by K. J. Parker
With the result that, when I walked out on stage, I was escorted by thirty of the forty-six formed up round me in closed order, while the other sixteen stayed backstage, in a ring round Hodda. I left my thirty in two ranks spread across the gateway; one rank facing forward, the other facing the gate. My distant predecessor chose Lystragonians because they’re very tall and broad and have a reputation for, among other things, cannibalism. Good people to have between you and your potential worst enemies. In front of me, however, nothing but the imposing rose marble steps of the temple and the serried ranks of my fellow citizens. If they wanted to rush the platform and disembowel me, there’d be no pesky guards to interfere. Therefore, obviously, I trusted them implicitly. A fine statement to make; tyrants have bodyguards, but the Father of his Country doesn’t need them (and goes without saying, even forty-six Lystragonians wouldn’t slow up an angry mob for as much as a single heartbeat).
Even so. I’d asked Captain Very how far a man could throw a brick hard enough to kill somebody. Thirty-five yards max, he told me. From the front of the steps to the crowd, forty yards plus. Fortune favours the brave, but don’t push your luck.
Advance downstage centre. Stop. Look impressive.
Showtime.
“Citizens,” I said, “you know me, I don’t do speeches. But I do make promises. I’m going to make one now, and if I don’t keep it – well, you know where to find me, and—” (unwinds lorus to expose neck and upper chest) “look, no armour. Don’t need any. You are all the armour I need to keep me safe.
“Seven years ago, I legalised the Themes. Let me tell you why. I was born in a Theme, grew up in one. I was proud to fight for my Theme in the arena, and I’ve gone on doing just that, and that’s what I’ll always do, so long as there’s breath left in my body. This city isn’t walls and houses and temples, it’s people, and who’s always looked out for the people, fed and clothed them, kept them safe? The Themes. So I promise you, as long as I’m emperor, the Themes will play their vitally important part in running this city, looking out for ordinary decent working people, feeding them, clothing them, keeping them safe. You have my word on that.
“There’s just one thing wrong with the Themes, and once we’ve fixed that, everything’s going to be just fine. There’s two of them. Blue and Green, Green and Blue. And it’s in the nature of things, if you’ve got two rivals, they fight. And Blue against Green and Green against Blue is the curse on this city. Is there anyone here who hasn’t lost a friend or a loved one because of it? That division is tearing us apart. And it makes it so easy for our enemies to say, We don’t really need the Themes, they’re more trouble than they’re worth, they’re just a bunch of gangsters and racketeers, let’s get rid of them. I want you to think about that very seriously. Every time a Blue beats up on a Green or a Green sets fire to a Blue house, you’re digging your own graves. It’s got to stop.
“So from now on, there won’t be any more Blues and Greens. Instead, there’ll be one Theme. Purple. Yes, that’s right. For four hundred years it’s been treason for anyone except the emperor to wear purple in public. From today, you’ll all be wearing it. My colour, my Theme colour, your colour. One Theme, purple, with the emperor as Theme Leader. My Theme, your Theme. My city, your city. Our Theme. Our city.
“And to prove to you that I mean what I say, in due course all the officers in the Purple Theme will be elected, by you, the people. No more favouritism, no more graft, no more jobs for the boys. You’ll get to choose who runs the Social Fund, who’s responsible for welfare and arbitration, who’s in charge of night watches and keeping your streets and homes safe. You can choose the men who are doing those jobs now, if you think they’re doing it well, or you can have someone else, it’s up to you. But it’s you they’ll answer to, and if you don’t like them, you can get rid of them. No more bosses, and that’s a promise. Your servants, not your masters.
“Well, that’s all I’ve got to say. If you don’t like it, here I am. My whole life I’ve lived for you, and if you want me to die for you, that’s fine by me. Any takers?” (Pause: long enough but not too long.) “That’s settled, then. Long live the Purples. Long live the Empire.”
Dead silence. Then a cheer. Then deafening cheers on all sides; purple, purple, purple. Wishing I could’ve thought of a suitably Imperial colour with only one syllable, I turned round and marched smartly off, and my Lystragonians closed in round me like a suit of armour.
4
“I did exactly what you told me to,” I said. “I abolished the Themes.”
I’ve never seen anyone so angry in all my life. But I had Captain Very and ten guards between me and him, and they were watching him the way a good dog watches a stranger: one move and I’ll have you.
“Like hell you did,” Gelimer said.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I said. “Were you listening? I just abolished the Blues and the Greens, and nobody raised a finger to stop me. If we’d done it your way, we’d be cowering in here while that mob out there bashed down the gates with rafters.”
“Elected officers—”
“In due course, I said. Meaning sometime, meaning probably never. You really ought to listen, you know. You might learn something.”
If looks could kill. But they can’t, can they?
“As and when we have elections,” I went on, “the people will get a chance to vote, yes. They can vote for you and the Optimates, or for Popilius and his Commonwealthers, and everything will be exactly the way it is now, except that instead of being at war with the Themes, you’ll be running them.”
There’s the old phrase, the penny drops. And if you drop a penny from the top of the Beacon tower in Old Town and it lands on someone’s head, it’ll smash his skull like an egg. The penny dropped, and landed. Gelimer looked at me. Didn’t say a word, just gazed.
“Meanwhile,” I went on, “we do a bit of winnowing. The small Theme bosses stay in place, because they know their turf and how to get things done. The upper echelons have got to go, naturally; you can arrest them for treason or they can meet with unfortunate accidents, doesn’t really matter which so long as it’s discreet and done very quickly. Then we announce the new provisional upper hierarchy of the Purple Theme. Me, then you, and you can choose who you want for everything below that. That’ll be the caretaker hierarchy pending elections, which unfortunately can’t be held until the state of emergency is over. You’ll have to arrange for an emergency, but that shouldn’t be a problem.” I paused, as chivalry demanded. Even in the arena, you give the other man a chance to get up again before you finish him off. “That’s what I just said out there, clear as day, only you weren’t listening.”
I glanced sideways at Captain Very. He was standing perfectly still. It occurred to me that all I had to do was provoke Gelimer into a word or gesture that Captain Very could interpret as threatening, and I’d be rid of Gelimer, and probably all the senators standing huddled behind him into the bargain. My hands would be clean, of course; an overzealous officer, you can’t really condemn a man for doing his job, particularly when it’s guarding the life of the emperor. All Gelimer’s fault, certainly not mine. I considered what I’d need to say to trigger the desired reaction. Just a few well-chosen words, that was all. Playing with people’s emotions is what I’m paid to do, and it’s not nearly as difficult as you might think. Should I? If Gelimer was in my shoes, he’d do it like a shot; and so, probably, would Artavasdus, rest his soul, maybe also Nicephorus, also of blessed memory; my dad, almost certainly, if he’d thought of it. And Hodda; you bet. A man is known by the company he keeps. I decided not to.
There was once a king in a far-off land who said, when you have them by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow. “Well?” I said.
“That was pretty smart,” said Gelimer.
“Thank you.”
“I was wrong about you,” he said. “I thought you were a two-bit actor pretending to be a no-brain sand fighter.”
“Easy mistake to make
.”
“Instead, you’re a real piece of work.” I saw Captain Very’s hand twitch, but that was all. I don’t think Gelimer noticed. He was preoccupied. “Very smart. I can see how you’ve got to the top. Not bad, for a two-bit Theme bruiser.”
“We all have to start somewhere,” I said, as mildly as I could. “Half the emperors on the list started off as infantry privates, worked their way up through the ranks, staged a coup. That’s the wonderful thing about the empire, anybody at all can be emperor. Not a senator or a commissioner or a priest, or even a doctor or head of department in the civil service. But emperor, hell yes, why not? It’s one of the things I love about our great country.”
Gelimer took a deep breath. “You did a good job,” he said. “Only next time, you might tell us what you’re going to do before you do it.”
I nodded. “Next time you’ll listen,” I said.
5
Back to the palace along the Royal Circle, in the state coach, with cheering crowds every step of the way. I wondered if they’d been in front of the temple when I did the big speech, or if they knew what had been in it.
All that cheering meant you couldn’t hear yourself think, so Hodda didn’t have an opportunity to express herself till we were back in the Imperial apartments, with the door bolted and ten Lystragonians standing to attention outside.
“What on earth possessed you—?” she started.
“Desperation.” I hadn’t meant to shout. “The prospect of standing up in front of all those people and getting my arms ripped off. Have you ever seen a man kicked to death by a crowd? I have. It’s not uplifting or aesthetically pleasing, and I’m damned if it’s going to happen to me. So I took a chance.”
She nodded; from her that’s garlands of flowers and a gold medal. “But you shouldn’t have taunted Gelimer like that. You got carried away. You were showing off.”
I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes. Never been so tired in all my life. “Yes, I was rather,” I said. “I got into it a bit too much and I couldn’t make myself stop. I felt this need to say clever things.”
“Bad idea. You don’t want to get him riled up.”
“I know.” I sighed. “Why is it nobody’s prepared to admit that my Purple Theme idea is a stroke of genius? It is, you know.”
“I’d have made it gold, personally. Purple sounds silly.”
“Purple’s the emperor’s colour.”
“Yes, I know, and you explained. But purple sounds silly.”
“I’ve just saved all our lives and solved a major social problem, and that’s all you can say. Purple sounds silly.”
“Well, it does.”
“And you can make a cheap fake purple dye by mixing blue and red. If I’d said gold, only the rich bastards could’ve afforded it.”
“Or white. White would’ve been good.”
“There’s a quarter of a million milkfaces camped outside the City and you want us all to call ourselves Whites.”
“Purple.” She said it in a clown’s voice. “Purple, purple, purple. You can’t even say the word without spraying the front three rows with spit.”
I really don’t like the feeling of going to bed (or in this case, chair) not knowing whether the world will still be there in the morning. I don’t particularly mind knowing in advance that something bad is going to happen. It’s been the case for so much of my life that I’ve got used to it. Obviously I’m delighted when I have something nice to look forward to. But uncertainty; when things could go either way, wonderfully good or catastrophically bad, and you have no idea which, and there’s nothing whatsoever you can do to influence the outcome – I hate that.
How much notice would I get if the world was about to end? As I leaned back in my chair, which had gone from being luxuriously comfy to an instrument of torture, don’t know why, I figured that in the worst-case scenario it would take overwhelming force somewhere between fifteen seconds and a minute to slaughter the ten Lystragonians standing guard outside our door, and one or two minutes to smash the door down; it was pretty solid, cross-ply oak three inches thick, three bolts as thick as your thumb. Between one and three minutes, therefore. There are some contexts where three minutes can be an eternity, but not this one.
Thinking about how little I could accomplish in three minutes, I fell asleep, and was woken up by a gentle, discreet tapping at the door; not a battering ram, just someone’s knuckles. Of course, the best way to get through a three-inch oak door is to have someone on the inside open it for you. “Who’s there?” I stage-whispered, so as not to wake Hodda.
“Captain Qobolwayo, Majesty.”
Who? Then I remembered. Qobolwayo is Its Very Essence in Lystragonian. I’d fixed up a sort of signal with Captain Very, for just this sort of thing. If he wanted to come in and there was no danger, he was Captain Qobolwayo. If he was knocking on the door with a bunch of assassins holding a knife under his chin, he was Captain of the Guard. “Hold on,” I said, “I’m coming.”
Hodda lifted her head. “What’s the matter?”
“Go back to sleep.” I shot back the bolts, lifted the latch and opened the door a hand’s span, just enough to afford me a clear view of Captain Very’s deceptively gormless-looking face.
“The Senate’s compliments,” he said, “and would it be convenient for you to meet with them?”
That needed thinking about. “Come in,” I said, and held the door open.
I don’t think I’ve ever shocked anyone more in my life. The idea of actually setting foot inside the Imperial bedchamber, except for the purposes of defending the emperor to the last drop of his blood, was clearly something he’d never even considered. As for entering the Imperial bedchamber while the empress was in there, too, possibly in her nightie, or nothing at all—
“Come on,” I snapped. “You’re letting the draught in.”
I think, given the choice, he’d have preferred to be massacred to the last man; but since that option wasn’t available he did as he was told. Hodda, yawning, with the sheet under her armpits, said, “Who the hell’s that?” I told her, Captain Very. “Oh, right,” she said, and flopped back onto the pillows.
“Say that again,” I said.
“Majesty?”
“Repeat the message.”
Which he did, word for word. “What, now?” I said.
Captain Very was gazing at a spot on the wall just behind my head. “They didn’t say, Majesty. Just, would it be convenient?”
It’s hard not to like someone who’s genuinely prepared to be cut to pieces defending you from all harm, even if he is ridiculously large and painfully shy. Also, on those occasions when I could get past all the Vice-Gerent-of-Heaven, Brother-of-the-Invincible-Sun stuff and talk sensibly to him, he was bright, down-to-earth and a good sort generally. “What do you reckon?” I said.
He thought for a moment before answering. “Something happened last night,” he said, “but I don’t know what. I tried to find out but nobody’s talking to me.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“No, Majesty.”
I looked over my shoulder. Hodda had gone back to sleep. She’s like a snail out of its shell in the early morning. “You know this place better than I do,” I said. “I want a room where you can get all your lads inside lining the walls without it being too obvious, and where we can fight our way out into the street if we have to.”
Took him maybe a second and a half. “The Peacock cloister, Majesty.”
“Is that the one with the little square of lawn in the middle, and a fountain?”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“Exits?”
“One into the Ivory Chamber, one out into the rose garden. Or we could retreat onto the lawn and form a circle.”
“It’ll do,” I said. “Tell the Senate I’ll meet them in the Peacock cloister in twenty minutes. Then get your boys and come straight back here.”
Twenty minutes, to put on all the gear. Just as well I’ve had plenty of p
ractice changing in and out of ludicrous costumes in no time flat. “What are you doing?” she said, propping herself up on one elbow.
“Just popping out for a bit,” I said.
“Dressed like that.”
“I’ve got to go and meet some people. Just routine stuff.”
“I’m coming too.”
“Not allowed. Protocol.”
“Fuck protocol.”
“I don’t think it’s the fuckable sort.”
She glared at me. “After yesterday’s performance, I’m coming too. You’re not fit to be out on your own.”
And why not, I thought. Besides, on balance, she’d probably be safer with Captain Very and our guardian angels than stuck on her own where everyone would know where to find her. “You’d better get dressed, then. You’ll have to hurry.”
She swore at me, which I think was uncalled for, and dived into the clown outfit. All credit to her; I’d had five minutes start on her, but she was all ready and looking definitively regal when the captain came back to fetch us.
The message had said “the Senate” but that didn’t mean anything; could be the whole lot of them, or a delegation of twenty, or a subcommittee of five, or just Gelimer using the collegiate plural. In the event, I’m guessing there were between fifteen and eighteen – principal magistrates, party leaders, that sort of thing. One face, though, was missing. They stood up as I walked in, and the guards fanned out round them.
“Where’s Gelimer?” I said.
There was this tall, skinny man with a triumphal arch for a nose. I’d seen him before but hadn’t caught his name. “Gelimer no longer speaks for the Senate,” he said.
“Since when?”
“In an emergency session held last night at the House, it was resolved—”
“Who the hell are you, anyway?”
He looked at me, and I think he caught sight of Captain Very standing right behind me. I’m tall. Very’s a head taller than me. Then he glanced round. Not sure what at, but wherever he looked, all he’d have seen would’ve been guards. “My name is Materculus,” he said. “I lead the Patriotic Alliance, and the House has chosen me—”