by Hugh Cook
‘What happened between you and Banker Xzu?’ said Cod.
‘Nothing much,’ said Alfric.
‘Did he offer to help you?’ said Morgenstem. ‘Help you win the throne, I mean.’
‘No,’ said Alfric. ‘He told me to get out of Galsh Ebrek lest I die in my sleep. He told me I’ve been kicked out of the Bank. I’m not welcome here.’
‘So... so who is actually going to rule in Galsh Ebrek?’ said Cod.
‘Unless I’m very much mistaken,’ said Alfric, ‘Justina Thrug has come out on top, with Ursula Major as her puppet.’
Then he elaborated.
‘That’s nice to hear,’ said Cod. ‘At least it means there won’t be a war in the city. Political stability makes things easier for us ambassadors. In theory, at least.’
‘But in practice, probably not,’ said Morgenstem. ‘What’s the problem?’ said Alfric.
‘Nobody takes us seriously, that’s the problem,’ said Cod. ‘Because we’re orks. It makes it very hard to get business done.’
‘And,’ said Morgenstem, ‘we find it hard to settle to business in any kind.’
‘Why?’said Alfric.
‘Because,’ said Morgenstem, the eyes of the big lubbery creature growing wet with tears, ‘we’re afraid. Afraid of living here. Afraid of the Knights and the commoners.’
‘Afraid?’ said Alfric. ‘I don’t believe it! You were heroes up in Saxo Pall. Challenging Ursula Major like that. I was ever so impressed.’
‘Were you?’ said Cod.
‘Yes,’ said Alfric. ‘Really.’
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Cod. ‘We did ... we did rise to the occasion, and we know it. We’re proud of it. But it’s the routine that’s wearing us down.’
‘The routine,’ said Morgenstem, ‘of just living in this city.’
‘They make jokes about us, you see,’ said Cod. ‘Jokes about eating us. I can take a joke. But it’s not a joke, not really. They really do want to eat us. I can’t sleep at night for the bad dreams.’
‘Sleep by day, then,’ said Alfric carelessly ‘Oh, it’s all right for you,’ said Morgenstem. ‘You’re not an ork. Nobody ever threatened to boil you down for your blubber oil.’
‘Well. . . no,’ said Alfric, conceding the point.
‘If you were ambassador,’ said Cod, ‘King Dimple-Dumpling’s ambassador, I mean, then people would take you seriously. You could get things done. Not like us orks.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ said Alfric. ‘The Izdimir Empire has an ambassador here, but nobody takes him too seriously. They make jokes about him too, you know. It’s not just because you’re orks. It’s because you’re outsiders. Anyway, if it’s getting too much for you, why don’t you go back to the Qinjoks?’
‘King Dimple-Dumpling wouldn’t like that,’ said Morgenstem. ‘He has to have an ambassador in Galsh Ebrek.’
‘Then let him send an ogre,’ said Alfric. ‘One of his sons, perhaps. This just isn’t the place for orks. I’m quite happy to come along to the Qinjoks and tell the king that myself.’
‘Oh,’ said Cod, ‘that’s awfully kind of you. But it wouldn’t really be a good idea. The king’s most awfully keen to keep an ambassador here. We’re under orders.
We can’t leave unless we can find someone to substitute for us.’
Cod paused.
Looked at Alfric.
Morgenstem did likewise.
And Alfric thought to himself, in amusement:
—They want me to be ambassador?
Oh no.
That was impossible.
Or was it?
Technically... technically it might be possible. If Alfric became the ogre-king’s ambassador in Galsh Ebrek, then the Powers That Be would not dare murder him, lest they start a war with the Qinjoks. But. . . but Alfric planned to leave the continent of Yestron for the continent of Tameran. To make a new life for himself in Port Domax. There, life would be a struggle, but there was no limit to what he might achieve, given time.
Whereas to be the ogre-king’s ambassador in Galsh Ebrek would surely be a dead end.
‘Maybe you’re mistaken about the importance the king attaches to diplomatic representation in Galsh Ebrek,’ said Alfric. ‘I don’t see why King Dimple-Dumpling really needs an ambassador here at all. Our relations are perfectly cordial, and will remain so as long ' as the annual tribute is paid.‘ , Alfric frankly did not think that payment of that annual tribute represented much of a strain on the treasury of the king of the Qinjoks.
Cod looked at Morgenstem.
Morgenstem looked at Cod.
‘Shall we tell him?’ said Morgenstem.
‘Let’s,’said Cod. '
So Morgenstem said to Alfric:
‘King Dimple-Dumpling wants to open a bank. Here. In Galsh Ebrek.’
‘A bank?’ said Alfric, not bothering to conceal his surprise.
‘Yes,’ said Morgenstem. ‘A bank.’
‘But why?’ said Alfric.
‘Why does anyone open a bank?’ said Cod. ‘To make money. The king’s got all that treasure up in the Qinjoks with no place to invest it. The stuff just sits there getting warm in spring and cold in autumn. If the king had a bank, he could lend out his money for interest. Invest. Land, ships, insurance. You know. You’re a banker. I don’t have to tell you all this stuff, you know it already.’ ‘It’s a nice idea,’ said Alfric cautiously. ‘But investment opportunities in Galsh Ebrek are somewhat limited. I don’t know that there’s room enough for another bank. Not here.’
‘Of course there is,’ said Cod. ‘After all, you trade with the world.’
A fever-flush burnt through Alfric’s veins. He felt dizzy. Did the orks know about that? But how? How could they?
—Careful now.
—This could be a trap.
Then Alfric chided himself for being so foolish. Of course the orks knew nothing of the Bank’s secret. They couldn’t. It just wasn’t possible. When the orks said that Galsh Ebrek traded with the world, all they meant was that ships came and went, and those ships could go anywhere in the world to do their trading.
‘Let’s have some wine,’ said Alfric abruptly.
He raised his voice, and, by dint of a little shouting, summoned Du Deiner from inside the Green Cricket. Orders were placed, and, shortly, Alfric was sipping on some delicate lemon-flavoured wine. By now he had quite recovered himself, so he said:
‘With reference to trade, you know as well as I do that a few ships come and go to and from Wen Endex. So, yes, certainly, we trade with the world. But it’s a lean tradeline, isn’t it?’
‘Ah,’ said Cod. ‘But it’s not ships I’m talking about. I’m talking about the Door.’
Alfric felt as if he had been abruptly dumped into a barrel of boiling water. They knew! They knew! The orks were privy to the Secret! This was a thunderbolt upset if ever there was one.
But Alfric masked his face with a diplomat’s blandness and said, lightly, lightly, making a joke of it:
‘Door? Yes, the Bank’s got a Door for sure, otherwise we’d have to climb over the walls every time we went in and out.’
Thus he spoke, then felt a pang of anguish when he realized that ‘we’ no longer included himself. He was an outcast, excluded from the company of his fellows. And, for a moment, he almost wanted to weep.
‘It’s not that I’m talking of,’ said Cod. ‘I’m talking of a Door which goes from here to Elsewhere. To Chi’ash-lan, Parengarenga and Tang. To Argan. To Ashmolea.’ Alfric almost declared Cod to be in error; for of course the Circle of the Partnership Banks did not give them access to Ashmolea. However, he restrained his tongue. Took the time to think. Then answered, trying to make his answer seem careless:
‘A pretty tale, methinks, and one you must fabricate for me in full, for I warrant it worth the telling. But of your mysterious Door I know nothing.’
‘See?’ said Morgenstem. ‘I told you he was a liar.’ ‘Don’t be too hard on him,’ said Co
d. ‘It’s his upbringing.’
‘What do you mean, I’m a liar?’ said Alfric. ‘I’m telling you the truth.’
‘We’d believe you if we could,’ said Cod, ‘but we know better. Ogres and orks have always known about the Door, you see. We go back to the days before Galsh Ebrek, you see. Before the city was ever founded. Before the Bank built on Mobius Kolb.’
‘You have legends, doubtless,’ said Alfric.
‘Legends, yes,’ said Cod. ‘And truths to go with them. We know the Door to stand in the Rock of Rocks, the Keeper of Secrets. We know it to be a grey screen through which an ork can step to be Elsewhere.’
‘I know nothing of this Door,’ said Alfric. ‘But suppose such a thing to exist. Certain things follow. First, the Bank would never acknowledge its existence, for it would be a secret too great for the world to be trusted with. Second, the Bank would never allow its use by orks.’
‘And why not?’ said Morgenstem.
‘Because, um—’
‘Prejudice,’ said Morgenstem heavily. ‘That’s what you’re talking about. We’re orks, so they hate us. If only because we make them remember. That’s all. You’d like to wage genocide on the lot of us. Then you could forget the crimes of your ancestors. You could forget we ever existed.’
‘I don’t know that that’s entirely fair,’ said Alfric. ‘But the truth is that your Door doesn’t exist, and if it did you wouldn’t have access to it, nor would your bank,’
‘But,’ said Cod, ‘what if our bank was run by one who already shared the secret of the Door?’
Alfric frowned.
The ork was hinting at—
At ... ?
Grief!
But—
Alfric was cautious.
Maybe Cod wasn’t actually offering him anything. And there was no guarantee that any offer made by the orks would be made in good faith. Best that Alfric be cautious; for it was quite possible that the orks’ sole purpose was to spy out the secrets of the Bank.
‘I think,’ said Cod, ‘that you think I’m trying to trick you into telling of something you’d rather not talk about.’
‘He doesn’t trust us,’ said Morgenstem gloomily.
‘But maybe he could learn to trust us,’ said Cod. ‘If we brought him money enough, I mean. Five pack-trains of gold to establish his bank. A formal treaty with the king of the Qinjoks. Does the idea appeal, Alfric my friend?’
‘You tell an interesting story,’ said Alfric.
‘It’s not just a story,’ said Morgenstem. ‘What we’re getting at - and I must say you seem awfully slow on the uptake - is that we want you to run our bank. You’re the perfect candidate.’
‘So you tell me,’ said Alfric. ‘But that’s only your opinion. Your king may think otherwise.’
‘Oh no,’ said Cod. ‘We had a long talk about that before we left the Qinjoks. He likes you, Alfric. He’s watched you every year in interview. He thinks highly of you. We’re authorized to offer you full management of the bank, with a baseline salary of five thousand saladins per annum plus 25 per cent of the profits.’
Alfric was staggered.
But—
The Bank would kill him if he so much as breathed of the Bank’s secrets.
‘As I keep trying to tell you,’ said Alfric, ‘it’s no good. Your offer’s based on a fallacy. There’s actually no Door in the Bank, and even if there was, it would be far too dangerous for anyone to confess knowledge to such.’ ‘That’s all right,’ said Cod, patting Alfric’s hand. ‘You can pretend with us if that’s what you want to do. It doesn’t make any difference to us. Just accept the job, that’s all we’re asking. As for danger - with powerful friends you’ll have nothing to worry about.’
‘It’s a long, long way from here to the Qinjoks,’ said Alfric.
‘Yes,’ said Cod. ‘But we’ll make you an ambassador as well as the head of your own bank. Besides, it’s no distance at all to Saxo Pall. Justina Thrug’s done well for herself, hasn’t she? Even so, she may not be immune to... to the lure of financial incentive.’
‘Justina?’ said Alfric. ‘How does she come into it?’ ‘That’s for you to say,’ said Cod. ‘But I venture to suggest that you could reward her most handsomely with but a fraction of your 25 per cent of the profits.’
‘I don’t think she’d want to deal with me,’ said Alfric.
‘Oh, but she does, she does,’ said Cod calmly. ‘She told us as much herself.’
‘What?!’
‘We had a brief conclave,’ said Cod. ‘With Justina, I mean. While you were talking with Comptroller Xzu. The three of us. Justina and us two. We went to the stench pits together. We told Justina that you had the favour of King Dimple-Dumpling. She’s agreed to see you in private interview at noon tomorrow, though as yet she doesn’t know what’s at stake.’
Alfric was staggered. He had grossly underestimated these orks, who were far better diplomats than he had thought. Earlier, he had seen fit to lecture them on the power politics of Wen Endex. Had even told them of Justina Thrug’s freshly won supremacy. And they had listened like little children receiving instruction - though they had known all about it all along.
‘So,’ said Cod. ‘It’s all set up. Almost. All you have to do is to agree to be our banker.’
Alfric thought about it.
‘You tell a pretty fairy tale,’ he said at last. ‘But there’s one thing I don’t understand. Why me? If your offer is as it is, why would you freely give me such wealth and such power?’
‘He’s a bit slow today,’ said Morgenstem.
‘That’s forgiveable,’ said Cod. ‘He’s been overworked these last few days.’ Then, to Alfric: ‘First, you’re a Yudonic Knight, not a commoner, so you can get things done in Galsh Ebrek. But you’re less of a barbarian than most Knights, so we feel comfortable dealing with you. You’re already privy to the secrets of the Flesh Traders’ Financial Association, which is the greatest of advantages. And - you’ve nowhere left to go.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He means,’ said Morgenstem, ‘this is your last chance in Galsh Ebrek. Otherwise, you’re finished. So you’re ours or you’re nothing.’
Cod smacked Morgenstem sharply on the shoulder, and said: -
‘Diplomacy, remember?’
‘I remember,’ said Morgenstem. ‘But talking in circles isn’t getting us anywhere in a hurry, is it?’
‘Maybe not,’ said Cod. ‘But at least we’ve got his attention.’
The orks had Alfric’s attention indeed. If he was made an ambassador, that would guarantee his personal safety. And, if he cut Justina Thrug in on the deal, he could set up a bank in Galsh Ebrek with no trouble at all. And, with the wealth of the Qinjoks behind him, he could swiftly become rich. He would have his power base, and nobody would be able to touch him. Unless Galsh Ebrek’s Bank... but on consideration, in all probability the Flesh Traders’ Financial Association would be more than happy to deal with him. Access to the resources of the Qinjoks would mean a permanent solution to the Bank’s intermittent liquidity problems.
No small matter, this. In theory the Partnership Banks were equal allies working to mutual advantage. In theory, a ran on the Bank in Dalar ken Halvar could be met by funds in Chi’ash-lan or vice versa; and the intricate treaties which bound the Banks together alleged that such support would be forthcoming automatically. But in practice, the larger Banks would happily combine to wreck one of their weaker associates if a profitable opportunity ever became available.
The wealth of the Qinjoks was a financial weapon which would make Galsh Ebrek great. The Flesh Traders’ Financial Association would acknowledge as much, and Banker Xzu and his fellows would have to deal with Alfric Danbrog as an equal. Between them, they would finance coal mines on Stokos, wars in the Cold West, forestry in Quilth, poetry in Tang...
As Alfric luxuriated in the possibilities, he realized that already he was committed. Cod was right. For Alfric, there were no options. The challeng
e would be great, and the dangers greater yet; but the bait was irresistible.
‘Well?’ said Cod. ‘Tell us your thoughts.’
‘I’m thinking,’ said Alfric gravely, ‘that the proposal you’re making would have to be subject to the negotiation of suitable terms. After all, 25 per cent is small recompense for the personal risks I’d be running, particularly when so much of the money would be going in bribes.’
‘You’re lucky to be getting anything!’ said Morgenstem, in a rare display of explosive anger. ‘At best, I thought you worth 5 per cent, not 25.’
‘Perhaps I know my own worth better than you,’ said Alfric calmly. ‘I’m thinking more along the lines of a 60-40 split.’
‘In your favour, I suppose,’ said Morgenstem sarcastically.
‘Yes,’ said Alfric.
This insolent audacity left Morgenstem temporarily dumbfounded, but Cod found tongue enough to say:
‘If thus you think, then please to think again, for 25 is our absolute maximum.’
‘Think I will,’ said Alfric solemnly.
But his head was filled not with percentages but with visions of glory. At whatever percentage, he would do a deal with these orks; and he would open his bank, and become rich, and great, and glorious. Already he was filled with a lust for enterprise, an enthusiasm for battle, and with savage hopes of ultimate triumph. Kingship of Wen Endex? His bank would give him a powerbase for making himself king, thus redeeming his father’s name and fulfilling his grandfather’s wishes.
Youth was over, yes; but all of manhood lay ahead. And, for Alfric, anything was possible.
Then Anna Blaume emerged from inside the Green Cricket to say:
‘There’s someone at the door. They want to see you.’
‘People?’ said Alfric, immediately beset by bloodstained visions of death and disaster.
‘Not dangerous people,’ said Anna Blaume. ‘People people.’
So Alfric went to the front door and found a most motley crew assembling outside. There were beggars and lepers, and widows in rags with bawling babies, and cripples and mutants, and more than a few people who were frankly insane.