Sharps

by K. J. Parker

  “Would you like me to tell you his name?”

  When Tzimisces came out, he looked straight at Phrantzes. “You next,” he said.

  “Is he all right?” Phrantzes asked. “I wouldn’t want to bother him if he needs to rest.”

  “That’s fine,” Tzimisces said. “He’d like to see you.”

  Phrantzes stood up. In his pocket was a folding knife, a special sort the Permians made that you couldn’t get in Scheria. When you opened it, a little spring locked the blade, until you pulled on a ring to release it. You could cut, or stab, quite hard, and the knife wouldn’t fold up and cut your fingers. He’d seen a clerk sharpening a pen with it, and the clerk was a fencing fan and had heard all about the big match. “I’ll go on in, then,” he said.

  Suidas was sitting up in bed. “Phrantzes,” he said. “I gather you had a pretty rough time.”

  Phrantzes nodded. “I’m too old,” he said.

  “You won, didn’t you? That’s what counts.”

  “Well, I’m still alive.” He took a step closer, like a man in a crowd pushed up against a barrier. “How are you feeling?”

  “Tired,” Suidas replied. “I just had Tzimisces in here. He’s hard work.”

  “You ought to get some sleep,” Phrantzes said.

  “I’d like to,” Suidas said, “but I can’t seem to get comfortable. I think the pillows are too soft.”

  Phrantzes laughed. “Well, if you’ve been used to sleeping rough for a while, I guess they probably are.” He took a step forward, through the invisible barrier, into close measure. “Here, let me see what I can do with them.” He advanced, beside the bed, level with Suidas’ head. There were two pillows. He lifted one off. “Lie back,” he said. “There, that’s better. The doctor says …”

  “I know,” Suidas said. “But I’m not holding my breath.”

  Gently, almost tenderly, Phrantzes put his left hand on Suidas’ head and pushed it back on to the pillow. “How long did they say you were on the table? Six hours? That must’ve been hell.”

  “It wouldn’t have been so bad if the doctor hadn’t been a fencing nut. But he wanted to hear all about the fight at Joiauz, every detail. Well, there wasn’t that much to tell, so I had to make stuff up.” He yawned. “That Tzimisces,” he said. “I’ll be so glad to see the back of him.”

  “Close your eyes,” Phrantzes said. “Get some rest.”

  Suidas did as he was told. As soon as his eyes were shut, Phrantzes lifted the pillow in his right hand, dropped it on Suidas’ face and lunged forward, laying his chest and forearms on it, crushing it down into Suidas’ nose and mouth. Suidas’ back arched; he kicked away from the bed, lashed out with his left hand, caught Phrantzes’ chin in his cupped palm and pushed him on to the floor. Then he scrambled off the bed. By that time, Phrantzes had found his feet and opened the folding knife. Suidas kicked it out of his hand, and smacked Phrantzes in the mouth with his elbow. Phrantzes tottered, tripped over his own feet and sat down hard on the floor.

  “Well?” Suidas said, catching his breath. “Finished, or do you want to try again?”

  Frantically Phrantzes looked round for the knife. It was in Suidas’ left hand. He was folding away the blade, holding the ring in his teeth. He closed it up and threw it to Phrantzes, who tried to catch it and failed. It bounced off the tiled floor and vanished under the bed.

  “Forget it,” Suidas said.

  Phrantzes looked at him. “I …”

  “I said,” Suidas repeated firmly, “forget it.” He breathed out, long and slow and even; then he climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over his legs with his left hand. “I figured as much,” he said. “You’re a pretty good fencer, but you can’t fight worth spit. Definitely not up to killing anybody.” He laughed. “Not that that’s a bad thing,” he said. “One thing my life’s taught me, fighting’s a fairly useless way to communicate.” He paused for a moment. Phrantzes was perfectly still, frozen with shock. “Killing’s even worse,” he went on. “But you couldn’t kill me, even if you wanted to. And I don’t really think you do.” He was holding his right wrist in his left hand, keeping it away from his chest. “Tzimisces told me,” he said.

  “He told you.”

  “That’s right.” Suidas flattened his shoulders against the bed. “I think it was meant to be a sort of reward, for being good. Long story, you really don’t want to know. He told me it was you who put the supply column I was with in harm’s way, in the War.” He shifted his head slightly. “Did you know?” he asked. “Before you joined up for this trip?”

  “He told you.”

  “Yes. Presumably, the threat was, if you don’t do as you’re told …”

  “I did everything that was asked of me,” Phrantzes said. “Which wasn’t much,” he added bitterly. “For all the good I’ve done, I might as well not have come. They didn’t need me.”

  Suidas laughed. “From what I gather, this whole trip’s been a bit of a disappointment. Or it would’ve been, if it hadn’t been for young Addo. Thanks to him, I really do believe there won’t be a war.”

  “Both of you, surely.”

  “Oh, I didn’t do much. Anyway,” Suidas said briskly, “I told Tzimisces his reward wasn’t worth having. Too long ago, and too much has happened since. You know, there’s some deadly secrets that are a bit like fine red wine. You keep them for too long and they go off.” He closed his eyes. “You can get out now,” he said. “Next time you want to smother a man with a pillow, for crying out loud just get on with it. Your big murder attempt was better signposted than the Golden Step Temple.”

  Phrantzes got up. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Oh, everyone’s sorry,” Suidas replied irritably. “Sorry for getting you all cut up, nothing personal, won’t happen again. Like I give a shit. Assuming Tzimisces hasn’t screwed me over, I’ve now got twenty-five thousand in the bank in Scheria, more to come, that’s really all that matters. I’m out of it now, safe. All my troubles are over. And that’s in spite of me doing the right thing, so it’s probably more than I deserve.”

  “Even so,” Phrantzes said. “I really am sorry. If I’d known …”

  “Go away,” Suidas said. “Please.”

  And then it was Addo’s turn. He sat down and was perfectly still and quiet for a long time, until Suidas couldn’t stand it any longer. “Well?” he said.

  “You said you’d deal with me later.”

  “So I did.”

  Addo looked up. “Is it later yet?”

  Suidas laughed. Addo gave him a disapproving frown. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he said. “Holding court. You look like the Emperor lying there.”

  “Quite,” Suidas said. “Champion fencer. I’m the one they came to see.” He laid his head on one side, peering up at Addo like a puzzled dog. “If it’d been me,” he said, “and you’d been in my way, you’d be dead now. Over and done with. I’m surprised about that. After all, you killed two, sorry three government ministers in cold blood. I’d have thought you’d have had no trouble.”

  “They were Permians.”

  “Ah.” Suidas nodded. “Yes, I can see where you’re coming from. Back in the War, I did a lot of that. Soon as you can turn them from people into the enemy, it’s not such a big deal.” He shrugged. “The enemy,” he said, “the opponent, the other man. Targets, like the silhouette painted on the wall, with all the vulnerable parts numbered. Different when it’s someone you know.”

  Addo shook his head. “They needed killing,” he said. “You didn’t. Therefore, there was nothing to be gained.” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “I asked you, is it later yet?”

  “Later has been and gone,” Suidas replied. “Apart from the shitload of money that’ll keep me idle and happy for the rest of my life, I’ve finished with you.”

  “I see,” Addo replied. “What have you done?”

  “You’ll see. It’s not justice,” he added, “because there’s no such thing, but it’s expedien
t. Makes the world a safer place. And your dad’ll be livid.”

  Addo waited, but Suidas didn’t enlarge on that; so he said, “And there won’t be another war.”

  “Not tomorrow, at any rate. Later, maybe, but I’ll be out of it by then, so it won’t be my fault.”

  Addo smiled. “My father once said—”

  “Oh, spare me, please.”

  “My father,” Addo repeated firmly, “once told me I was his fault. I imagine it was the worst thing he could think of to say. He was in that sort of a mood.”

  “Your father,” Suidas said, “is a turd. All right, you’re dismissed. That’s army talk,” he went on, when Addo didn’t move, “for go away. Thought you’d have known that.”

  “I’m not a soldier,” Addo said.

  Suidas looked at him. “I know,” he said. “Be grateful.”

  In the square, they were chanting Carnufex, Carnufex. It made the First Minister smile. He looked to be out of practice, which was understandable.

  “In a moment, you and I must go out on the balcony together,” he told Addo, who winced and asked if that was really necessary. “Oh, most definitely,” the First Minister assured him. “Unless you want to provoke a riot. They want their new hero.”

  Tzimisces beamed. “Yes, you’ve got to, Addo,” he said. “It’ll be one of those moments that people remember. The First Minister of Permia and the Irrigator’s son shaking hands on the Guild house balcony. Seven years ago, nobody would’ve believed it possible. Shows how far we’ve come in such a short time.”

  “But it wasn’t me,” Addo said desperately, “it was Suidas. He was the one—”

  “Indeed,” the Minister said, smiling firmly. “Unfortunately, Captain Deutzel isn’t well enough just yet. And besides, you’re the one who’s captured their imagination. The symbolism, you see: perfect.” He laid a small, plump hand on Addo’s shoulder. “We both know that Captain Deutzel was there too, but I dare say that in ten years’ time, he’ll have faded out of the story almost completely. It’ll be one of those test questions: who was the other Scherian who foiled the assassination of Minister Lajos? And people will be really pleased with themselves if they manage to recall his name. That’s history for you,” he added cheerfully. “I’ve always thought of history as growing up around the truth like ivy on a tree. Not that it matters. The important thing is the moment, you and me together. They’ll point to it in years to come and say, that was when the War finally ended.”

  “I really don’t think …”

  “Oh go on, Addo,” Iseutz said. “Don’t be such a baby.”

  “My people are going home,” the old man said. “We’ve been here too long. The money’s good, but there’s more to life than money, don’t you think? Besides, we don’t really use money where we come from. It just ends up sitting in big wooden boxes, and they’re a nuisance to carry about. I never did quite understand why they feel the need to make coins out of gold. It’s so heavy.”

  Perceptuus tried not to let his face register what he was thinking. “So our agreement …”

  “I’m not sure we ever had one,” the Aram Chantat said mildly. “More an agreement to make an agreement if we wanted to and if the circumstances were right. But we don’t want to, after all. So really …”

  “Well,” Perceptuus said, “it doesn’t look like there’s going to be another war, so maybe it’s for the best. Less risk to our estates near the border.”

  The old man smiled. “There never was any risk,” he said. “But certainly, if what I’ve been hearing is true and there are going to be real, genuine negotiations about shared access to the Demilitarised Zone, then I honestly can’t see who your tenants are likely to be in danger from. Certainly not bandits. There’ll be far too much activity in the Zone for bandits to feel comfortable there. And think,” he added, beaming, “of all that money you won’t have to spend on hiring us. That’s one of the joys of peace. It’s so much cheaper.”

  Perceptuus nodded slightly. “Have you told the Permians you’re leaving?”

  “Of course.” The old man looked affronted. “It’d be terribly rude not to. I think on balance they were relieved to hear we’re going. We make them nervous. And after the incidents in Beaute and that other place, Luzir …”

  “Luzir Soleth.”

  “Yes, thank you, Luzir Soleth. I get the impression we’re not popular with the ordinary citizens, the common people, especially in the large towns outside the capital. The First Minister is very keen on being popular at the moment – well, you can understand why, it must be so difficult having to be liked if you want to keep order. Not a problem where I come from. We don’t have governments, as such. We don’t need them.”

  “Well.” Perceptuus put down his empty cup. “Thank you for seeing me, and I’m glad things have worked out for you. For both of us, really.”

  “For which,” the old man said gravely, “we have young Carnufex to thank, or so I gather. You know,” he went on, lowering his voice just a little, “it’d be quite interesting to find out what really happened.” Then he laughed and shook his head. “No it wouldn’t,” he said. “The official version is entirely satisfactory, and that happens so rarely, it’d be a shame to spoil it, don’t you think?”

  “It came as something of a surprise,” Perceptuus said.

  “Oh, I should think it did. They do say,” the old man went on, “that it was General Carnufex himself who first discovered the conspiracy. He had reason to believe there are Permian spies at the highest levels of your government, so he took it on himself to deal with it. Otherwise, why did he send his own son on what was by any criteria a highly dangerous mission?”

  “They’re saying that, are they?”

  “People do like to speculate,” the old man said. “And I don’t suppose the general would be inclined to deny it.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Perceptuus was suddenly thoughtful. “It’d do his popularity back home no harm at all, if people believe he succeeded in averting a war that the government was pretty much powerless to stop. That would be …”

  “Satisfactory,” the old man said. “It’d resolve matters, which is really all that counts. Well, it’s been a pleasure talking to you, but now you must excuse me. We have arrangements to make, as I’m sure you’ll understand.”

  Perceptuus drove on to Luzir Beal, where a letter was waiting for him. Abbot Symbatus was dead. The General Synod had met in emergency session and were pleased to inform him that he had been chosen …

  He swore, and crumpled the letter into a ball.

  Since most Permians didn’t have a clue what Monsacer was or why it mattered, the presence of its newly elected abbot at the official thanksgiving ceremony hardly registered with the vast crowd in and around the stadium. Nor did they seem particularly disappointed when they heard that Suidas Deutzel was still too weak to attend, although there were a few cheers when his name was read out, They’d come, of course, to see Addo Carnufex.

  And see him they did. He walked out into the arena with the First Minister on his right and a smiling old man on his left, followed by the surviving members of the Cabinet, the Guild master, the other Scherian fencers, the Imperial ambassador and various Permian notables who’d pulled strings or paid money to be there.

  The First Minister was wise enough to keep his address to the crowd short and to the point. The War, he said, was over. Seven years of peace had been crowned by an act of supreme courage and selflessness performed by the son of their former enemy; an enemy no longer, since it had been General Carnufex who had detected the conspiracy and taken steps to forestall it. Now, thanks to the new spirit of mutual trust and understanding that must inevitably follow, negotiations were already under way for the shared development of the Demilitarised Zone; basically, Scherian shepherds would graze their flocks above ground, Permian miners would exploit the vast mineral wealth below it. Since peace was now assured, he went on, the government had decided to dispense with the services of the Aram Chantat –r />
  (At least three minutes during which he couldn’t continue because of the shouting and cheering.)

  – who would be replaced by units of the Imperial Army of the East, to guarantee the safety of Permia, in conjunction with their Scherian allies, under the terms of a new defensive and offensive alliance. In short, he could now guarantee peace. With peace would come stability, with stability prosperity, for themselves, their children and their children’s children; and none of this could have happened had it not been for one man, one extraordinary man, who would now say a few words …

  Tzimisces nudged Addo in the small of the back, propelling him forward. He didn’t lift his head; instead, he looked down at the scrap of paper in his hand. It was just the right note of self-effacing modesty; a shy hero, the very best sort. There was absolute silence as he cleared his throat and started to speak.

  He’d come to Permia, he said, to fence. It gave him great pride and pleasure to think that he’d helped, in some small way, to preserve the peace that had been his father’s life work. Really, he hadn’t done anything special. Anyone else in his position would have done the same, and of course he hadn’t acted alone. Suidas Deutzel deserved as much credit as he did, if not more. In a day or so he’d be going home to Scheria, but he would never forget Permia and its people for as long as he lived, and he thanked them from the bottom of his heart for their goodwill and kindness, which he’d done so little to deserve.

  Suidas was waiting for him when he came back from the arena. He didn’t look particularly ill or weak. He was smiling.

  “Nice speech,” he said. “Your father’s life work. I really liked that.”

  Addo gazed wretchedly at him, and then Tzimisces and the rest of the party came in, and Suidas turned away, looking frail and helpless. Someone slapped Addo on the back, making him lurch forward a step.

  There was a reception, at the Senate house. Not long after they arrived, Addo looked round for Suidas, but he didn’t seem to be there. Nobody else appeared to have noticed his absence. He wondered if he ought to mention it to Tzimisces, but he couldn’t see him either.