The Folding Knife

by Parker, K. J.

  Phernes, in charge of supply, closed his eyes then opened them again. "That could be awkward," he said. "If we're still cut off by sea, that means trying to bring stuff down the mountain, and that won't be--"

  "No," Aelius said. "It won't. But do your best. Metalces, you'd better find them some space. Twenty-one thousand men, one latrine to a company, you'd better start digging. Phormio, we'll need more sheds for storage; just as well there's all that timber." He grinned. "Don't you hate it when people invite themselves to stay?"

  Shortly afterwards, there were only three of them: Aelius, his adjutant Artabasdus and Gelimer, commanding the nominally autonomous Be'man Perdut auxiliary cavalry. Aelius unrolled the map, and they sat for some time in silence, looking at it.

  Finally, Gelimer said: "I still can't see it."

  "Nor me," Aelius said, "but it's got to be there somewhere. Come on, think. That's what they pay us for."

  They shuffled their stools closer to the table. "Let's go through it from the beginning," Aelius said. "We're agreed, we can't risk trying to land from the ships, so these"--he ran his finger over the seaward arms of the projecting triangle of the Perigouna Peninsula--"are out of the question. Which means we've got to come in over the mountains, across the plain, and over, under or through the land walls."

  "Which is impossible," Artabasdus said helpfully.

  "Which hasn't ever been done before," Aelius said. "Correct." Suddenly he stood up, walked across the tent and looked out through the flap. "They still haven't got that stupid cart shifted," he said. "They've been struggling with it all the time we've been in here."

  "It's the rain," Artabasdus said. "Only to be expected. What it's going to be like on the through roads when there's another twenty thousand--"

  "And the horses," Gelimer put in. "Sometimes I think horses' hoofs were designed specially to turn earth into glue. What we need is some proper hard standing."

  Aelius nodded. "It's an extraordinary thing," he said. "No matter how bad things seem to be, they can always be made worse by two days of steady rain."

  "There's a drought in Middle Paeonia," Artabasdus said. "Hard to imagine there could be such a thing as a drought anywhere in the world."

  Gelimer grunted. "It'll be because some idiot's been messing around with the flow in the rivers," he said. "Nine times out of ten, where there's a drought, it's because of that. Some rich bastard diverts the river so it'll irrigate his soft-fruit plantation, and the next thing you know, a hundred square miles of good growing country's turned into a desert. It happened all the time back home. One of the reasons I left."

  Aelius turned his head and looked at him. "That's a thought," he said. "Gelimer, pass me the book."

  "What book?"

  "That brass tube there on my bed."

  "Oh, that." Gelimer stood up, moaned at a touch of cramp, and fetched the tube. "This one?"

  "How many books do you think I own?" Aelius unscrewed the stopper and poked his fingers inside until the end of the roll appeared. "Present from our beloved First Citizen," he said. "I only brought it with me in case we ran out of cabbage leaves."

  Artabasdus leaned over his shoulder. "I like the ones with pictures in," he said. "That must be worth a bit of money."

  "I think it may turn out to be far more valuable than Basso ever imagined," Aelius replied, running his finger slowly down the roll. Hold on, it'll be here somewhere. Ah, got it."

  Gelimer came across and stood behind him so he could see. "That's a bridge," he said.

  "Close," Aelius replied. "Actually, it's a really bad drawing. Look."

  Not a bridge; an aqueduct. Built nine hundred years earlier, at the height of the Eastern Empire, it carried nearly two-thirds of Perigouna's drinking water down from the mountains. At the time, doubts had been expressed about the wisdom of concentrating such an essential supply in one conduit; an enemy, it was argued, only need sabotage it, and the city would be helpless. To counter that possibility, the Imperial architects built it so massively that it would take an estimated fifty thousand men one year to put it out of action.

  Aelius' invasion of Perigouna was a perfect example of how to cross apparently impassable terrain quickly and without significant loss. He went ahead with the Be'man Perdut cavalry to secure the road, allowing the main body of the army to proceed at its own pace. In little over six weeks, they'd built nine bridges, dug a hole through the side of a mountain and laid nearly twenty miles of portable road across the marshes. As anticipated, the Auxentines retired behind the walls of Perigouna and let them get on with it. The city, they knew, had never fallen to a direct assault, and since they controlled the sea, a siege would be much more painful for those outside the walls than the garrison within them. True, the enemy army was very large--nearly forty thousand, according to some reports--but the very size of it was in Perigouna's favour. Unable to bring in supplies by sea, they only had such food as they could carry with them over the mountains, supplemented by the relatively trivial quantities they could find in the surrounding countryside. But winter was drawing on; all that season's harvest had been brought inside the city walls, where Aelius' foraging parties couldn't touch it. True, they'd been very efficient in rounding up every herd of cattle in the province; but unless they could feed all that livestock (which of course they couldn't) they'd have to slaughter them all, have one enormous barbecue, and go back to gnawing the soles of their boots. Blessed is the nation, the Patriarch of Perigouna said in one of his sermons in the basilica, whose enemies are idiots.

  It was only after the first three days of the plague that the Perigounan doctors realised it wasn't a plague at all. It was a particularly unpleasant variety of flux, brought on by drinking contaminated water. It caused death within forty-eight hours in most cases. Scouts sent out by the governor traced the source of the contamination to the high bowl of pasture in the foothills of the mountains, where the mountain streams that fed the aqueduct consolidated into the Nessus River, and where General Aelius had penned up all the cattle he'd rounded up. They were stalled, the scouts said, in long sheds on both banks of the Nessus, which was in spate as a result of the unusually heavy rainfall, and the slurry drains fed directly into the river, so that, as one scout put it, not one precious drop was wasted.

  Two days later, Perigouna surrendered, on the grounds that there simply wasn't enough fuel in the city to boil enough water to supply so many people. It was the one commodity they hadn't thought to stockpile, and the ships couldn't bring it in fast enough.

  "You were lucky," Antigonus said.

  Basso nodded. "Yes," he said, "I was. I think I've inherited some of my father's luck. I hope so. When he relied on it, it never let him down."

  He was worried about Antigonus. He seemed older. It was practically impossible to tell; he'd looked much the same for the last twenty years. But it was almost as though he was just starting to slow down, like a music box. Pressure of work would account for that, of course.

  "There's a saying where I come from," Antigonus said. "Luck's like a pig. If you push it, it'll go back on you."

  Basso had heard it before, of course. The first time, he'd smiled. "I think that maybe you have a different kind of luck in your country," he said, "like different varieties of butterfly. Here, I've always got the impression that luck gets stronger with use, like a muscle. Dad always thought so."

  Antigonus shook his head. "You're nothing like him," he said. "Which reminds me. Your nephew came to see me yesterday."

  Basso hadn't known that. He pretended to be interested in a letter on top of a pile on the desk. "I hope he wasn't a nuisance."

  "He wanted me to teach him banking. Like I taught you, he said."

  "Really." Basso kept his voice level. "What did you tell him?"

  "That I'd talk to you about it. He seemed rather put out when I said that."

  "As well he might. I don't want him anywhere near the Bank."

  Antigonus raised an eyebrow. "He's not that bad. My impression is, he's quite b
right."

  "Very bright. But he's not joining the Bank."

  A slight shrug. "As you wish. I'll write him a letter."

  "Leave it to me." Basso stood up and walked round the desk, like a horse in a small paddock. "Talking of which," he said, "I'd like to ask a favour. If I send Festo and Pio to sit in with you for a few days, would that be a terrible nuisance?"

  "Of course not," Antigonus replied. "If they get under my feet, I'll throw them out."

  "Excellent," Basso said, but there was a slight edge to his voice that few people other than Antigonus would've noticed. "If you're sure it won't be a problem for you."

  (Ah, the old man thought. I wondered when he'd notice.)

  "Not at all," Antigonus said firmly. "Now, I suppose I'd better tell you my news. I saw that new doctor yesterday; the smart young fellow from Chorylene that everybody's going to now."

  Basso didn't move. "Oh yes?"

  "He says I've got six months."

  Basso closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

  Antigonus didn't seem to have heard that. "I intend to prove him wrong," he went on. "The absolute minimum I need to get things ready for my departure is nine, and a year would be much better, so I intend to last a year. By that time, I should have everything in a fit state to hand over to my successor. We'll discuss that in a moment," he added, before Basso could open his mouth. "First, we need to restructure the Bank, along the lines we've discussed before. Also, I want to streamline the auxiliary businesses--the shipyards, the mines, the various joint ventures. On the political front. I think we should shift our alliances a little bit more towards the centre--especially now, since you've decided we need an empire and colonies, and heaven knows what. Finally, there's the household business, which I confess I've been neglecting. I may have to leave some of that, being realistic. Oh, and I want to go home to die, back to my village in Dramisene. I've allowed two weeks for the journey, since I'll have to take it slowly. I'm sorry if this is difficult for you," he added, almost gently, "but I thought we'd better discuss it sooner rather than later."

  Basso turned back and looked at him. His eyes were dry; angry, almost. "Your successor," he said.

  "Ah yes." Antigonus nodded. "I was thinking of Tragazes."

  Basso's eyes opened wide. "You're joking."

  "Not about business, ever," Antigonus said reproachfully. "Obviously, it's your decision. But I've given it a great deal of thought, and I believe he's far and away the best man for the job."

  "Tragazes," Basso repeated, as though it was some strange, mildly obscene word in a foreign language. "Are you sure? I was within an ace of sacking him a month ago."

  "Your decision," Antigonus repeated. "My recommendation, but it's up to you. Now, if that's everything you need me for today, I'd better be getting on." He lifted his head and smiled unexpectedly; it was like finding a silver coin in the street. "Do you know how old I am, Basso?"

  Basso opened his mouth, then paused. "No," he said. "I've got no idea."

  "Eighty-seven," Antigonus replied. "Naturally, I'm a little bit disappointed. Ariobarzanes was eighty-nine and still running the Empire more or less single-handed when he was murdered, and Lydus actually led the Auxentine army on a successful campaign against the Aram Chantat when he was ninety-two and nearly blind. But I'm not minded to complain. I've lived nearly as long as I wanted to, and I've made myself useful. It's certainly been better than herding goats."

  That evening, Basso cancelled his dinner party, had the doors of the house closed early, and took a lamp up to the top floor of the east wing. He hadn't been there for over twenty years. The room he chose to sit in was completely empty, ever since he'd sent its contents to his sister. The oil in the lamp lasted for two hours. When it burned out, he sat in the dark until morning.

  Five

  On his triumphant return, General Aelius was awarded the Civic Crown (for saving the lives of his fellow citizens; it was pointed out afterwards that since Aelius wasn't a citizen, he wasn't eligible, but nothing was actually done about it), the title of Count of the Silentiaries (nobody had known for at least two hundred years what a silentiary actually was) and the surname Perigouniacus, to be his and his legitimate heirs' for ever (Aelius was over fifty and resolutely unmarried). As was the custom, he entered the City alone and on foot by the Land Gate, where he was met by the full House in procession and escorted to the City Temple, where prayers of thanksgiving were sung. He was then led through the streets with a noose around his neck, thereby signifying in the traditional manner his voluntary submission to the House and the people of the Republic, to the Black Palace, where a thousand white doves were released to celebrate the restoration of peace, and a special issue of silver pennies were thrown to the crowd from the First Citizen's balcony. After that, as Basso put it, the rest of the day was his own.

  "I know," Basso replied, when Aelius pointed out that the pennies were silver-plated rather than solid. "We've spent a fortune on this war, and I'm damned if I'm going to make people hate me by raising taxes before we can convert the takings from Perigouna into clinking money. Right now, the only thing between us and national bankruptcy is a massive loan from the Bank. Sorry, but your victory pennies weren't a priority."

  Aelius nodded meekly. "Like I care," he said. "The whole thing was a shambles anyway, so it's appropriate, really."

  "Plated coins for a plated victory?" Basso grinned. "I like that. Makes me wish I was in opposition; I'd get a big laugh with it in the House. It'll be all right soon," he went on, pouring Aelius a drink. "We stand to make money on the deal."

  "We?"

  Basso nodded. "Splendidly vague word. We, as in the state, will be in profit as soon as the cash deposits from Perigouna have been reminted. We, as in the Bank, are getting interest on the government loan at one per cent over base. We, as in the people and Republic, have just acquired our first colony, though they, as in the people and Republic, haven't realised it yet. Best deal I ever made, as my father would've said."

  Aelius drank his wine in two gulps. It was, he recognised, a fine vintage, meant to be sipped, but he didn't like the taste of the fancy stuff. "You're a clever man," he said. "You've always had the knack of turning shit to gold."

  Basso smiled at him. "Talking of which."

  Aelius pulled a face. "I know," he said. "General Cowshit. Even my senior staff have started calling me that. Still, at least I earned it. I'm not sure I can even spell Perigouniacus."

  "They're talking about a coat of arms for you," Basso replied, stone-faced. "I can't wait to see what they come up with."

  "Ah well." Aelius looked for somewhere to put down his glass. All the furniture in the Black Palace had been made while his people were still using bronze tools. "Let me tell you something," he said. "When they opened the gates and we entered Perigouna, there were these stacks at the end of each street, like woodpiles. They were covered with ships' sails, so all you could see were the ends: layers of naked feet, twelve in a row, twelve deep. Strangest thing I ever saw. I don't suppose I'll forget it in a hurry." He put down the glass slowly and deliberately in the middle of a round walnut table, whose finish shone like a mirror. "General Cowshit," he said. "You know, I've been called worse."

  Basso took off his left glove, picked up the glass and put the glove under it. "I'm personally responsible for the fixtures and fittings," he said. "Privilege of office."

  Lunch with various party grandees; then he went back to the Severus house for his afternoon appointment. He took the back stairs to his office. The duty clerk must have heard his feet on the stairs; he knocked and came in without waiting to be called.

  "Tragazes is here to see you," the clerk said. "I put him in the ante-room."

  Basso nodded. "He can wait," he said. "I'll just finish these letters."

  He gave it ten minutes, by his beautiful new Auxentine clock (a present from the House, taken from the spoils of the governor's mansion), then got up and opened the door.

  "Sorry," he said, "they didn't te
ll me you were here. Come on through."

  Basso knew that the frame of the connecting door was exactly six feet two inches high, because his great-grandfather had had the proportions copied exactly from the sunset chapel at the Studium. Tragazes had to duck to get through. There's so much of him, Bassano had said once, and all to no purpose.

  "Can I get you a drink?" Basso asked.

  "Sorry?"

  He repeated the offer, raising his voice and speaking slowly. "Oh, no, thank you," Tragazes replied. "It's a bit early for me."

  Basso formed a quick smile, which cost him effort. There was something inherently wrong about Tragazes. The mind of an elderly spinster in the body of a dragon-slayer, someone had said once; and to be sure, it was mildly disturbing to hear that tiny, thin voice coming out of that enormous head, projected by that massive chest--as if one of the great trebuchets that guarded the harbour mouth had tried to shoot a pebble, and only managed to send it five yards. No doubt the operation had had something to do with that; but Tragazes was far from being the caricature eunuch. He hadn't run to fat, as so many big men did. Once, when a grain cart had got stuck in the ruts in the Horsefair, he'd rushed to lend a hand (always so helpful, so eager to please), and he'd lifted the back end clean off the ground while the carters packed sacking under the wheels. That was Tragazes; and the look on his face when he realised his gown had got muddied up and his shoes were ruined.

  "Very sensible," Basso said, pouring himself a larger glass than he actually wanted. "Sit down."

  The chair creaked, and Basso caught himself expecting it to collapse. It would've been dramatically right, because that sort of thing happened to Tragazes, and when it didn't, you felt that something had gone wrong. "So," he said, "how's it going?"