why now? Because of Blemya and the mad prophet; a million fanatical nomads unleashed on the civilised world, and only the best soldier alive can stop them, save countless lives, preserve the true Faith from extinction. Forza is dead; or Forza is, in the opinion of the competent experts of the lodge, not quite as good as his brother. It was plausible. You’d probably forgive a young second lieutenant on his first tour of duty for believing it.

  Oida answers to someone. That someone answers to someone else. Above that, nobody knows, and that’s how it works. That he was prepared to believe; practically an antidote to politics, a magnificent idea, where applicable. But what did the lodge want? Either she didn’t know or, more likely, she was prepared to risk the torture chamber rather than tell him. But that was crazy. The lodge wasn’t just half a dozen old men in a chapter house; it was huge, vast, the biggest open secret in history. You can’t have an organisation to which ten per cent of the population of the empire belongs, and where only three or four men know what it’s actually for.

  He caught his breath. He was suddenly aware of all the soft, ambiguous noises of the twilight: animals, birds, the wind slapping the stays of the flag against the flagpole. Couldn’t you, though; couldn’t that be exactly what the lodge really was? Imagine – purely for argument’s sake – that in a thousand years’ time the empire has fallen and sun-worshipping savages pasture their sheep on what was once the Forum of the Tribunes. Look east from the Forum, and you’ll see the ruins of the Great Baths. Go inside, and there you’ll see shepherds watering their flocks from the natural mineral springs. Ask them about this place, these twelve-foot-thick walls, the shattered shell of the Great Dome; probably they’ll tell you that once upon a time there were giants, and that they built it to water their sheep, which stood fifteen feet high at the shoulder and drank a hundred gallons each a day. That was why the arches were so high and the floors were paved with slabs of basalt, because otherwise the sheer weight of the sheep would have cracked the paving.