by K. J. Parker
“Excellent.” Big smile. “In that case, assuming you’re right, we’ve got a deal we’d like you to talk over with the others.”
He set out the terms: equal shares (after deductions, which he’d go into later), a formal partnership, with everything set down on paper so they’d all know where they stood; conditional, needless to say, on finishing the boat and stocking up on supplies first. Common sense. After that, though - well, by the sound of it there’d be more than enough for everybody.
“Well?” he said.
Aechmaloten was looking at him with big round eyes. “I’ll need to talk to—”
“Of course,” Kunessin said. “And I suggest you elect a foreman, before you go any further.” (He knew exactly who that’d be.) “Best to start off properly organised, rather than let things run and get out of order. If we all know where we stand, there shouldn’t be any misunderstandings.”
He saw Aechmaloten look down, at the sword hilt Kunessin was lightly resting his hand on. He’d always prided himself on his ability to communicate.
“You go back and talk it through,” he said pleasantly. “We’ll wait for you out here. Oh, and you might ask our wives to join us.” He grinned and lowered his voice. “Fact is, we haven’t told them yet.”
Not all that funny, by any standards, but it made Aechmaloten laugh (and to Kunessin that was the click of the lock). He gave them a comic mournful look and promised to send them out right away.
Later, they drew up a contract. Aidi wrote it down. A few years ago, he’d amused himself by learning law hand, the formal, abbreviation-filled, scarcely legible script traditionally used for legal documents. It wasn’t a requirement; lawyers liked it because, unless you were used to it, you had terrible trouble reading it, and were therefore more likely to sign it unread. The indentured men (technically still, but only just; Clause 5 released them from their indentures, as part of the deal) were deeply impressed, which Kunessin thought was rather like fish admiring the craftsmanship of the net-maker.
After the recitals (Aidi put in a lot of those, mostly because each one started with a decorated capital letter, and he fancied he was rather good at the broad hooked loops), the document set out the basics of the agreement. All the named parties were to be partners in the gold strike, sharing the work and the net profits equally, with the usual penalties for not pulling their weight or trying to defraud the others, the obvious likely causes of disagreement. Net profits (and such a pretty net, Kunessin thought; but he managed not to smile at his private joke) were defined as the proceeds less expenses, which included rent paid to the island’s five owners for the mineral rights - fifteen per cent of the gross - and fees for the use of tools and facilities: five per cent. A further two per cent went to General Kunessin, to cover the company’s use of his ship, out of which the general undertook to maintain it and pay the crew. An additional clause, inserted at the general’s insistence, conveyed the island, the buildings, fixtures and chattels to the five surviving members of A Company as a tontine. Although the ship was expressly excluded, the sloop currently under construction was to belong to the tontine, with all the partners obliged to complete and maintain it and act as its crew when required to do so. Apart from the sloop, any equipment and machinery built or acquired after the signing of the agreement was to be partnership property, to be paid for as an expense deducted from the gross.
All but three of the indentured men were able to sign their names; the illiterates each drew a cross, which was duly witnessed. One of them, a tall, nervous man with thin hair, objected to having his mark witnessed by a woman. He said he was sure he’d heard somewhere that it wasn’t valid in law.
“I don’t know about that,” Aidi said irritably. “But nobody else can do it, because we’re all parties to the agreement, and I know for a fact that doesn’t count.”
The man didn’t reply, but he looked extremely sad, and some of the others looked sideways at each other. They think we’re tricking them, Kunessin thought despairingly. As if we’d be that subtle.
“Forget about it,” he said firmly, getting up from the table. “After all, this is our island, we make the laws here. In fact, let’s make one right now. Law number one: a woman can act as a witness to a legal document. All in favour.”
He waited; nobody moved, so he stuck his hand up in the air. Muri copied him immediately, then Aidi, Alces and Kudei. “Well?” Kunessin said.
Aechmaloten was looking at him. “What’re you doing?” he asked.
“Voting,” Kunessin said. “On the proposed new law. Stick your hand up; come on, it’s not exactly difficult. Otherwise I’m going to have to assume you’re against, in which case we can’t have an agreement, with no witnesses, and we’ve all been wasting our time.”
Someone else said: “We can do that?”
“I just said so, didn’t I?”
Very slowly, like someone volunteering to be used for target practice, Aechmaloten raised his hand. When nothing bad happened to him, the rest of them did the same; cautiously, like newly weaned pigs leaving the sty for the first time. “Right,” Kunessin said, loud and pointedly cheerful, “that didn’t hurt, did it?”
Aidi was tugging anxiously at his sleeve. He allowed himself the gentle pleasure of pretending he hadn’t noticed. Aechmaloten had, though; for some reason (not hard to find one), he seemed terrified of Aidi. As well he might be. Occasionally, Kunessin tended to forget what sort of people his friends were, but never for long.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” he said, frowning a little; then he turned to Aidi and whispered, “What?”
“I’d like a word with you,” Aidi hissed back. “Now, please.” Kunessin smiled at Aechmaloten, and allowed Aidi to draw him away; five yards, no more. “Well?” he said.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Kunessin nodded, as though Aidi had raised an obscure but valid point. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said.
“No we won’t,” Aidi replied. “What’s the matter with you? This isn’t what we talked about.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Kunessin said, sharpening his voice a little. “It’s no big deal. Everything’s under control. Now let go of my arm, they’re staring.”
Reluctantly, Aidi did as he was told. Kunessin went back to the table and said, “I think that’s everything for now, so I won’t hold you up any further. Alexicacus, why isn’t the mast up yet? You told me you’d fixed the problem with the retaining pin.”
The indentured men left the hall quite soon after that, and Kunessin closed the door behind them. “Right,” he said briskly. “I get the feeling you’re annoyed with me.”
“Not all of us,” Muri said.
“Too bloody right,” Aidi snapped. “What do you think you’re playing at, Teuche? I mean, the company thing I can accept, but you’ve gone too far. Those men are servants.”
Teuche sighed, and took his time sitting down. “Calm down, Aidi,” he said, “before you get on my nerves. What about the rest of you? Kudei? Fly?”
“I’ll admit I’m curious,” Kudei said, sitting on the edge of the table. “Where did all this democracy stuff come from? I thought we were conning them, not building the ideal republic.”
“Teuche wants to do both,” Alces said.
Kudei laughed, but Kunessin’s face didn’t change. “This isn’t like the army,” he said. “We depend on their goodwill. For one thing, we’ve got to get the boat finished.”
“How does voting on every damn thing help with that?” Aidi said.
“Use your head, Aidi,” Kudei put in. “It’s not every damn thing; just stuff that doesn’t matter. That’s right, isn’t it, Teuche?”
“Better than that,” Alces said. “Unsettle them. If they don’t know where they stand . . .”
“Partly,” Kunessin said, leaning back in his chair. His was the only one with arms; almost like a throne (a point that hadn’t escaped Aidi’s attention, though he’d made a joke of it). “Partly, I re
ally do think we need to get them on our side, genuinely. Make them feel like they’ve got a stake in this. After all, what the hell do we know about panning for gold?”
Aidi scowled. “It can’t be difficult,” he said. “They can do it.”
“And they’ll teach us,” Kunessin said. “And then we’ll know. But we’ll still need them after that.”
“Really?” Aidi raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.” Teuche nodded vigorously. “There’s only five of us, remember.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
Kudei stood up, but only to stretch his back. “We’ve discussed this before,” he said. “Three options, remember? Kill them, or throw them out and risk them coming back with a small army, or learn to live with them in a spirit of trust and brotherly love. I’m not saying we made the right choice, but that’s what we decided. What Teuche’s just done is the next natural step.”
“Lull them into a true sense of security,” Alces muttered.
“Like I said.” Kunessin leaned forward, arms on the table. “This isn’t the army.”
He was watching Aidi closely, and didn’t mind everybody knowing it. “I don’t buy that,” Aidi said, with a feather of nervousness on the edge of his voice. “Even when we were in the army, we didn’t do things the army way. We never bothered about all the service bullshit. We agreed everything among ourselves.”
“Yes,” Kudei put in quietly. “After Nuctos died.”
“That’s not strictly true,” Alces said. “Teuche told us what to do, and since we never had any reason not to agree with him, the question never arose. You were forever arguing the toss,” he added, smiling at Aidi, “but that’s just you. I don’t remember you ever pressing a point, or not going along with what Teuche said.”
Aidi was starting to look harassed. “I don’t know why you’re all picking on me,” he said. “I’m just saying, Teuche’s line about this not being the service is completely beside the point. You want to know what I think? I think Teuche’s scared of them, which is why—”
“No you don’t,” Kudei interrupted. “He’s just being sly. Years of being on the general staff, having to get along with a bunch of people you wouldn’t willingly piss on if they were burning. Maybe he’s being a bit overcautious, but that’s better than charging in bull-at-a-gate.”
Kunessin acknowledged that with a polite nod. “Thanks,” he said, “I think. And yes, Kudei’s not far wrong. Over the years, I’ve had to learn how to handle stupid people if I wanted to get something done. And these men aren’t particularly stupid, not compared with the average brigadier general. I think Aidi’s forgetting he’s not in Faralia any more.”
Aidi opened his mouth, closed it again and indulged in a big, slow shrug. “The last thing I’d ever want to do is cause trouble,” he said. “If you’re all happy with this . . .”
“Yes,” Alces said. “Now let’s stop worrying about trivia and talk about something that really matters. Teuche, why the hell can’t we tell the girls about the gold strike?”
Kudei laughed. Aidi had turned away - pretending to sulk, Kunessin decided, but Aidi never quite sulked. “You’re quite right,” he said. “We need to tell them. I’ve been putting it off, I’m not really sure why.”
“Let’s do it and get it over with,” Muri said.
“They ought to be pleased,” Kudei said. “Yours especially, Aidi.”
Aidi groaned. “She’s the last one we should tell,” he replied. “Soon as she hears the G word, she’ll be desperate to get back to Faralia and start shopping.”
That’s why, Kunessin realised. Not just Chaere; all of them. Their sentence of perpetual exile, punishment for not being married, suddenly commuted into the promise of wealth. Actually, he couldn’t give a damn about the others. But Dorun - there was an old saying: it’s not despair that hurts, it’s hope. If Dorun started thinking there was an alternative to sleeping on damp straw on Sphoe, he’d probably lose her, and that would be a pity.
So he told her.
“Gold,” she repeated, as though he was trying to persuade her to believe in some improbable mythical beast. “In the river.”
“So they reckon,” he replied.
She’d been combing her hair; now she was sitting with the comb in one hand and the mirror in the other, bewildered. It wasn’t what he’d expected. “We’ve been out with them,” he went on. “They showed us the place, and we dug out some of the silt from the river bed and they swirled it round in a dish, and there it was. Like little specks of yellow dust.”
“Oh,” she said.
“They think it’s a substantial strike,” he went on, supplying information she probably didn’t want. “Apparently the signs are all there - they explained it all, but I wasn’t really listening. Something to do with layers of rock and the action of the river eating into them. I think they really know what they’re talking about.” He stopped. She wasn’t listening. “So,” he said. “What do you think?”
“Me?” She looked at him. “What do I think about what?”
He sat down beside her; the stool creaked under their joint weight. “Well,” he said, “it’s not what we came for.”
“True,” she said, as though she suspected a verbal trap. “Does that matter?”
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
“I see.” Her manner changed slightly; maybe it was just relief at understanding the question. “I think it’s like everything. It could be good, or there could be all sorts of problems.” She paused. Perhaps she thought she wasn’t making a good impression. “Chaere’ll be pleased,” she said. “Clea too, I expect, she’s never had anything. I’m not so sure about Enyo—”
“You’re not answering my question.”
“Aren’t I? Oh.” She frowned, a study in concentration. “All those long, earnest discussions you’ve been having with the servants. You’re expecting trouble, aren’t you?”
“Taken care of,” he said firmly. “You’re still not answering my question.”
“Do I want to be married to a gold prospector rather than a farmer?” She shrugged. “Obviously it makes a difference. But it depends. Is it what you want?”
Kunessin smiled. “No,” he said.
“But you haven’t got any choice in the matter.”
“No.”
“Well,” she said briskly, “if you don’t have a choice, neither do I.” She remembered that she was holding a mirror and a comb, and put them down. “You can’t just leave them to it, because you’ve spent all your money setting this up. You’re stuck with it.” Like I’m stuck with you; but she didn’t say that.
“We can leave,” he said. “As soon as the ship gets here.”
She looked at him. “What about the money?”
He nodded. “My friends will see to it that I get it all back,” he replied. “It probably won’t take them very long, if the strike’s as good as they all seem to think. Then,” he went on, looking over her shoulder, “we can go where we like and do what we like. It’s not a problem.”
“We could?”
Hope? He really wasn’t sure. “Of course.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“I don’t particularly want to be a gold-miner. I’m a farmer.”
“It’d mean leaving your friends.”
And still she hadn’t answered his question; unless that was the point, unless asking her that was like asking the sea what it’s like to be water. And, of course, he couldn’t possibly leave them. Not like in the marshes.
“I’d rather not do that,” he said.
“Well, then,” she said.
Later, he called an informal staff meeting. Dorun had been right about Chaere’s reaction, and Clea’s, too. “Money,” Kudei said ruefully. “The moment I said the word ‘gold’, it was like she became a totally different person.”
“Less miserable?” Alces asked.
“There’s worse things than miserable,” Kudei replied. “She went all quiet. Now that’s unsett
ling.”
“There’s a whole lot of things worse than quiet,” Aidi said, with feeling. “Trust me on that.”
“Muri?” Kunessin asked.
“I don’t know.” Muri was frowning. “It’s as though she wasn’t listening. No, that’s not it. She was listening, but it’s like she doesn’t think it’s any of her business.”
“That’s nice, dear?”
Muri grinned. “Almost. More like she’s got something really important on her mind, and trivia like a massive gold strike just doesn’t register.”
“Enyo’s not happy,” Alces volunteered. “She’s worried. Thinks it’ll all end in blood and tears.”
“That’s what she says about everything, though,” Aidi pointed out.
Alces frowned at him. “I explained that we’d taken steps to prevent any trouble with the indentured men—” He checked himself. “Mustn’t call them that any more. Our new business partners. Anyhow, I told her about that.”
“In detail?” Kunessin asked quickly.
Alces looked affronted. “Of course not. I just said we’d made a deal with them and they wouldn’t be a problem. That just made her gloomy.”
Kudei laughed. “Why a sensible woman like that ever married you, I can’t begin to imagine,” he said. “What about Dorun, Teuche? Is she all right about it all?”
“Yes.” Kunessin said the word crisply, like the snapping of a twig. “Well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Next item of business, the sloop. Why the hell isn’t it ready yet?”
Muri and Kudei exchanged grins. “It’s ready,” Kudei said. “Only you’ve been so wrapped up in gold mines and establishing a democracy, we haven’t had a chance to tell you.”
Kunessin’s eyebrows shot up. “The mast?”
“All done,” Aidi said. “I had to rip out the brackets and cut in new ones, but it turned out to be much less trouble than I thought.”
“Before you ask,” Alces put in, “the sail’s done, and the ropes. Fat lot of help I had from our new best friends, I might add. Too busy spending their limitless wealth in their heads, I dare say.”