The Two of Swords, Volume 1

by K. J. Parker

  “If you win money off people by cheating and then spend it on good works, is that an act of grace?”

  “Qualified grace,” he said. “But I don’t cheat.”

  “And if it’s stolen money?”

  “Rectified by outcome. Not the fact, remember, the intention.”

  “Of course. Sorry.”

  He peered at her. “Was it stolen money?”

  “No.”

  “That’s all right, then. Had breakfast?”

  She looked at him warily. “It’s not fermented cabbage, is it?”

  “That’s tomorrow. Today is pancakes.”

  “In that case I haven’t.”

  He proved to be almost entirely right. It was indeed pancakes; but, since it was the second recess day after Ascension, the archdeacon had authorised pancakes filled with fermented cabbage, as a special treat.

  They came in the middle of the night. She was just dropping off to sleep again—the Sixth Office bell over in the New Building had woken her up, and then she was wide awake for an hour—when the door opened. She heard boots on the floor, managed to remember where she was before instincts took over and led her to do something drastic and unfortunate. “You Telamon?” said a man’s voice. Low-class, southern, about thirty, thirty-five.

  “Yes.” No point making a fuss. Someone who bursts into your room at midnight and asks to confirm your name can only be the government. “Don’t light the lamp.”

  She could hear a tinderbox whir as she said it. “Why not?”

  “I haven’t got any clothes on.”

  Dim glow, then enough light to see by. Too smart to fall for that one; she might have a knife under her pillow—she did, actually, though obviously she wasn’t going to use it this time. She grabbed at the sheet and pulled it up. “Do you mind?” she said.

  Six kettlehats—six. She was flattered. Full armour, too. He was looking at her, but not in that way; she was just dangerous freight. “All right if I get dressed?” she asked.

  He nodded, just the minimum of movement. A sergeant, by his collar, but he and his men all had new armour, all the plates matching, no obvious make-do-and-mend repairs. Not many like that these days. Not just any grab squad, then. Just as well she wasn’t going to try anything.

  She waited for him to turn his head, which he didn’t. “Fine,” she said, trying to sound outraged. She slid her legs off the bed, stood up and grabbed yesterday’s dress, which was lying on the floor. It was a rather splendid object, red with white and yellow slashed sleeves, seed pearls on the collar, one of her old outfits she’d got out of store. Not really suitable for being arrested in; a shade too frivolous. For being arrested, you want something smart but sombre in dark blue or slate-grey worsted. She had a bit of trouble with the buttons at the neck, for some reason.

  “Right,” she said. “Where to?”

  Of course they didn’t tell her. It wasn’t close arrest, they didn’t tie her hands or grab hold of her; just that dreadfully embarrassing boxed-in walking, where you have to try really hard not to step on anyone’s heel.

  She didn’t know him. A large bald man, craftsman, in dark brown ecclesiasticals (but he was government, not Temple: that was only too obvious); a broad face, quite good-looking, forty or thereabouts. The fact that she didn’t know him was quite eloquent in itself.

  “Please sit down,” he said. The chair was old black oak, very nicely carved, Restoration or maybe a shade earlier, worth money. The table was even older, though quite plain. She sat down, and he nodded to the kettlehats, who left and closed the door. “Apologies for the melodrama,” he said. Quiet voice; he’d been to the Seminary, but where he came from originally she wasn’t quite sure. “It’s all right, you’re not in trouble.”

  “That’s nice,” she said. “Who are you?”

  Like shooting arrows at a wall. “Just a few questions to start with,” he said. “When you were in Beloisa, did you meet a couple of Rhus prisoners, brought in by a Captain—” a glance at the papers in front of him. “Captain Guifres.”

  “One,” she said. “Not a couple.”

  “Mphm. Did you catch his name?”

  “Musen.”

  Slight frown. “One prisoner, called Musen.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Describe him.”

  She took a moment to get it right. “About six four,” she said, “two-twenty pounds, big man, broad shoulders. Brown hair about the colour of your robe down to the shoulders, nineteen or twenty years old, brown eyes.” She paused, then went on: “Clean-shaven, no scars or distinguishing marks, narrow face, long nose, small mouth, good teeth.”

  “Yes?”

  “That’s about it. He was a Rhus. They all look pretty much the same.”

  A faint not-good-enough look. “You didn’t see a red-headed man, same height and build, blue eyes.”

  “I don’t think so, no.”

  “Does the name Teucer mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  “This Musen didn’t mention anyone called Teucer.”

  “Not to me.”

  He was perfectly still for a moment; then he wrote something on a wax tablet with a very thin ivory stylus. Too small for her to read. “You sent Musen to Thief School.”

  “Yes. I thought he showed promise.”

  He nodded. “They’re pleased with him,” he said. “They say he shows a remarkable degree of innate spirituality, possibly even worth considering for ordination at some point. Did you sleep with him?”

  “What?”

  “Did you have sexual intercourse with him?”

  “No, certainly not.”

  “No matter.” What was that supposed to mean? “How well did you know Captain Guifres?”

  “I didn’t do him, either.”

  “How well did you know Captain Guifres?”

  She made herself calm down. Business, she thought, just work. “I knew him by sight, I didn’t talk to him. He wasn’t anything to do with me, just some soldier.” She paused. “You know why I was there.”

  No acknowledgement. Information went into him, not out; like a sort of valve. “In your opinion, was Captain Guifres a loyal officer?”

  She shrugged. “He looked loyal,” she said. “At least, from about ten yards away. That’s as close as I ever got. I don’t know, what do traitors look like?”

  He did something odd. He reached down on to the floor, picked something up, put it on the table between them. It was a little silver inkwell, highly polished. Oh, she thought. “Did Colonel Pieres ever mention a second Rhus prisoner? One that came in at the same time as Musen?”

  “Not to me.”

  “Captain Jaizo?”

  “No.”

  He nodded. Another glance down at the paperwork. “Now then,” he said. “You murdered a political officer, Captain Seunas.”

  “No.”

  “I said,” he said, “you’re not in trouble. We can’t prove it; you’ve already admitted it. You killed this Seunas.”

  “Yes. He was going to take my place on the ship.”

  “Did you know him? Talk to him?”

  “No. First time I met him was when—”

  “Do you know what he was doing upcountry? What his mission was?”

  “No, I just told you. I went to his room, drew a knife and stabbed him. Just here,” she said, pointing. “He may have said hello, who are you, I don’t remember.”

  “You didn’t look through any papers he may have had.”

  “No.”

  “Ah.” Mild regret. “And neither Pieres nor Jaizo said anything about the work he’d been doing.”

  She tried hard to think. “Pieres said he was on a fact-finding mission. He was late coming in because he got separated from his escort. I saw that name you said on a document while I was flicking through Pieres’ despatch case, but I didn’t read it; I was in a hurry and it wasn’t anything to do with me. I didn’t know his name was Seunas till you told me just now.”

  A flicker of
interest. “What sort of document? The one with his name on.”

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

  “Try.” Pause. “Orders? Despatches? Memorandum? Personal letter? Was it parchment or paper, sealed or unsealed? What sort of writing, court hand or freehand? Pro forma or narrative? Come on, I’m asking you a question.”

  “Freehand,” she said. “Half a page of writing, standard military paper, not parchment. Not sealed, not orders or any sort of a form. Not a personal letter.” She paused, trying to see it clearly in her mind. “It was a name in the middle of a paragraph. I think it only occurred once. I was scanning the letter for names, capital letters; you know, like you do.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’m sorry, but that’s all. I didn’t read it.”

  “Were there any other names you remember from the same document?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  He looked at her. He was deciding whether to kill her or let her go. “Thank you,” he said. He made his decision. “You’ve been most helpful. Did you enjoy the concert?”

  “What?”

  “The Procopius. Did you like it?”

  “Yes, very much.”

  Another nod. “I missed it,” he said, “but everyone says it was excellent. Would you like a score?”

  “A what?”

  “A score. A copy of the music. Would you like one?”

  “Yes. Yes, very much.”

  Just a trace of a smile. “I’ll have one sent to you.” He balled his fist and brought it crashing down on the table. The door opened, and the kettlehat sergeant came in. “Please show the lady out,” he said.

  The sergeant led her down about a mile of corridors, completely unfamiliar, not the ones she’d come in by. Eventually he opened a door and she could see New Market Square, a dazzling blaze of gold in the early morning sunlight. “Thanks,” she said, stepping carefully round him. “I know my way from here.”

  It took her about ten minutes to get home. When she got there, she found a parcel on her bed, wrapped in fine linen cloth and tied up with official green tape. It was the score of the Procopius. She hurried to the balcony and threw up into the South Cloister garden below.

  “Another nasty job, I’m afraid,” he said. He didn’t look particularly remorseful. It occurred to her that maybe he thought she liked doing that sort of thing. Revolting thought.

  “Ah well,” she said. “Home or away?”

  “Away,” he replied. “Somewhere you know quite well, actually. That’s why it’s nasty.”

  Her heart sank. “Go on.”

  He was in no hurry. “Drink?”

  “Water?”

  The idea of drinking water was clearly disturbing to him. “Wine or brandy.”

  “No, thank you. Where are you sending me?”

  He leaned back in his chair, making it creak. She wanted to tell him, for crying out loud, don’t do that, it’s Age of Elegance and very fragile and valuable. But the lodge house was crammed with stuff like that, and nobody bothered about it. One dark night, she’d have a cart waiting out back of the stables and a dozen strong men to do the lifting, and then she could retire—

  “You spent a year in Blemya, is that right?”

  “You should know. You sent me there.”

  Smile. “Not me, my illustrious predecessor.”

  “You’re quite right, so it was.” She frowned. “You’re sending me to Blemya.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s not so bad. What’ve I got to do?”

  He leaned forward again, and her heart bled for the delicate joints of the chair. “When you were there last, you met the queen.”

  “Well, she wasn’t the queen then. The prince was still alive, so she wasn’t anybody special. Just so much stock-in-trade, waiting to be found a husband.” She paused. “Nice girl, I liked her. She’d be, what, twenty-four now?”

  “Twenty-two,” he said. “A girl of twenty-two is the most strategically important asset in the world. Sometimes I can’t help wondering, no disrespect to the Almighty—”

  “Indeed,” she said briskly. “So, what do you want me to do to the poor kid?”

  He beamed at her. “I want you,” he said, “to present her with a copy of the score of Procopius’ new choral symphony. You know, the one that premiered the other day. Were you there, by the way?”

  She nodded. “Were you?”

  “Front row,” he said smugly. “I liked it, though I thought it dragged a bit in the middle. Anyway, in light of the special relationship between ourselves and the Blemyans, and knowing that Her Majesty is very fond of music, Director Procopius has kindly allowed a copy of the score to be made, and I’d like you to go there and give it to her.”

  She frowned. “Just me, or me and some other people?”

  “We were thinking of a party of twenty. Keep it quite low-key.”

  “I see. And that’s a nasty job, is it?”

  “That’s not quite all we want you to do.”

  A nasty job all right; but she’d done worse, and at least she’d be out of the country. Probably not a bad idea to be a long way away, in a neutral foreign country, until whatever that other business about Beloisa was had blown over. It was, of course, quite unspeakably hot in Blemya. The thought made her feel sad. And she had absolutely nothing to wear—

  I. The sovereign Kingdom of Blemya (see map)—

  There was no map, but that didn’t matter. She knew where Blemya was. She stretched out her legs and drew the lamp a little closer.

  I. The sovereign Kingdom of Blemya (see map) lies between the Eastern and Western empires on the southern shore of the Middle Sea. Originally a province of the united Empire Blemya rebelled shortly before the outbreak of the Civil War, and has remained independent ever since. The rebel commander, General Tolois, proclaimed himself king and ruled for seventeen years until his death. He was succeeded by his eldest son, Dalois I. Given the strategic location of Blemya and its considerable resources of manpower, agricultural produce, timber and minerals (including iron ore and gold, see Appendix), it was inevitable that after the partition of the Empire at the end of the Civil War, both sides should have made assiduous attempts to enlist the Blemyans as allies. Equally inevitably, first Tolois and then his son and grandson have maintained a policy of strict neutrality while playing off both Empires against each other. Blemya trades extensively with the West, supplying timber and finished lumber, wheat and wine, and the East, predominantly metals, barley and palm oil. Blemyan citizens are forbidden to enlist with the armies of either side, on pain of death and confiscation of family assets. The Blemyan army, well-organised, superbly equipped and professionally led, is believed to number in excess of one hundred thousand, the majority drawn from the Settler smallholder class (see below) …

  She yawned. Who wrote these things, anyway?

  II. Blemya’s population is seventy-five per cent indigenous desert tribesmen, twenty-five per cent Settlers, the descendants of the Northern Imperials who first conquered and occupied the territory in the reign of Clea IV. The Settler aristocracy own large estates in the north and west of the country, largely worked by indigenous labour; relations between the two ethnic groups are generally held to be distant but friendly, with no recent instances of sectarian disorder. The south and east are mostly tribal homelands, but there are substantial areas of small and medium Settler farmsteads, concentrated alongside the two forks of the Blee river, the arable heartland of the country. These Settler communities provide the bulk of the Blemyan infantry, although the officer class is predominantly northern and western aristocratic. The Blemyan cavalry is recruited from the tribes and is regarded as highly effective; their officers are drawn from the upper echelons of the tribes, and are treated as equals by the upper-class Settlers. All the regions of Blemya are generally prosperous, and considerable wealth is concentrated in the coastal cities and the three tribal capitals in the far south. Indeed, the national average standard of living throu
ghout Blemya is significantly higher than that prevailing in all but the most favoured regions of either Empire.

  Overstating it a bit, she thought; but not that much.

  III. … Following the death of Dalois II, the throne passed briefly to his uncle, Sinois, acting as regent for Irdis, the crown prince. However, both Sinois and Irdis were drowned en route to a religious festival, whereupon the crown passed to Dalois II’s only surviving child, a daughter, enthroned as Queen Cardespan at the age of nineteen. Remarkably, Queen Cardespan has contrived to maintain the unity, independence and prosperity of her kingdom, thanks no doubt to the support and excellent advice of her council, about whom regrettably little is known—

  Fibber, she thought. But maybe just as well not to put too much down on paper.

  … is of paramount importance to the security of the Empire, and it has therefore been decided in Council that limited acts of destabilisation are necessary at this time. Equally important, however, is public opinion within Blemya, which currently tends to favour the East. This is largely due to the influence of the mine owners and the palm oil consortium, who derive substantial revenues from the Eastern trade, rather than to any political or ideological sympathy; the average Settler is typically open-minded on the issue of sides, tending to regard both Empires with distaste, as being the direct descendants of the united Empire from which Blemya felt it necessary to secede in what the Settlers refer to as the War of Independence.

  She nodded. Fair enough.

  … possible at the same time to destabilise the Queen’s regime and to attribute such acts to Eastern infiltrators and/or insurgents, such operations could well have a significant effect on popular attitudes in Blemya and might even result in the overthrow of the Queen and Blemya’s entry into the war on our side. With the human and financial resources of the Kingdom at our disposal …

  Well, quite. A hundred thousand men; more to the point, the Blemyan state arsenal, possibly the most advanced arms factory in the world, about which the report had been curiously reticent. But she’d been there and seen it, which the writer of the report presumably hadn’t. And the money, of course. All that money. And victory was quite definitely something you could buy.