by K. J. Parker
The captain’s estimate of four hours proved to have been optimistic; the sea was flat, but there were currents coming out of the bay, which kept trying to nudge them sideways, as if some kindly god was trying to tell him he really didn’t want to do this profoundly stupid thing. No sign of anybody on the beach, at any rate. Maybe they weren’t at home - out working in the fields (Major Anogei had been brought up in a town; he wasn’t entirely sure what people did on farms, but he knew they did most of it out in fields) or having a last binge in the gold-beds before the government came to take possession. He fervently hoped so. Secure the settlement, hide men in advantageous positions, a smooth, clean trap. He ran it through in his mind and it still ended in a ghastly bloody mess, like bringing a wild boar into the living-room.
He made himself remember why he’d volunteered for this job. It was harder, in a boat, sailing down the throat of death, but the reason was still valid; and as for the mess and the fear and the sharp edges, it wasn’t as though he was fresh out of the College. Context was everything. This was a job worth doing (he told himself; and, to his great surprise, he still believed it).
She watched the boat grow, from speck to shape, from shape to recognisable miniature. She checked to see if she was feeling nervous. Just a little bit. She wondered if they were dead yet. Must be, by now. She wondered why the soldiers had come in a little boat, but there was bound to be a good reason, too technical for her. She cramped and flexed her hands, like a little girl about to recite.
Not to the quay after all; the steersman had done his best, but the sea insisted they should land on the beach. Major Anogei stood up, his legs wobbly, feet shot through with pins and needles. “This as close as you can get?” he asked. No answer; it was clearly a stupid question. Oh well, he thought. He climbed up on the bulwark and hopped off into the water.
Splash. A man always feels a clown, jumping into water with his clothes on, instantly reduced to a small boy who’s going to get a telling-off from his mother. He felt his boots fill up, and knew with a sinking heart that he was going to be squelching rather than striding up the beach to meet his destiny. He died with his boots on, they’d say of him, but his boots were full of water.
Someone stood up, fifty yards or so away, among the rocks. He hadn’t seen whoever it was; bad start. But it was just a woman.
He stopped for a moment, then advanced. A woman; odd. She was waving. Was there an indigenous population? Not according to the briefing, which meant precisely nothing. She looked cheerful; cheerful and plain and half-witted and cunning, as though she was going to try and sell him local craftware.
“Hello there,” he called out. Of course, he had no idea what language she might speak, since she wasn’t even supposed to be there.
“Hello,” she called back.
He closed the distance. She was quite young, shabby clothes but clean hair, slab-fronted peasant face. “Could you tell me where I might find General Kunessin?”
For a moment he thought she hadn’t understood; then she made herself look very sad. “He’s dead,” she said.
No, surely not. Like arriving at the battlefield and being told the battle had been cancelled, on account of the weather. “Excuse me?”
“They’re all dead,” the girl said mournfully. “My husband and all the others. Thank goodness you’ve come,” she added, remembering her line a fraction of a second too late.
“Dead?” Does that word mean what I think it does? “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” she wailed (and in her eyes there still lurked the little gleam that had made Anogei think he was about to be offered very nice basket, very cheap). “I think it must’ve been something they ate. They just suddenly—”And then she broke off, covered her face with her hands, made some very dry tearing noises.
Anogei hadn’t the faintest idea what to say. The whole thing was absurd. “Are you sure?” he heard himself ask.
“Of course I’m sure,” the strange girl snapped back at him, fast as a cat. “I came out of the house and there they all were, lying on the ground.” Her eyes narrowed. “You can come and see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”
He remembered that he was a leader of men, and that his men should by now be right behind him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Who are you?”
“I’m—” She stopped short. “I’m Chaere,” she said. “Chaere Proiapsen.”
Kunessin opened his eyes.
The knife, or spear or arrow or whatever it was, was still there. He could feel it very distinctly, cutting into him, doing damage; but it wasn’t quite as bad as it had been, and if he was going to die, he doubted whether it’d be slackening off. In which case, he was probably going to live. He could feel the sweat; soaking, as if he’d been out in the rain. His throat felt as though he’d swallowed a rasp. Oh, and there’s two ships in the bay. Two ships. He groaned quietly. For one ship, he wouldn’t make the effort. Two ships.
He jerked his knees and pushed with his arms, bouncing himself off the ground. That made the pain worse, and he pulled a sad face. It was hot, like the desert. He was in terrible pain. He’d been poisoned. He was excused duty. No, he wasn’t. He crouched, huddled, and stabbed at the ground with his feet. The leverage got him upright, and he caught his balance just in time. The next stab was so violent that he staggered, as though absorbing the impact of a real blow. Now then, he thought.
“Aidi.” He couldn’t hear himself. He was sure he’d just spoken, but he hadn’t heard it. So this time he shouted, and this time he heard a little tiny voice, a very long way away, whispering. A child’s voice, a little lost child who’s wandered off at the fair. He was exhausted.
He could see Aidi, or a dead body; no idea which, but he supposed he’d better find out. Trouble was, the body was three yards away. Two ships. It’s all right, he told himself, I can walk from here.
Three enormous yards. Imagine picking up something really big and heavy and awkward, an anvil, say, or a big block of masonry. Just holding it’s bad enough, but you try actually walking with it. All that pressure, crushing down on one flimsy, wobbly knee joint. It’d never cope with the shearing force. One step. His head swam, his eyes lost focus, it was like trying to stand up in a howling wind. He kept his balance. Next step.
“Aidi?”
No good. Aidi could just be ordinary asleep; he wouldn’t hear a pathetic little whimper like that. He took the third step (stabbing so sharp he was sure the point must’ve come out through his back). Can I stop now, please? He stretched out his toe and prodded the side of Aidi’s neck.
“Aidi? Are you alive?”
He waited. He’d give it till the count of twenty, and then pronounce Aidi officially dead. On seventeen, Aidi’s neck twitched. A nod.
“Then fucking well get up.” He felt his stomach lurch. Any minute now . . .
“Any minute now,” he said, “I’m going to throw up right where you’re lying. I suggest you move.”
The warning proved timely. Aidi rolled over on to his side just as the contents of Kunessin’s stomach reached the ground.
“Aidi. How are you feeling?”
Stupid question; he issued a mental apology. “You’ve got to get up,” he said. “Didn’t you hear what she said? Two ships.”
Sick as he was, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the way Aidi stood up. It was a bit like watching someone draw water out of a well without a bucket. He’d overdone it, of course, and as soon as he was on his feet, he fell forward, and Kunessin had to catch him.
“Come on,” Kunessin said. “You’ve got to help me with the others.”
Aidi shook his head, like a drunk. “They’re dead.”
“I don’t think so.”
“That mad bloody woman,” Aidi croaked - his face was the colour of flour. “She poisoned us.”
“Two ships,” Kunessin reminded him. “Come on.”
“What’s so special about two ships?”
Alces was already stirring when they reached him. “Teuc
he, that bloody woman . . .”
“We know,” Aidi said, reaching out a hand. Alces nearly pulled him over, and Kunessin had to rescue both of them. Kudei got up slowly but steadily, groaning and asking over and over again what had happened, without seeming to hear their replies. Muri was breathing - light, short sniffs - but they couldn’t bring him round, not even when Aidi kicked him in the ribs.
“Fine,” Kunessin grunted. “We’ll have to carry him.”
They tried, but they didn’t have the strength. “We can’t just leave him here,” Aidi said. So they dragged him, head and shoulders off the ground, the rest trailing. They had to stop every five yards; but by the time they reached the settlement, all of them felt a little stronger (though Kudei was having trouble staying upright, and Alces threw up over his boots). They reached the barn, shouldered open the door, and collapsed in a heap, like tired dogs after a long day. At some point, Kunessin dragged himself up again, filled a jug with water and handed it round.
“How’s Muri doing?” he asked.
“I’m not happy about the way he’s breathing,” Aidi replied. “That’s not just asleep. I think he’s pretty bad.”
“He’ll be all right.” Peremptory, as though he was issuing an order. “If we’ve pulled through, he’ll be all right too.”
“Why did she do it?” Aidi demanded. “It seems such a strange thing to do, pointless.”
Alces laughed. “Far as I can tell, a better question would be: why did she wait so long? She was always going to be trouble.”
Kunessin sighed. “If she was telling the truth about having seen ships in the bay, I guess that’s the answer to your question. She wanted to be sure of her ride home.”
“You think that’s why?” Kudei put in.
Kunessin shrugged. “Just a theory.”
“A bit - well, rational,” Alces objected. “Either she’s crazy and that’s why she tried to kill us, or she’s cunning and practical, in which case why’d she do it?”
“Money?” Kudei suggested.
Kunessin shook his head. “If she’d done it earlier, then quite possibly,” he said. “But now we’re broke.”
“There’s the gold . . .”
“Which is buried on the mainland, and only we know where it is. If we’d died, that’d have been that.”
Alces sighed. “Crazy, then. Well, I’m not entirely surprised.”
The water jug went round again; then Kunessin put on his best serious face. “Aidi,” he said, “I take it you saw. Chaere . . .”
Aidi nodded, a small, economical movement.
“Fly . . .”
Alces nodded too, and Kudei grunted, “Thanks, I saw. They weren’t so lucky.”
It was a phrase they used in the army, a kind of incantation to mark the passing of the fallen. None of them had used it when Nuctos died; they’d never been comfortable with it, and the acceptance it implied. Other than when Nuctos died, of course, they’d never had occasion to use it. Dismissive; a charm to cut someone out of your mind. Unimportant; because in spite of everything, once again A Company had survived.
“Two ships, Teuche,” Aidi said.
Kunessin closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “At the very least, the second ship’s to carry the miners, which would mean there’s enough soldiers to fill one ship. Or it could be they’re both carrying soldiers. At any rate, it’s not a good sign. You can bet they haven’t fetched along at least five companies just to guard the works. That’s a full-strength garrison. Or an assault force.”
“Can’t just be for us, either,” Kudei said. “Come on, Teuche, you’re the officer. What are they up to?”
Kunessin frowned. “I wish I knew,” he said.
“Arrest her,” Anogei said.
Immediately two men appeared behind her and caught hold of her elbows. At first she was too shocked to resist.
“What’s going on?” she demanded. “I haven’t done anything.”
“On the boat,” Anogei said. “Set a man to guard her. No, better make that two.”
The pressure on her elbows increased, gentle but very strong. She tried to pull away, but it was like pushing a wall, so she stamped down with her heels, trying to crush the tops of their feet. Apparently they’d been expecting that. They sidestepped her, and she squealed angrily, and they marched her away.
Now that, Anogei thought, was a stroke of luck; assuming, of course, that Proiapsen loved his wife. Rather a substantial assumption, of course. Still, it gave him another line of approach beside straightforward frontal assault. He turned his head and looked back at the ships, which hardly seemed to have moved. Back-up, he decided, wasn’t arriving any time soon. Not that he needed it: he outnumbered them five to one. He pulled a face, and wondered what on earth had possessed him to come ashore in a boat, rather than wait for the wind.
Well, he thought. Might as well get on with it.
The settlement, as he approached it, looked to be in a bad way. Signs of considerable damage by fire; he knew about the blaze in the main house from Straton’s report, but the other burnt-out shells were too far away, in his view, to have been part of the same incident. Signs of activity, too: a freshly dug patch of earth, with bits of stick marking out rows, so somebody had been planting vegetables. A stack of rails, recently cut out of green timber, leaning up against a wall to season. No livestock that he could see, other than a pair of carthorses in an overgrazed paddock; overbred, too big and too unsteady to pull a plough. A thin line of smoke drifting up from one of the barns, which looked as though it had been thatched recently, in a hurry, using improvised materials, by ingenious but unskilled men. The smoke suggested an untended fire rapidly burning itself out, implying that nobody was inside the building. No other signs of life. He thought carefully for a minute or so, then gave the order to fan out and secure the perimeter.
(The sergeant’s face said: secure it against what? Well, fine. Better overcautious than the other way about.)
The operation didn’t take long; and when he saw it was complete, he asked himself: what’s all that in aid of? He’d secured the perimeter because in a police action that’s what you do. You seal off the edges so fugitives can’t slip away. The idea that twenty men could seal in the legendary A Company was so ludicrous it made him smile. Truth was, he admitted to himself, he hadn’t the faintest idea how he was supposed to do this. In which case . . .
He gave the signal to move in. Under standard procedures, this meant searching the buildings, moving from the outside towards the centre. The barn, which was the only building that showed any signs of recent occupation, wasn’t in the centre. Going about it all wrong. He gave the signal for hold it, stay where you are, and tried to think logically.
The logical thing to do was wait till the ships got in, then use all the men at his disposal to seal the perimeter properly; then, backed up by at least twenty men in plain view, advance on the barn and knock on the door. Unfortunately, it was a bit late for that now. If A Company weren’t at home, if they were off in the woods or the hills somewhere, they’d be sure to have seen his men moving about inside the compound. If they were in the barn, everything he’d done so far had actively weakened his position. The only advantage he still retained was that A Company most likely neither knew nor suspected the purpose of his mission; and he’d significantly weakened that advantage by deploying his men in a manner calculated to arouse the deepest suspicion. If he’d marched up to the barn and knocked on the door, he might have been in with a chance. What he’d done instead was scatter his forces and show his hand. All in all, he was hard put to it to think of a mistake he hadn’t made.
Assuming, of course, that A Company was still alive. The woman, Proiapsen’s wife, had said they were all dead: food poisoning, or something of the sort. He hadn’t believed her at the time, because he’d been looking at the smoke from the barn, which he’d taken as an indication that someone inside the compound was very much alive. In other words, he’d jumped to the conclusion that
the woman’s statement was some sort of cunning ruse designed to put him off his guard, so he’d go blundering into the yard and get caught in an ambush. But that, he realised, was a bloody stupid thing to assume, since A Company had no reason to suspect that he was anything more sinister than Straton’s representative, and that he’d come to take over the gold mine. Stupid, he thought. Another stupid mistake.
But if he’d assumed wrong, and the woman was telling the truth . . .
A gleam of light glowed warm and beautiful inside his head. Maybe the woman had been telling the truth. Maybe they really were all dead, and all he’d have to do was find Proiapsen’s body, pack it in salt and load it on the ship. Wonderful thought, and, therefore, presumably too good to be true.
The hell with it, he thought, and called over one of the two sergeants.
“Take three men,” he said, “and get up as close as you can to that barn, see if there’s anybody alive in there. Don’t be too obvious about it. If there’s anybody home, I’d rather they didn’t know we’re here.”
The sergeant gave him a pained, is-that-all look, for which he couldn’t help feeling a certain degree of sympathy. Go over there, just the three of you, and see if the enemy’s home. No, he wouldn’t care to do it himself. Tough.
He watched them from the cover of a doorway. They did the job well, the right balance of caution and expedition. He watched the sergeant arrive at the barn door, which was shut, and lean in close to it, listening for voices; then a brisk nod of the head and the signal to withdraw.
“Definitely somebody in there, sir,” the sergeant reported. “At least three of them.”
Not dead, then. Anogei scowled, trying to make his mind work. At least three of them; in which case the woman had been lying, and it was such a peculiar lie to tell: they’re all dead. He tried to account for it, but all he could come up with was a rather basic, rather crude ruse to get him to march blithely into a trap (so crude it had to be a double bluff, which made it ingenious and clever). Only, he’d done that, and there wasn’t one. Instead, at least three of them were inside the barn. Funny sort of a trap. He had an idea that he was missing the point somewhere along the line.