by K. J. Parker
“Nothing,” he said, and he made the fatal error of trying to cover the paper with his sleeve. Proiapsen immediately pinned his arm to the table, while Kunessin retrieved the paper and stared at it.
“Bloody hell, Muri,” Proiapsen said. “It’s maths.”
Achaiois scowled at him. “So what if it is? Give it back, you’ll smudge it.”
Kunessin moved the trophy out of easy grabbing range. “But the maths isn’t due in for a week,” he said. “And we were going to do it together.”
“That’s not the assignment,” Achaiois said, blushing red. “It’s not anything.”
“Ah.” Kunessin nodded. “So if I chuck it on the fire, there’s no harm done.”
“Easy,” Proiapsen said, taking the paper from him. “Here, let me see.” He frowned, then turned the sheet the other way up. “He’s right, it’s not the assignment. Here, Muri, what’s the big idea? You bucking for extra merit or something?”
Achaiois sagged a little and stopped trying to free his arm; Proiapsen let him go and handed back the paper. “It’s just an idea I had, that’s all,” he said.
Kunessin looked at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t suppose it’s important,” Achaiois said defensively. “It’s just something that occurred to me, when I was reading up on right-angle triangles in geometry.”
Proiapsen scowled at him. “He’s doing it again,” he said. “Reading ahead. Didn’t we warn him about that?”
Kunessin ignored him. “So?” he said.
“Well.” Achaiois smoothed out the paper on the table. “You’ve got a right-angle triangle, right? Now, two of the sides can be the same length or different, but there’s always one side that’s longer—”
“The hypotenuse,” Proiapsen said.
“What?”
“That’s what it’s called. The hypotenuse.”
Achaiois shrugged. “Whatever,” he said. “Now, here’s the weird thing. Suppose you were to turn each of the sides of the triangle into a square, like this, look.” He scrawled a crude sketch on the back of his paper. “So you’ve basically got three squares sort of crowded round a triangle in the middle. If you calculate the area of the squares, it always turns out that the area of the two short sides put together is exactly the same as the area of the long side, the hypotenuse. Don’t ask me why, it just is.” He stopped, then shrugged. “I just thought it was interesting, that’s all.”
Kunessin burst out laughing, but Proiapsen gave him a look that would’ve soured milk. “Are you being funny, or what?” he said.
A worried look covered Achaiois’ face. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s all right, Aidi,” Kunessin broke in, grinning as though his face had split. “He’s not taking the piss, he doesn’t know.”
Achaiois now looked totally bewildered, while Proiapsen clearly wasn’t convinced. “Your idea,” Kunessin said. “It’s absolutely right. Nail on head.”
“Really?”
Kunessin nodded. “Absolutely. In fact, it’s a famous mathematical law.”
Achaiois’ face fell. “You mean someone’s already—”
“Yes,” Proiapsen snapped.
“It’s called,” Kunessin went on, “Proiapsen’s Law. After the bloke who discovered it - what, two hundred years ago?”
“About that,” Proiapsen grunted. “Chalcis Proiapsen. My great-great-great-great-grandfather’s brother.”
Achaiois’ eyes were very wide. “Oh,” he said.
“Chalcis Proiapsen the world-famous mathematician,” Proiapsen went on. “My illustrious ancestor, only member of our family who ever amounted to anything. Except,” he added savagely, “you’ve never heard of him, apparently.”
Kunessin started laughing again. Proiapsen made a disgusted noise and stormed out of the room. Achaiois watched him go, then turned to Kunessin, who noticed his face was as white as milk. “Well I didn’t know, did I?” he said. “He never mentioned his stupid ancestor.”
“Quite,” Kunessin said. “And the way you figured it out like that, from first principles, all by yourself: fucking brilliant, if you ask me. Just unfortunate, that’s all.” He pulled Achaiois to his feet and clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s all right,” he said. “He’ll be over it this time tomorrow, so long as you don’t mind a few smart comments now and again.”
But Achaiois had screwed the paper up into a ball. “He’s mad at me,” he said. “He thinks I was making fun of him. Damn it, Teuche, I didn’t even want him to see. I tried to hide it.”
Kunessin frowned. “Get a grip, Muri,” he said. “It’s funny, it’s a laugh, right? For God’s sake don’t make a melodrama out of it.”
“Yes, but now he thinks—”
“Shut it, Muri,” Kunessin said. “That’s an order.” He stopped, took a breath, softened his voice. “You know Aidi,” he said. “Not one of nature’s grudge-bearers. For God’s sake don’t go getting in a state about it; you’ll only make things worse.”
Muri turned his head away, as if that somehow made him invisible. “It’s not like I was trying to impress anybody,” he said. “It was just my own curiosity.”
Kunessin winced. It was like talking to a girl. “It’s actually pretty bloody impressive,” he said. “Just your rotten luck someone beat you to it. Otherwise, they’d be naming libraries after you.”
Just the ghost of a smile; it’d have looked pretty on a girl. “Well, anyway,” Muri said. “That’s the end of my career as a mathematician. Look, explain to him, will you? Only, he’ll believe you.”
Not again, Kunessin thought. “Sure,” he said, because it was easier than arguing. “Now forget about it, for crying out loud. Take your mind off it. Go and invent the waterwheel or something.”
Muri laughed, and Kunessin thought: one of these days, this is all going to go wrong, and really, I’ll only have myself to blame. For now, though, it keeps the peace.
In the event, Aidi had forgotten all about it by the time they came in for the evening meal, so there was no need to talk to him after all. Nevertheless, when Muri cornered him the next day and asked anxiously, “Did you manage to get things straightened out with Aidi?” he nodded and said, “You can put it right out of your mind.” Which was, he told himself, not a direct lie.
“That’s fantastic,” Muri said. “How did you manage to talk him round?”
“He wants to come,” Kunessin replied. “Ask him yourself.”
Aidi looked up from the bill of sale he was examining. “No conditions?”
“Just one,” Kunessin said. “But it’s something we’re going to have to talk about anyhow. He’s just moved it up the list a bit.”
“They’re screwing you over these farm tools,” Aidi said. “My supplier can get you exactly the same stuff, a third cheaper.”
Kunessin frowned. “How long for delivery?”
Aidi shrugged. “Usually no more than a month. Depends when the ship comes in.”
“Thanks,” Kunessin said, “but I’d rather pay more and have the stuff right now. Besides, they’re good quality. Guild-marked and everything.”
“Sure,” Aidi said. “Listen, there’s a factory in a wooden hut outside De’Pasi where they do nothing except churn out amazingly good copies of Guild inspection stamps. Two dollars each, and you can turn any old junk into genuine Guild wares with one bash of a hammer.” He smiled. “Where do you think I got all my hardware from?”
“Isn’t that illegal?” Muri said.
“I’ve placed the order now,” Kunessin said. “If I cancel, I’d probably have to go to law to get my deposit back, and that’d take years. Thanks, Aidi, but don’t worry about it. So long as the hooks cut and the spades dig, that’s fine.”
“Money no object?”
“If you like.”
Aidi sighed. “Where were you when I was in business?” he said. “Where’s Kudei, by the way? He’s late.”
“Finishing up morning milking, I su
ppose,” Kunessin said. He had a thick stack of papers on the table in front of him, but he hadn’t even looked at them yet. “Don’t you want to know what Fly’s condition was?”
Aidi yawned. “At a guess, he wants to bring along that dreadful wife of his,” he said.
Muri laughed, but Kunessin nodded. “I said yes,” he said.
“Thought you might,” Aidi replied. “You do realise it’s just begging for trouble.”
Kunessin picked up a sheet from the top of the stack. Calculations of how much flour they’d need for the first six months. “I don’t see why,” he said. “I mean, it stands to reason we’re going to need women in this colony. Wives,” he added, slightly awkwardly.
This time it was Aidi who laughed. “Fine,” he said. “Where are you planning on getting them from? Not the same place you got the farm tools, I hope.”
Kunessin made a show of studying the paper in front of him. “Arapese,” he said.
He could feel Muri staring at him. Aidi said, “You’re kidding.”
“Not at all,” Kunessin said. “It’s a perfectly sensible, logical approach. We need women along, otherwise it’s going to get pretty bloody awkward when we’re all in our dotage and can’t work any more. No free woman with enough brains to walk upright’s going to sign on to a project like this. So, we do the obvious thing.”
“Teuche,” Muri said.
Kunessin ignored him. “Naturally, we set them free as soon as we get there,” he continued.
“Sure,” Aidi interrupted. “When they’re trapped on an island with no way of getting off it, I’m sure freedom will mean a lot to them.”
“It’ll be a better life than anything they’d have otherwise,” Kunessin snapped. “If you look at it calmly and objectively—”
“Teuche,” Aidi said, “we used to kill slavers on sight, remember? No questions, no messing about: if we caught them on the road or hanging around near a battlefield, it was a rope over the nearest tree and bloody good riddance. You were always the one who said—”
“We were young and naïve,” Kunessin said (and he thought: I’m practically shouting). “And yes, we lynched a lot of people, because we thought we were making the world a better place. And you know what? Nothing changed. Arapese’s still there; in fact it’s twice as busy as it was during the war.” He made an effort and lowered his voice. “All right,” he said. “I’m open to better suggestions.”
“Don’t look at me,” Aidi replied quickly. “Sometimes there isn’t a nice, clean alternative. That doesn’t mean you’ve got to do the other thing.”
“Fine,” Kunessin said. “So what are you saying? You’re not coming?”
“I’m with Teuche,” Muri said. “Like he said, we’ll treat them decently, like human beings. There’s a world of difference between buying and selling.”
Aidi leaned back in his chair. “Let’s not start on that game, please,” he said. “Every time I don’t entirely agree with everything you say. Of course I’m still coming. I just think you haven’t quite thought this one through. For one thing, what sort of people do you think you can buy for money? Someone you want to spend the rest of your life with?”
Kunessin turned away. “I’m not looking for true love, Aidi, I’m just being practical. We need children; therefore—”
“Fine,” Aidi interrupted. “Buy some kids instead. Cheaper.”
“Aidi.” Kunessin could feel that horrible tightening in his chest. It hadn’t bothered him for seven years. “Maybe I’m not explaining my position very well. Obviously, buying slaves isn’t what I want to do—”
“Pleased to hear it.”
“But it’s got to be done,” Kunessin went on, raising his voice a little. “Sure, in an ideal world we’d all bide our time till we met nice girls and fell in love and got married. But we’re not living in Zeuxis’ Republic, Aidi. The plain fact is, we’re not the meeting-nice-girls type.” (As the words left his mouth, he remembered he was talking to two widowers: too late, so he pressed on.) “We’re going to Sphoe to build a colony,” he said briskly. “We need . . .” (He scowled, searching for the word.) “Personnel, to cook food, mend and make clothes, all the stupid, trivial things that have got to be done, don’t need strength or brains or courage to do them, but we can’t do them ourselves.” He took a breath. “We happen to lack those skills,” he went on. “We could learn them, but why the hell should we? So—”
“You’re talking about servants,” Aidi said quietly.
“Up to a point, yes.” Kunessin made an effort to slow his breathing. “But there’s also the matter of reproduction. If it’s really going to be a colony, it needs a future. Yes, you can go to Arapese and buy children, but you can’t buy sons and daughters.” He closed his eyes for a moment; he knew what he wanted to say, but the words evaded him, like the last two chickens in a big run. “You’ve never been a farmer, Aidi. If you had been, I wouldn’t need to explain. Farmers understand this sort of stuff.”
“Try me,” Aidi said.
“All right.” Kunessin sat down, took a moment. “When a farmer’s son marries, he does it for the farm; like he does everything for the farm. So, when he’s looking for a wife, he chooses someone who’ll work hard, keep house responsibly, someone who understands what needs to be done without having to be told. Love . . .” He shrugged. “That comes later. It grows. It’s built, out of respect, support, understanding. Where I come from, marrying for love would be like trying to build a treehouse in a sapling: you can’t, because it hasn’t grown yet. You can’t really love someone unless you’ve known them at least ten years; it simply can’t be done.”
Aidi was looking at him as though he was watching a play. “I’m sure you’re right,” he said. “That’d explain why the world’s such a miserable place. But that’s not what we’re talking about. You’re making speeches about love. This is about buying slaves. Come on, Teuche, pull yourself together. You know we can’t do it.”
“I think he’s making perfect sense,” Muri said. “It’s what they do in—”
“All right,” Kunessin said wearily. “Fine, Aidi, you win. We can’t do it. So what do you suggest?”
Aidi looked blank: victory’s taken him by surprise, Kunessin thought. “I don’t know,” he said. “After all, I hadn’t given the matter any thought before you sprang it on me just now. But at the very least, Teuche, they’ve got to be volunteers. You can’t just go shopping.”
“Volunteers,” Kunessin repeated sceptically. It was his turn now. “Look, we’re not storming a revetment or launching a night attack.”
“Bad choice of words,” Aidi admitted quickly. “But it seems to me there must be women in this town who’d be glad to go with us. I mean, you said it yourself, it’s a good deal.”
Kunessin smiled. “What you mean is, there’s bound to be women whose lives are so wretched and horrible, anything’s got to be better. Sorry, but I don’t think they’d be quite the sort we’re looking for.”
“Maybe not.” Aidi frowned. He’d picked up on the inconsistency, but apparently he didn’t intend to point it out. “It’s more like what you were saying, though, about farmers. Which is what we’re going to be, after all. So what’s wrong with presenting it in those terms? We’ve got plenty to offer: land, livestock, houses. Surely all we need to do is put the word out: four farmers in need of wives, good prospects but must be prepared to travel. At least try it,” he added. “And if it doesn’t work out, we’ll stop off at Arapese on the way. How does that sound? Deal?”
Kunessin sighed. “You’re quite right,” he said. “Tell you the truth, I was having real problems persuading myself I wanted to do it.”
Aidi nodded. “Lying to yourself ’s always a problem,” he said. “You need to be really good at it, and I don’t think you’ve had the practice. All right,” he went on cheerfully, “how do you go about it, down on the farm? Are there still marriage-brokers, or did all that go out with wooden shoes and mutton-chop whiskers?”
Kune
ssin laughed. “Probably the best thing’d be to get Fly’s aunt involved.”
“Oh, God,” Aidi said, “her. Yes, she’ll have us all fixed up by this time tomorrow. You know what, when I was a kid and we came home for the holidays, I used to have nightmares about her. I’d be a hare, and she’d be chasing me through a wood with a pack of baying girls, with warts and missing teeth. Mind you, she must be about a hundred years old by now.”
Kunessin nodded gravely. “I gather it’s one of those skills that matures with age, like making musical instruments. Seriously,” he added, “I think you’re right. We’ll do it your way.”
Aidi nodded. “Only don’t blame me if yours turns out to have only one eye.”
Gorgo Alces expressed no surprise when her nephew gave her the commission. In fact, she said, it was quite a coincidence, because ever since General Kunessin (she let just a little stress lie on the word “general” ) came home, she’d been wondering if the Oxy girl might not suit him very well.
Alces frowned. “Hang on,” he said. “The tall one, Sidery?”
Aunt Gorgo scowled at him. “Not her,” she said. “She married Picron Oistun, the year before last, and they’ve got the farm over to Pickstiles now. Doing quite well, though he’s an idle young devil. No, I was thinking of the younger Oxy girl, Dorun.”
Alces raised both eyebrows, started to say something, thought better of it, shrugged and said, “Well, it’s a thought. All right, so what about Aidi Proiapsen?”
“The other of the Doryclyta twins,” Aunt Gorgo said, without hesitation. “Dolo married the Phrontis boy; they’ve got the lumber yard now that Eume Phrontis is retired, but Chaere’s still at home, getting under her mother’s feet. She’ll give Councillor Proiapsen a run for his money, I’ll be bound.”