"Another extremely encouraging piece of news: a young engineer turned up among the refugees who, upon examining the machines, suggested a slight modification which would increase production in the neighborhood of eight point fourteen percent."
Baudruche breathed hard for a moment, stood up and resumed his pacing.
"I must inform you of the sudden death of the City's Librarian, Mr. Pholio. I have locked the library doors until such time as another librarian is appointed.
"Following your instructions, I had a detailed inventory made of our food supplies. The results show that they are more than ample, which is very reassuring. Nevertheless, in line with your orders, I instructed that the posters forbidding the feeding of birds be put up.
"Again in line with your orders, I instituted a search for the solitary man whose whereabouts were lost track of yesterday. Not unexpectedly, he had taken a room at the Hotel. Anything else would have been . . . hmmm . . . quite irrational, therefore unthinkable."
"You want me to write 'irrational therefore unthinkable,' Mr. Commissioner?"
"Of course, Miss Bourrot. You have to have meaningless words in official reports. It makes them sound more serious. Come, let's get to the end of this.
"May I assure you, Mr. Prefect, that my colleagues and I will not lose track of this man a second time.
"There. Finish up with the usual weather report: no sun, no rain, no change predicted. Same for the sentries: no sign of anyone outside the walls. Send it to the Prefect while it's still warm. I've got to go. As soon as you've finished, you do the same."
At home, he saw that Labrique had preceded him.
"Are you still hanging around, you miserable parasite! Isn't there anything to eat in your house?"
"Sure. But supper is one long argument. Besides, the food is better here or I wouldn't honor your table with my presence."
Labrique paid them this honor three or four times a week.
When the meal was finished and the dishes cleared away, Martha took out the cards and placed them between the two men. This had become a ritual. The game was slow and frequently interrupted. They chatted between hands and Baudruche always lost. "I couldn't keep my mind on the cards tonight," he said every night as he paid up.
Tonight, he gave himself wholeheartedly to the game. Again he lost. But something caught his attention.
"Labrique, you cheat, you bastard!"
The architect spread his cards on the table without a sign of emotion.
"Of course I do. I always have."
"Have you no shame?"
"A little. But at least this way I win."
3
T H E C H E A T I N G business annoyed Baudruche. He was still brooding about it when he went to bed. He spoke of it to Martha the next day, but he masked his anger, not daring to say what he really thought of his friend. It made Martha laugh. She had known about the cheating for a long time and often joked about it with Labrique. It was so funny, swindling the Commissioner in his own house for all these years!
"Good morning, Baudruche," Labrique said at the base of the ramparts and held out his hand. They shook.
"So we're shaking hands today? Yesterday you refused."
"I don't like to shake hands with crooks."
"You do nothing but."
"That's a professional obligation. In my own house, it's different. I want my house respected."
"O.K. I won't set foot in it again."
"I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding a house that feeds you as well as mine. And where you can steal to your heart's content."
If Labrique answered him, Baudruche didn't hear. He went to examine the large bulletin board near the gates. Among the official anouncements were the two new ones, the one about the birds, and the other telling the inhabitants they were free to ask that the gates be opened. Some people were standing around discussing them, but they moved away as Baudruche approached. He asked one of the guards, "What do people say when they read these bulletins?"
"I don't know, Mr. Commissioner. I haven't been listening."
"What about you? Have you read them?"
The man hesitated. If he said he hadn't read them, he'd be accused of showing no interest in the City's affairs; if he had, he would be asked his opinion.
"Yes, Mr. High Commissioner, I've read them."
"What do you think of them?"
"I think that if they came from City Hall, it's not for me to have an opinion. It must be good for the City."
"Do you want to get out of the City?"
This was clearly a trap. He must be very careful.
"I have no need to leave the City, Mr. High Commissioner."
Baudruche gave up and returned to Labrique.
"Come on. Let's make the rounds."
Climbing the steps ahead of Labrique, he asked, "What did you do with the money?"
"What money?"
"The money you've been stealing from me all this time."
"I buy presents for your wife. You never do."
From the top of the walls, Baudruche looked outside. Yes, the soldier was still there, sitting in the same place. He had put up a small tent and made a tiny fire which was almost out. He faced the horizon.
"Labrique, look and see if anyone is watching me."
Labrique scanned the ramparts. They were empty. But at the base of the walls, some of the guards had their eyes on Baudruche.
"The guards are watching you."
Baudruche snapped his fingers in irritation.
"Damn. I wanted to know so badly . . ."
"Know what?"
"What he's doing there, what he intends to do, what the rest of them are up to."
"Better you shouldn't find out. Come on, let's go."
Labrique dragged Baudruche away by the arm. But they had taken only a few steps when he stopped and asked Baudruche to lean over the ramparts.
"Look, there, at the bottom of the wall."
Baudruche leaned but saw nothing.
"Look again. Don't you see that long gray line?"
"Sure. What of it?"
"Those are ants."
"So what?"
"I don't know, but it's not normal. No ants have ever dared to climb these walls."
"I have more important things to worry about than ants."
"I wouldn't be so sure, Baudruche. Believe me, I'd do something about them. At least bring it to the Prefect's attention."
Was Labrique trying to make him look ridiculous before the Prefect, just as he'd been making him look ridiculous three times a week, year after year, in his own house, before his own wife? Baudruche blushed as a dull anger rose inside him, but the anger was mixed with so much affection that it quickly collapsed. He'd catch up with Labrique someday.
Baudruche brooded as he walked, his mind turning over the nonsense about the ants. For all that he tried to chase them away and think of something else, back they came.
"Labrique has shrewd instincts sometimes," Baudruche would say to Martha by way of concession. So which was it this time? A stupid joke or a judicious warning? It was too bad he'd left him so abruptly. He should have shaken it out of him.
"If I had him here . . .!" And Baudruche caught himself going through the motions in the middle of the street. Passersby looked at him startled, and he walked faster, brushing his shoulder as if he were trying to shake away foolish notions.
But he couldn't escape the ants. They were climbing his shoes, about to scale his ankles. He had to keep himself from scratching. He was saved by the great white facade of the Hotel which loomed before him. He glanced at his watch. Yes, he had time to go in. "Let's have a look at the man. He's a lot more important than a bunch of ants."
Mr. Baidroume bowed deeply and asked what had earned him the honor of this visit.
"Let's go into your office. I want to talk to you."
The Manager bowed sideways. It must be serious. In the office, he remained standing as Baudruche sat down.
"What fair wind brings you her
e, Mr. High Commissioner?"
"We've had no wind for years. What brought me here is a man."
The Manager breathed again. So it wasn't serious after all.
"You mean the guest on whose behalf Inspector Bricard came to seek information?"
"Nothing gets by you, does it? When you've reached retirement age, come join my staff. Who is this man? Show me his registration."
"Here it is, Mr. Commissioner. We removed it from his room this morning."
He handed Baudruche an unmarked card.
"Why hasn't he filled it out?"
"It isn't our fault, Mr. Commissioner. We told him we had very strict rules. You know how careful we are about following regulations, Mr. Commissioner!"
"Sometimes, Mr. Baidroume." Baudruche placed the form on the desk. "Tell me about him. Have you noticed anything unusual about him?"
"Absolutely nothing at first glance. He's not a talker, Mr. Commissioner. Do you want me to make him talk?"
"Under no circumstances. You take care of your hotel and nothing else. Is he in now?"
"Yes, Mr. Commissioner."
"What's the number of his room?"
"Twenty-three. "
Baudruche got up, opened the door and went out. He had just reached the main lobby when the Manager touched his arm.
"Look. There he is."
A thin man was disappearing through the revolving door. Baudruche followed.
Baudruche found himself walking along the same street he had taken earlier. When the man reached the main gate, he started to climb the steps. Baudruche gave him time to disappear along the sentry walk before starting after him.
Once on top of the ramparts, Baudruche hid in one of the sentry turrets which were empty at this time of day. Through its spy hole, he could see the entire length of the ramparts. A group of idlers were watching the soldier from a position above the main gate. He spotted his man among them. Baudruche saw him cup his hands to his mouth and call out:
"Hey, soldier!"
The soldier turned his head and looked up. The group scattered in terror. The soldier shrugged. The man was alone now. The soldier gave him a friendly wave. Baudruche strained his ears.
"What are you doing down there, soldier?"
"What does a soldier do when he's not fighting? He waits."
"Have you fought a lot?"
"Yes. When they told me to fight, I fought."
"What did you fight for?"
"It wasn't for me to ask. I'm a soldier."
"Why are you alone?"
"That's a stupid question. I'm alone because there aren't any other soldiers."
"What happened to them?"
"Some died, some gave up the profession."
"Why don't you come into the City?"
"A soldier's place is outside the City. Besides, I have an idea they wouldn't understand me in the City now. The people on the ramparts look at me oddly. I don't know why but I scare them. Don't they see I'm a City soldier?"
"I do."
"Will you go and tell them?"
"I can't. They wouldn't understand."
"What do they do in there?"
"They make a machine."
"What kind of a machine? Only one machine?"
"Yes. And just one model of the one machine."
"What do they do with it?"
"They sell it to the people who make it."
"What do they do with it?"
"They turn it on at home at night, and all day Sunday."
"It sounds crazy."
"It's worse than that, soldier."
"They think things can go on like that forever?"
"They do, but I don't. They can't last much longer because they have no reason to exist and there's no reason why they should."
"My reason to exist is war, whether there's a war or not."
"Do you think the enemy will come?"
"I don't know. I just wait in case they do. I can't retreat any farther; I'm already at the gates of the City."
"I think the enemy is going to come. But it won't necessarily come from the outside. Tell me, soldier, what do you eat?"
"'I'm on my last rations now."
"What will you do after that?"
"I don't know, but I'm not worried. A soldier's destiny isn't to die of hunger."
Baudruche watched as the man waved a friendly good-bye to the soldier. He had listened to every syllable, but what had he learned? Well, one thing of great importance: this was the last soldier and there weren't likely to be any more. Baudruche knew why the people feared the soldiers' return. For years, they had had drummed into them that an army constituted a permanent threat to their liberty and individual security; the mere sight of a soldier's uniform was enough to fill them with irrational fear.
But now Baudruche could understand the cause of the vast collective fear that had emptied and destroyed the villages. This cause, which none of them could put a name to, was the smell of war which preceded the soldier's retreat.
He considered this a very important and significant discovery, and he congratulated himself on having personally assumed the responsibility for the solitary man, the last refugee. What would have happened if he'd left it to Bicard? It could have been a frightful mess.
Baudruche waited until the man reached the bottom steps of the battlements, then followed him at a distance.
The man returned to the Hotel. Baudruche hesitated by the front door, then decided to abandon the investigation for the time being. He must do some thinking before he proceeded further. Besides, it was noon. No point going back to his office; he'd go home. "You can't think on an empty stomach." Perhaps the saying was exaggerated, but he didn't care. He had too much on his mind to waste time on self-analysis.
Baudruche was silent over lunch and Martha watched him closely. He spilled the wine, kept sighing with no apparent reason, and was about to put his elbow in his dirty plate when Martha stopped him. He was remembering the dialogue between the two men. The man from the Hotel was one of the few who understood the soldier's significance. In this respect— if in no other—he stood above the crowd, and that was why he was a solitary man, as was the Prefect, as was Labrique, poor old Pholio, and he himself. He therefore deserved respect, but for the same reason, he must be closely watched.
Her husband's absorption worried Martha. To be sure, he sometimes combined eating and thinking, but never before with this degree of concentration. Something must be going on in the City. Of course the newspapers would tell her nothing. Nor would Miss Bourrot. Miss Bourrot thought she was in on the secrets of the gods.
"Anything new in the City, Robert?"
"No, Martha. Just the usual."
Baudruche picked up his hat and left without another word. What else could he do if Martha was going to start yammering? It was impossible to think in his own house. At least in the streets there was some privacy.
One thing seemed certain: the soldier had no intention of entering the City, so there was no need to fear a panic. That took care of the soldier. But what about the man in the Hotel? He appeared to have lost no time learning the City's ways. He knew how important the machine was to the population, and he seemed to share Baudruche's opinion of both the machine and the population. Furthermore, he thought the enemy would come, but not from outside. From where, then? Inside, obviously. Was it firm knowledge or bluff? He had to find out. If he wasn't bluffing, the man must have inside information. But what was in it for him?
Perhaps it was personal ambition. The man must have nosed around and learned that Baudruche's men constituted the only power that mattered in the City. Everybody knew they would obey no one else as long as he was around. That was why the Prefect had been forced to promote him to the number two spot in the City. Baudruche tried to avoid thinking about that.
Baudruche mustered up his courage and headed for the Factory.
Today he was tired and let Leponte talk longer than usual. This gave him time to think. When the technocrat had finally finished his
expose, Baudruche looked dazed and said:
"Forgive me, Mr. Leponte, but I didn't understand a word you said."
"But it was all very simple!"
"Perhaps, Mr. Leponte, but not for me. I haven't had your training. "
"I'll start again. . . ."
"Don't bother, Mr. Leponte. Just write it down on a small piece of paper."
Seething, the Director picked up his pen with one hand, clasped his brow with the other and painfully wrote down what he had just said.
"There, Mr. Commissioner, if you would like to read it over. . . ."
Baudruche took the paper and deliberately held it upside down.
"The other way, Mr. Commissioner. . . ."
"I'm sorry. I can't see without my glasses."
He took out his glasses and adjusted them on his nose.
"Ah, that's better! Don't hold it against me, Leponte. An infirmity of old age. Just be patient. Another fifteen years and I'll be gone. The retirement knell will have sounded."
Baudruche examined the page with great care.
"You were right, Leponte. Your figures are much clearer than your letters. Your writing looks like chicken tracks. I don't mean it as criticism. It happens often with men of great intellect."
Leponte ground his teeth.
"I'm sure you're right, Mr. Commissioner, although most people seem to be able to make out my handwriting. Miss Niquel has no trouble at all."
"Ah, of course! How stupid of me. I'll take this to her and she can type it up for me."
Furious, Leponte watched him go. Once again he'd been unable to prevent Baudruche from closeting himself with his secretary.
Miss Niquel was pleased to see Baudruche. He might well mean an interesting change in jobs, away from the Factory.
"Do sit down and relax, Mr. Commissioner. I'll only be a minute."
She started to type and Baudruche watched her. She amused him, with her exaggerated expressions and elegant gestures. A charming marionette. It would be fun to pull the strings. . . .
Miss Niquel finished the report and brought it to him.
"I trust you didn't have an unpleasant encounter on your way to the Factory, Mr. Commissioner? I've been very uneasy myself since it happened."
"Since what happened?"
The Walled City Page 3