The Proof House

by K. J. Parker

  Temrai shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said. ‘And neither would you, come to that. Face it, Hebbekai, we don’t know anything about these people, or at least not yet.’

  Poscai shook his head. ‘Speak for yourself,’ he said. ‘Here’s a cold fact for you. At any one time, Arshad and his friends in the provincial office – that’s just one province, remember, and by no means the biggest province in the Empire – they’ve got a standing army of at least a hundred and twenty thousand men, all highly trained and beautifully equipped, not to mention lavishly paid. Armies aren’t for decoration; if they’ve got an army like that it’s because they’re going to use it. Can’t do otherwise.’

  ‘I don’t follow,’ Temrai said.

  ‘Don’t you?’ Poscai frowned. ‘All right then, picture this. You have a hundred and twenty thousand of the best fighting men in the world, and you tell them you don’t need them any more. That’s it, they’ve done the job, they’re free to go. So what do they do? Remember, these are professional soldiers. After six months, you’d need another quarter of a million men just to get rid of them, kill them or chase them off your land. No, once you’ve got an army like that, you don’t really have a choice. You’ve got to keep on going. And now,’ he concluded sadly, ‘they’ve reached us.’

  ‘Poscai’s right,’ said Hebbekai. ‘Basically, we now have two options: fight them, or pack up and get out of their way.’ He shook his head. ‘Sorry,’ he went on, ‘I thought you’d worked all this out for yourself. That’s what we just had a civil war about.’

  Temrai looked up, startled. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘I thought it was obvious. They wanted to pack up and leave, after what happened to Ap’ Escatoy, follow the old ways – and what that really meant was, go back to the plains, as far away from these people as we can get. You decided against it. Your call. So we had a civil war. Isn’t that right? Poscai? Jasacai? You tell him, I can see he doesn’t believe me.’

  Temrai held up his hand. ‘You’re trying to tell me I’ve just fought a civil war and nobody thought to tell me what it was about?’

  ‘We assumed you knew,’ said the chancellor, Jasacai. ‘After all, it’s so obvious.’

  Temrai slid back in his chair and let his chin drop on his chest. ‘Not to me,’ he replied. ‘All right,’ he went on, ‘I want you to promise me something. Next time we go to war, will somebody please tell me why?’

  Another Imperial diplomat, not quite so grand but nevertheless a thoroughly competent man with nearly twenty years’ experience, landed from a civilian merchant ship at Tornoys, the free port through which passed most of the traffic to and from the suddenly relevant backwater of the Mesoge. His name was Poliorcis, and although he wasn’t a Son of Heaven (originally he was from Maraspia province, right on the other side of the Empire) his appearance alone was enough to make him stand out among the usual crowd on Tornoys pier. Mesoge people, and the traders who did business with them, tended to be short, square and functional, as if someone had made a conscious effort to get as many of them as possible out of a limited quantity of raw material. By contrast, Maraspians came fairly close to extravagance verging on deliberate waste.

  While the porters were unloading the cargo, near the bottom of which were the various barrels and bundles of trade-goods and junk that constituted his persona of itinerant textiles dealer, Poliorcis took the time to watch a mildly interesting and informative little scene being played out in the doorway of a ships’ chandlery at the town end of the pier.

  Blink twice, and you’d have missed it; more likely, you’d have seen it out of the corner of your eye and dismissed it as too commonplace to be worth eavesdropping on. Hence, among other reasons, the provincial office’s habit of sending complete strangers when it wanted discreet observations made.

  The old man was drunk; no question about that. Whether or not he was disorderly would depend on what passed for good order in any given place, and in Poliorcis’ opinion this was the sort of place where singing and waving one’s arms about in an exuberant but not overtly intimidating fashion would be, at worst, a nuisance and at best, ambience. Since the old man was quite decrepit, definitely not a threat to anybody but himself, and not that bad a singer if only he’d take the trouble to learn more than the first five words of any of the songs in his limited repertoire, Poliorcis was inclined to mark him down, in context, as ambience. At home, of course, it would have been quite different – ambience was about as popular as garbage from a fifth-storey window where he came from, and just as severely regarded by the authorities. But in a setting like this, you’d have expected no reaction beyond a tendency for passers-by to cross the road. Instead, a soldier coming out of a tavern stopped, reached out, grabbed the old man by the front of his disreputable shirt and cracked his head sharply against the doorframe, then let go and watched him slump to the ground, leaving a smear of blood on the timbers. At least four people must have seen the incident apart from Poliorcis, but none of them turned his head or gave any other indication of having noticed anything, whether from familiarity or policy the stranger wasn’t sure. The old man lay still; the soldier went on his way. It had been neatly done, as if it was something they practised in the drill-yard, over and over again until they got it right.

  Having digested the scene and committed it to memory, Poliorcis carried on down the street towards the timber exchange, where he hoped to absorb some more significant ambience. He hadn’t gone more than a yard or so, however, when someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he stopped and turned round.

  ‘You look lost,’ said the man who’d stopped him. He was large, commonplace-looking, bald, with friendly looking grey eyes; the height aside, he looked typically Mesoge. ‘Are you looking for someone?’

  Poliorcis thought for a moment. ‘As a matter of fact,’ he said, ‘I am.’

  ‘You’ve found him.’ The man was wearing a light-brown quilted wool shirt, faded from grey and frayed across the shoulders; only someone as widely travelled and professionally observant as Poliorcis would have recognised it as Scona military issue, designed to be worn under the heavy mailshirt the Scona army had adopted in the days of their affluence, when they could afford the best; not cumbersome and hot, like the leather arming-jack or habergeon the provincial office specified to go with their lighter, short-sleeved hauberk, or fancy and impractical, like the padded linen gambesons produced by the Perimadeian state factories; whoever designed the Scona shirt had given it a degree of thought, and had done his job well. ‘I’m Gorgas Loredan,’ the man went on. ‘If you’re who I think you are, you’ve come a long way to see me.’

  Poliorcis dipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘Travel is one of the great pleasures of my trade,’ he replied. ‘It’s not often these days that I can say I’ve come to a place I’ve never been before. You could say I collect places.’

  Gorgas Loredan smiled. ‘National pastime with you people,’ he said. ‘Let’s go in the tavern there and have a drink.’

  The tavern was large and busy; one main room with a high roof, filled with groups of three or four men standing and chatting amiably – farmers come to market, most of them, and a few merchants, corn-brokers, a handful of soldiers (allowed a certain amount of room by the other customers). At the back was a staircase leading to a gallery that ran round three sides of the building; there were chairs and tables up there, but only one or two of them were taken. Gorgas sat down with his back to the rail and pushed out the other chair with his foot for Poliorcis to sit on.

  ‘Excuse the melodrama,’ Gorgas said. ‘I don’t imagine for one moment that there’s anybody following either one of us, or anything silly like that. But you never know.’

  Poliorcis nodded. ‘Actually, I think you’re very sensible. I don’t know what sort of intelligence service they’ve got—’

  Gorgas pursed his lips. ‘Better than you’d think, actually,’ he said. ‘I don’t think they’re great ones for sending out secret agents or anything like that, but they do seem to
have the knack of asking the right questions when they’re chatting to foreign visitors – traders, sailors, people on their way somewhere. I’m sorry,’ he went on, ‘I don’t think I quite caught your name.’

  ‘Euben Poliorcis.’ He reached into his satchel and produced a small, crumpled roll of parchment that could easily have been a letter of credit or a bill of lading. ‘I take it you’re familiar with Imperial seals,’ he said.

  ‘Not as familiar as I’d like to be,’ Gorgas replied with a grin. ‘For a start, I’d love to learn the knack you people have of lifting a seal off a letter without breaking it and then putting it back again when you’re done. Just an ordinary bit of thin wire, so I understand, heated red in a clean flame and drawn through the wax.’ With the nail of his left little finger Gorgas picked off the seal like a scab and flicked it away. ‘Now then, let’s see what we’ve got here. Yes, that all seems to be in order. Marvellous handwriting you people have. Talking of which, next time you come, bring me a dozen or so sheets of that linen paper they make in Ap’ Oezen. Can’t get it for love nor money in these parts.’

  Poliorcis smiled thinly. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘I’ll make a note of it. Now, as I recall, it was you who wanted to talk to us.’

  Gorgas shrugged. ‘Someone had to make the first move,’ he said. ‘But it’s pretty straightforward, isn’t it? Our interests and yours coincide; let’s do business.’

  Three men appeared at the head of the stairs, saw Gorgas and retreated quickly. ‘Interesting you see it that way,’ Poliorcis said. ‘Personally, I can’t quite see your interest in this matter. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but what harm has King Temrai ever done you?’

  Gorgas shrugged. ‘Oh, I’ve got nothing against the man; I met him once, he seemed pleasant enough. But that’s hardly the point. I’m more concerned with what you people are planning, long term. As I see it, there’s a gap waiting to be filled. I want my share of it. You could do with my help. Simple commercial relationship. Let’s be straight with each other, and we’ll get along fine.’

  Poliorcis leaned back in his chair, making distance between Gorgas and himself. ‘Indulge me,’ he said. ‘Looked at from one point of view, you’re trying to persuade the Empire to make an unprovoked attack on a sovereign state. I’d like to know why.’

  ‘Do you need persuading?’ Gorgas grinned. ‘I don’t think so. With Ap’ Escatoy out of the way, it’s pretty obvious you’ll keep on going till you reach the northern sea. Take Temrai out of the equation, and how does the picture look? There you are, right up against the coast, breathing down the neck of Shastel; the Island’s neither here nor there, they aren’t going to bother you, though I guess you could use their fleet. After that, sooner or later you’re going to come west, and pretty soon after that we’ll be neighbours. I’d far rather we had a good relationship when that time comes. So,’ he went on, leaning forward across the table, ‘here I am, coming to meet you. Makes sense, doesn’t it?’

  Poliorcis smiled pleasantly. ‘I’d say you have a rather individual view of what our aspirations are. But,’ he went on, ‘let’s assume for now that your interpretation’s correct. Suppose we do have territorial ambitions in the peninsula; why do we need you? Haven’t we got enough resources of our own, men and materiel, to do the job without indebting ourselves to you?’

  Gorgas laughed. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘No question about it. But that’s not your way. Never do a job yourselves if you can get someone else to do it for you. Sound business principles again, nothing wrong with that. With my army involved, it means you don’t have to take so many units away from garrison duty in other parts of the Empire. Sure, you’ve got vast resources; doesn’t mean to say you’re not spread pretty thin, even so. And we both know our history; weaken the garrison in any of the eastern provinces, you’re asking for trouble. Look what happened in Goappa, just recently, when you moved the seventh legion. Rather a close call, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Quite.’ Poliorcis’ smile didn’t waver. ‘How very well informed you are; I suppose it comes of running a bank. But I fancy we’d be able to scratch around and put together a large enough expedition without making a mistake like that again. We read the reports too, you know.’

  ‘Of course.’ Gorgas made a small gesture with his hands. ‘But why go to all that trouble? The strength of the plainspeople has always been their archers. To fight them you need to match their archers with your own. Most of your archers are stationed in the east. No earthly use sending a hundred thousand heavy infantry against Temrai; you’d be asking for a bloody good hiding. No, what you need is experienced, reliable longbowmen; and that’s what I’ve got to offer.’

  Poliorcis didn’t reply immediately; he sat still with his hands folded in his lap. ‘All right,’ he said at last, ‘just suppose you’re right. Just suppose we do intend to attack Temrai, and we ask you for help. If it’s a sound business proposition, as you assure me it is, what do you get out of it? Just money? Or did you have something else in mind?’

  A fly landed on the table, flicking with its legs at a sticky patch of spilt beer. Gorgas flicked it with his fingers before it could take off, killed it. ‘Depends,’ he said. ‘Money comes into it, certainly.’

  ‘Implying you want something else as well. Such as? Territory? You want a slice of Temrai’s land?’

  Gorgas shook his head. ‘Good gods, no. What use would that be to me? For a start, I haven’t got the manpower, let alone the ships to keep darting backwards and forwards to protect my interests. Besides, that’d make us neighbours rather sooner than I’d like, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

  ‘All right.’ Poliorcis nodded. ‘You don’t want territory; what does that leave? As I see it, there are only three things worth fighting for: money, land and people. Is that what you want? Slave labour to help you expand your economy here in the Mesoge?’

  Gorgas scowled. ‘Certainly not,’ he said. ‘Quite apart from anything else, it’d be far more trouble than it’s worth. No, I don’t want anything like that.’

  ‘Then I give up,’ Poliorcis said. ‘Tell me what it is you do want.’

  ‘Like I said,’ Gorgas replied. ‘Friendship. The beginning of a long, smooth and mutually beneficial relationship between the western provincial office and the republic of the Mesoge. What’s so strange about that?’

  ‘I see,’ Poliorcis said. ‘You’re prepared to help us defeat the plainspeople so that we’ll then owe you a favour. Am I right?’

  ‘That puts it quite well, yes.’

  Poliorcis rubbed his chin. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I can see how that would be a tremendous advantage for you. I’m not sure it’d be worth our while, though. You see, we have an annoying habit of sticking to our treaties. If we were really as hell-bent on conquest as you seem to think we are, wouldn’t we be making a rod for our own backs here? Hypothetically speaking, of course.’

  ‘Up to you,’ Gorgas said quietly. ‘We have a saying here: don’t kid a kidder. I’m making this offer in good faith, we both know perfectly well why. Now you can tell me what I can do with my offer and I’ll just have to live with it. But it doesn’t have to be like that. Whatever else I may or may not be, I’m a realist.’ He smiled. ‘That’s what makes me such a pleasure to do business with.’

  ‘So I gather,’ Poliorcis replied. ‘Well, I think that’s about as far as we can get at this stage; I’ve got to go back to my superiors in the provincial office, give them my report, let them make up their minds.’ He stood up. ‘As you’ll appreciate, I’m basically just here to find out a bit more about you and your people here, give the decision-makers back home a little bit more to go on. And I think I’ve got enough from our meeting here; with your permission, I’d like to have a look around before I go. Please, feel free to point me in any direction you feel I ought to be taking. For instance, I’d be interested to see these archers of yours. We have a saying of our own: always try the goods before you buy. Before I can make a valid report, I do need something a bit mo
re solid to go on than what I’ve heard from you and what I’ve seen so far here in Tornoys. I’m sure you see my point.’

  ‘Oh, absolutely,’ Gorgas said. ‘No, please, go right ahead. In fact, if you’ve got the time I’ll happily be your guide for a day or so; the main garrison camp, that sort of thing. Or if you’d rather not – I mean to say, if you think having me round your neck all the time you’re wanting to go see for yourself—’

  Poliorcis smiled gracefully. ‘A guided tour of the republic with yourself as my guide,’ he said. ‘What better way to find out about things could there possibly be?’

  On his third day as deputy inspector of the proof house, Bardas actually managed to find it.

  It was at the end of the longest gallery, down another of the speciality breakneck staircases, along a dark, narrow corridor, down another staircase, along another corridor, down another staircase; by which time Bardas could sense he was back underground where he belonged –

  (It’s customary to die first, but in your case we’ve made an exception.)

  - Along another corridor, seventh on the left, third on the right, down another staircase, there you are, can’t miss it. He stood outside the massive oak door feeling like a very junior clerk on his first day at a great merchant’s counting house (which was silly, because he was in charge of the place. Or so they’d told him back among the ruins of Ap’ Escatoy, above ground where the rules are subtly different).

  He pushed the door with his hand, then pushed harder, then put his shoulder to it; it gave an inch or so, which encouraged him to keep shoving.