by K. J. Parker
“I thought I’d find you here,” Tzimisces said.
He really wanted to run. “Sounds like you were looking for me.”
Tzimisces shrugged. “You shouldn’t have stolen the spoons,” he said.
“What spoons?”
Tzimisces ignored him. “The man you sold them to took them straight to the Guild,” he said. “He knew he’d get a good price, in return for a description of the seller. It’s hard to imagine anything more embarrassing. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re guests in this country. The idea is to improve diplomatic relations, not cause an incident.” He paused, then sighed and pulled a more-in-sorrow face. “Next time you want spending money, come to me. Understood?”
Under the cloth, two messers. He drew strength from them. “Understood.”
“I said you wanted the money so you could go out and find a girl,” Tzimisces said. “They weren’t exactly impressed, but I thought they’d probably be able to relate to that better than if I told them the truth. You need to get a grip on yourself.”
Suidas took a long step back into middle measure. “Nobody’s perfect.” But Tzimisces only laughed. “You’d better get back inside,” he said. “Phrantzes is looking for you. He thinks you’ve deserted.”
After he’d seen Phrantzes, Suidas went in search of food. He found the remains of breakfast: a few rock-hard crusts of bread, and the untouched pickled cabbage. He opened the jar, scooped out a medium-sized dose and swallowed it without chewing.
“You’re a brave man.” He hadn’t heard Addo approaching.
“I was hungry,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Besides, it’s not so bad if you don’t chew. We ate a lot of it during the War. Well, it was that or rats, and when you’ve had a hard day, you haven’t got the time or the energy to catch rats.”
Addo had noticed the bundle on the table. He didn’t say anything about it. “I was meaning to have a word with you,” he said.
“Sure. How’s the face, by the way?”
“Stiff,” Addo replied. “But they reckon it’s starting to heal. Look, about these messer things. Will you teach me?”
For a moment, all Suidas could do was stare. “Please?” Addo said. “Only I haven’t got a clue, and I really don’t want to be caught out again like I was last night. I thought we could get hold of a couple of the things and grind off the edges so we can practise safely. You know about them, don’t you?”
Suidas hesitated, then nodded. “A bit.”
“That’s a bit more than I do. I’m guessing it’s something like single sword.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Addo nodded. “Just as well you told me, then. Well? It’d be a great help.”
“Sure.” Suidas realised he was rubbing his hands together so fiercely he was hurting himself. “I take it that means …”
“Yes,” Addo said. “Well, you’re better at longsword than me, so it sort of makes sense, doesn’t it?
He was rubbing his hands because the scar was itching. “I don’t like messers,” he said.
“I’d gathered that.” Addo was trying hard not to stare. Suidas covered as much of the scar as he could with his left thumb. “So, what d’you think?”
“Why not?” Suidas smiled, a big, deliberate grin. “I’ll tell Phrantzes to get us a couple of the bloody things. Shouldn’t be a problem. This country’s awash with them.”
Addo wasn’t looking at the bundle on the table either. Presumably he’d learned from his father how to make things invisible. Tact and tactics, a gentleman’s education.
“Have we got to?” Iseutz said.
“Yes.” Phrantzes looked very sad. “It’s expected of us. We did win the tournament, after all: three bouts to one.”
There was a grim silence. Then Addo said, “Well, it can’t be worse than having a tooth pulled. When do we …?”
“In about an hour. There’s a big crowd already.”
No kidding. The square was solid with people; a cat could have crossed it diagonally walking on their shoulders. And every single one of them seemed to be holding a picture on a stick.
“Where’s the coach?” Iseutz hissed, as they stood in the Guild doorway. “I can’t see it.”
“Me neither,” Giraut replied. “But I’m guessing it’s over there.”
He nodded towards the thin double line of Blueskins, hedging a narrow road through the crowd. They were holding their spears horizontally and pushing.
Iseutz pulled a face. “If this is how they carry on when they like us, I’d hate to be unpopular.”
Phrantzes pushed past them and took the lead. Lieutenant Totila brought up the rear. “Please,” he said, “don’t dawdle, and don’t stop to wave. Now, on three.”
He counted, and Phrantzes stepped out of the doorway, and a great noise hit them and blotted out the world. Giraut couldn’t see anything except the backs of armoured, struggling soldiers. Halfway down the road, Iseutz stopped dead. She was shaking her head and shouting, but nobody could make out a word of it. Addo caught her hand and towed her, with Giraut gently shoving against the small of her back. Suidas was trying to peer over the soldiers’ heads. He was counting.
“About even,” he said, once the coach door had shut and they could just about hear again.
“What?”
“The pictures,” he said. “We’re all more or less equally represented. Maybe just slightly more of you,” he added, grinning at Iseutz, who scowled at him.
The chaise was moving. How that was possible, Giraut couldn’t guess, until they left the square and he glanced back through the window and saw a clump of Aram Chantat horsemen forming up to follow them. So the Permians are scared of them too, he thought, and made a mental note to tell his father.
“These people are lunatics,” Iseutz said.
“Quite,” Suidas replied. “They like you best.”
She ignored him. “Can you imagine anything making people behave like that at home? It’s unthinkable.”
“They’re an emotional people,” Phrantzes said. “And fencing’s very popular.”
Iseutz scowled at him, then noticed something. “Where’s the creep?” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, the political officer. He’s not here. Where is he?”
“He’ll be rejoining us later,” Phrantzes said. “I believe he’s had to stay on in Joiauz for a meeting of some kind.”
“Yes!” Iseutz yelled, and Addo noticed she had a nice smile when she was genuinely happy. “That’s the best news I’ve heard since we left home.”
Phrantzes tried to look disapproving, but made a hash of it. “In the meantime,” he said, “Lieutenant Totila will be our liaison.”
Suidas grinned at him. “What’s a liaison?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Phrantzes admitted. “But I’m sure Totila knows. He seems a very competent young man.”
“Oh, the Blueskins are deadly competent,” Suidas said. “Trust me.”
There was an awkward silence; then Addo said, “I don’t know if anyone’s interested, but it seems that I carelessly packed a load of books in my bag from that Guild place. Of course, we’ll have to give them back,” he added quickly, glancing at Phrantzes, “when we get to the next stop, but I don’t suppose it’ll hurt if we read them first.”
Suidas laughed. “All fencing books, presumably.”
“Afraid so. Still …”
“Yes please,” Iseutz said. “Well, it’s got to be better than looking at the scenery.”
Giraut smiled. “It’s a bit bleak, isn’t it?”
“Makes the war seem even more stupid, if you ask me,” Iseutz said. “I mean, why the hell would anybody want a country like this?”
After four hours on the old Imperial road – dead straight, perfectly level, cut through the flanks of mountains and raised on vast shale and rubble causeways; magnificent, awe-inspiring and very, very dull – Giraut suggested they play a game. There was a slight pause, then Iseutz yawned ostentatiously and said,
“Go on, then”; at which point Phrantzes took out the book he’d borrowed from Addo and started to read. Suidas grinned and said, “Sure. What did you have in mind?”
“How about dogs and frogs?” Addo suggested.
“What?”
“We used to play it on long journeys when I was a kid,” Addo said. “It’s very simple. Suppose I’m the dog, I think of the title of a book or a play or something, and I say it in dog language, and you’ve got to guess what it is. So, for instance, The Return of Dolichenus would be woof woof-woof woof-woof-woof-woof. And then you’re the frog, so in frog language it’d be—”
“Let’s not play that,” Iseutz said firmly.
“How about frame of reference?” Giraut said.
Pause. “Just remind me of the basics,” Suidas said.
Giraut nodded. “Well, if I start, then of course it’s up to me to choose, but let’s say I choose quotations. I start off with a quote from early Mannerist poetry, for the sake of argument; so I say, oh, I don’t know, ‘No temple hath Persuasion save in words.’ Then you’ve all got to follow with quotes from early Mannerist poetry. But where it gets good is, suppose I lead with ‘Maxentius at the gates of Ap’Escatoy’, meaning it to be Rescensionist heroic ballads, and you come back at me with ‘The theft of the golden cockerel’, you’ve changed the frame of reference, you see, because Maxentius and the golden cockerel are both frescoes by Sisinna of Peribleptus, so I’ve got to follow with another northern impressionist fresco, when I was expecting to go with another Rescensionist ballad, and if I can’t do that, you win.” He stopped. They were looking at him. “It doesn’t have to be art and books, it can be Ivy Crown winners or rivers or whatever you like. It’s a really good game once you get into it.”
“How about lies and scandal?” Iseutz suggested. “Everybody knows that.”
“I don’t,” Giraut said.
Suidas stretched his legs out a little, taking full advantage of Tzimisces’ absence. “I know a good game,” he said. “It’s called sudden death. We used to play it in the army.”
The others looked doubtful, but Addo said, “Go on.”
“It’s pretty straightforward,” Suidas said. “You say something you’d never do, not under any circumstances. Then I think of a situation where you’d do it. Simple as that. Come on,” he added, as the others went quiet, “it’s a good laugh. And you don’t need to know the names of any rivers anywhere.”
“All right,” Giraut said suddenly. “I’ll go first, then. I would never, under any circumstances, eat my brother.”
Iseutz scowled at him. “You haven’t got a brother.”
“Fine. My father, then. Only that’s a bad example, because we don’t exactly get on.”
Suidas shook his head. “A hypothetical brother will do just fine,” he said. “Right, how about this?” He settled himself comfortably in his seat, his hands folded across his chest. “You and your entire family are travelling in a coach through the mountains. You’re miles away from anywhere, and stupidly you’ve come out without an emergency supply of food. Your coach has a smash, it’s not going anywhere. The horses run off, no chance of finding them again. In the smash, your brother is fatally injured. With his dying breath, he begs you to look after your aged mother and your crippled sister who can’t walk. What can you do? It’s five days’ walk to the nearest village. All the food you’ve got is four loaves of bread. So, you leave the bread for the women, and you set off to walk to the village for help. But you need food for yourself, or you’ll die before you get there. It’s not just your life – you couldn’t give a damn about yourself – it’s your mother and your sister who matter. You’d do anything to save them, wouldn’t you? And your brother’s dead already, and he’s made of meat.” He paused and smiled. “Well?”
There was a silence. Then Giraut said, “That’s a bit farfetched, isn’t it?”
“It’s possible,” Suidas replied. “It could happen. Well? Do I win?”
Giraut shrugged. “I guess so,” he said. “But that’s a really outlandish scenario. I mean, things like that don’t really happen.”
Suidas laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. I mean, look at us. We’re in a coach, in the mountains, miles away from anywhere. We’ve already had trouble with the coach, so you can’t say that’s unrealistic. And things like that do happen, believe me.”
“I’m not sure about this game,” Iseutz said. “It’s a bit grisly, isn’t it?”
“I’ve got one,” Addo said.
Suidas nodded to him. “Go on, then.”
“I would never,” Addo said, “under any circumstances, kill my father.”
“Oh for crying out loud,” Iseutz muttered, but Suidas ignored her. “That’s easy,” he said. “We all know who your father is. He’s a great man, right? Used to being respected. I guess things like dignity and honour mean a lot to him. So,” he went on, “he gets a really nasty disease. It’s the sort of disease you catch from getting careless in a brothel.” Addo caught his breath, but Suidas said, “Hypothetical, remember? All right. This disease leaves him crippled, he can hardly move. And everybody can tell exactly where he got it from, just by looking at him, so there’s the shame as well as everything else. The pain is agonising, and it never goes away. He can’t move, he can’t talk, he just lies there and looks up at you, and you know that what he wants is for you to end it, put him out of his misery. You love your father, you’re a good son. So, what do you do?”
“Fair enough.” Addo was looking down at his hands. “If it came to that, then I guess …”
“Of course you would,” Suidas said. “That’s the whole point of the game. The point is, there’s nothing, absolutely nothing that any of us wouldn’t do, if we had to. If you say otherwise, you’re just kidding yourself. You can talk all day about right and wrong and good and evil; all it means is you haven’t yet come up against the situation where you’ve got to do it, you haven’t any choice. I mean, it’s all garbage anyhow. At least half the story’s always the reason why you do something. You can give me a whole string of things that normally you’d say were the most appalling crimes, and then I’ll give you cases where they’re not only justified, they’re absolutely the right thing to do. Well?”
“All right,” Iseutz snapped. “How about this? I would never, under any circumstances, betray my friends to the enemy.”
Suidas laughed. “Chestnuts,” he said. “How about this? You’re a rebel, in a rebel army. The government soldiers catch you. They go to a village and they line up all the women and children in front of a great big pit, and they say to you: give us your friends’ names, or we kill the villagers. There’s about a hundred of them. What do you do?”
Iseutz shook her head. “I keep quiet.”
“What?” Suidas stared at her. “You’d let them kill a hundred civilians.”
“Yes,” Iseutz said.
“But that’s …”
“It’s not me killing them,” Iseutz said, “it’s the soldiers. I’m not responsible for their crimes. Besides, they’d probably kill them anyhow, for kicks. But just because they’re evil, it doesn’t mean I have to be evil too.”
Suidas scowled at her. “Tell her she’s wrong,” he said. “Go on, tell her.”
“They agree with me,” Iseutz said. “Obviously.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Giraut muttered. “Still, she’s got a point. What other people do can’t be your fault. Can it?”
“You should know.”
Giraut breathed in sharply, but didn’t move. Addo’s eyes opened wide. Iseutz said, “What did you say?” Phrantzes ostentatiously turned a page of his book.
“Well in my case,” Giraut said mildly, “yes it can, obviously. If you’re talking about the Senator I killed, I mean. I provoked him.”
Suidas nodded. “So you should’ve held still and let him kill you.”
“Arguably,” Giraut said.
“But that would’ve been wrong. He was taking the law into his own hands. He sh
ould have called the Watch, not drawn on you.”
“So you’re saying a man who doesn’t fight back is aiding and abetting his own murder,” Addo said gently. “That’s an interesting point of view.”
Iseutz laughed. Giraut shook his head. “It was just a mess, that’s all. My instincts took over. I guess his did as well. I don’t think either of us made any rational decisions.”
“We should’ve played lies and scandal,” Iseutz said. “This is a stupid game.”
“Well,” Addo said, “we’ve all had a turn. Maybe you’d like to have a go.”
Suidas shrugged. “If you like.” He thought for a moment, then said, “You know, I can’t. Sorry, but I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t do. If I had to.”
“You’re not trying,” Giraut growled at him.
“Well, all right then. I would never, under any circumstances, kill myself. Or neglect a chance, however slight, to save my own life in the event of it being threatened. There,” he added, “how’s that?”
Iseutz gave him a scornful look. “Fine,” she said. “You’re dying of a really loathsome disease—”
“In the war,” Suidas said, “I caught mountain fever. It’s a form of dysentery, with the most appalling stomach cramps, like you simply can’t believe. It’s almost always fatal. My unit was being hounded by the Aram Chantat; they had to leave me behind. I lay beside the road for three days. I had a knife. I thought about it. I thought about very little else for three days. I’m still here. Because once you’re dead, well, that’s it, everything’s over. So I kept telling myself, I’ll wait another hour, just till the sun passes over that rock, and then I’ll do it. And then I put it off another half-hour, and then another twenty minutes. The middle of the third night, I realised it wasn’t quite so bad as it had been.” He clicked his tongue. “I didn’t cure myself, I was just lucky. I didn’t win or anything, but I didn’t throw the match, either. I reckoned, the fever’s doing a pretty good job of killing me, damned if it needs any help.”