The Folding Knife Part 33

"I know how much, thanks," Ba.s.so cut him off. "And I'd like to remind you that a not inconsiderable slice of that is my money, so you can believe me when I say I'm only too keenly aware of the costs incurred." He frowned. It would be so easy to turn this into a hostile debate, which he would of course win; but that would be missing the point. "In six months, we dig the first ore. In a year, we're in profit. Don't know if you've been following the markets, but the price of iron and copper is sky-high."

"We noticed," said the trade secretary. "They're high because we're buying it all, for the war."

"Exactly." Ba.s.so smiled. "And we can take advantage of that price by selling futures. Sell it now, dig it out later, and we're guaranteed to sell at the top of the market. Even if we don't do that," he went on, softening his voice, letting his face relax, "we're going to do very well out of Mavortis in the not-too-distant future. Labour costs practically nil; infrastructure for haulage and shipping already in place and paid for; we've done all the work and paid out all the money. Giving up now would be crazy."

Sentio, who'd been doing a very good job of hiding behind other people, sat up straight. "The project is thirty per cent over budget," he said. "All our middle- and long-range forecasts are just waste paper. We've got to draw a line somewhere, we can't just go on spending."

Ba.s.so grinned. "Why not?"

Awkward silence. "We haven't got the money."

"We've got paper," Ba.s.so said. "And ink, and wood to make woodblocks. What've we written so far, since we brought in the paper money? Nine million? On the book value of public a.s.sets, we could write ten times that."

"It's making people nervous," Furio said. "They can't see an end to it."

"I can't help it if people are stupid," Ba.s.so said. "What we're actually doing is really pretty amazing. We're creating a whole lot of pretend money, putting it into circulation, running a ma.s.sive war economy on it; paying workers to make things to sell to the army, paying traders to procure food and materials. And you know what? At the end of the process, magically, a good slice of that pretend money's turned into real money, which we'd never have brought into being if we'd played safe and stuck to the rules." He leaned forward a little; Sentio tried to wriggle through the back of his chair. "When I revalued the nomisma you didn't complain, but that was basically the same thing-pretend money giving birth to real money, and a h.e.l.l of a lot of it. You're just wetting yourself because paper money's still a strange new idea; you want something that c.h.i.n.ks when you rattle it, or you get scared. Fine; that's like a small kid needing a night light in the dark. I suggest you pull yourself together and look at the figures. Look at the increase in tax revenues, thanks to the war boom. That's real money we're taking in. Even if there weren't any mines, even if we weren't six months away from the next-best thing to a world monopoly in metals, what we've done would still be all right-the pretend money would breed enough actual gold coins to manage the Treasury debt, and still leave more than enough over for running the country. But it's all right. We've got the mines. Honestly and truthfully, there's nothing at all to worry about. We can't fail, because we've already won."

From Aelius: ... estimated at between sixteen and twenty thousand, have joined the forces already known to have taken refuge in the forest, bringing the total to something in the region of thirty thousand men.

I have to report that this development concerns me greatly. It is precisely what our strategy was designed to avoid. Unfortunately, we were entirely unaware of the existence of another pa.s.s through the mountains. It is not shown on the map, and our scouts happened not to go there. The southern army has now occupied the area and started constructing a fort, so no further leakage into the forest is antic.i.p.ated. Nor has there been any insurgent activity. Nevertheless, this has upset all our plans, and I can no longer guarantee that the development phase will begin on time, or that it will proceed without interruption to a successful outcome.

Naturally, I take full responsibility.

On the positive side, it is highly doubtful that such a large force will be able to sustain itself in the forest for any length of time; apart from game, nuts and berries there are no food sources, and there are no indications that the tribesmen were able to take any substantial stock of provisions with them. They have, in effect, placed themselves under siege. The fort network was designed with this very situation in mind. Even if they do succeed in breaking through the fort line with a view to foraging for supplies, there are no supplies for them to find. We have impounded all food reserves and secured them inside the forts; this has had the effect of making the village populations entirely dependent on us, and it is therefore highly unlikely that they would jeopardise their access to food by giving the forces in the forest any aid or comfort. Internal clan and tribal feuds and animosities likewise militate against any cooperation between the men in the forest and their countrymen outside it. Consequently, they must either starve, surrender or come out and engage us in the field. The last of these three would be preferable, since we would almost certainly win an overwhelming victory, thereby bringing the problem to a quick and certain conclusion.

Nevertheless, in order to adapt our previous strategy to meet these new circ.u.mstances and to guarantee success (in so far as that is possible in war), I strongly recommend that we build additional forts, which will in turn require additional troops to garrison them. With the fort line as presently const.i.tuted, there is a remote but troublesome possibility that a highly mobile, motivated and numerous insurgent force might be able to attack and overwhelm one of our forts before a.s.sistance could arrive from neighbouring posts. Such a victory would have little tactical or strategic value, but might well have an unwelcome morale effect far in excess of its actual military significance. Thus far, we have shown ourselves to be invincible. One reverse, however trivial, might inspire the enemy to prolong resistance. As I see it, time is our greatest enemy. The longer it takes us to establish total security, the longer it will be before the development programme can begin; the longer the Vesani Treasury will have to continue paying out, without receiving any returns. It is conceivable that the enemy, although politically and economically unsophisticated, may be aware of this weakness, and may be planning to exploit it as best they can. Additional forts, and additional men, would enable me to take all possible measures to prevent a token enemy victory, and thereby ensure a quick and final resolution to the war.

The closest thing to a Cazar amba.s.sador was the resident of the Salt Brotherhood. The Vesani had bought their salt from the Cazars since Imperial times, and the Brotherhood was one of the oldest trading companies in the City. By the terms of its ancient const.i.tution, a third of its executive officers were Cazars, from one particular clan; the most senior Cazar director lived in the City, and spoke for his people on the very few occasions when this was considered necessary.

"Another six thousand," he said, stroking his moustache. "That may not be possible."

He spoke excellent Vesani; the Cazars learnt the language quickly and easily, and when they went home and spoke Cazar again, their neighbours had trouble understanding them. He was almost as tall as Aelius, a few years younger, bald (either naturally or because he shaved his head; you could never tell without looking so closely as to give offence) and several stone overweight. He had enormous hands, which he never seemed to know what to do with.

"It shouldn't be a problem," Ba.s.so said briskly. "Salt and healthy young men are your country's only exports. You've never had a shortage of either."

The salt brother smiled. "With respect," he said, "there's never been such a level of demand; for both," he added, "but particularly the latter. And the difference between salt and men is that increasing production takes longer."

Ba.s.so nodded. "When a commodity's in short supply," he said, "the price goes up. I understand that. So I'm raising the recruitment bounty to one nomisma."

The salt brother frowned at his hands; they appeared to be more than usually irksome. "That will help, for sure," he said. "But six thousand; I can promise you four. The other two may not be forthcoming."

Not forthcoming. Wonderful phrase. "Why not?"

"Partly, it's the time of year," the salt brother said. "There's a lot going on. The sheep have to be rounded up and moved to the lower pastures, and shorn. It's also the time for building salmon-weirs and hunting buffalo, deer and seals."

Ba.s.so looked at him. "That's important?"

"Vital." The salt brother looked surprised. "The buffalo herds migrate into the high valleys at this time of year. We drive them into ambuscades and slaughter them; we rely on their meat to see us through the winter. If there aren't enough men to drive the herd..." He shrugged. "Perhaps you might try recruiting among the Cazars who are already here, in the city," he said. "There must be several thousand."

Ba.s.so chose to ignore that suggestion. "You can get me four thousand."

"I believe so, yes. Provided you offer the increased bounty." The salt brother frowned, then went on, "Forgive my asking, but why do you need more men? Is the war going badly? Have casualties been very high?"

"Practically nil," Ba.s.so replied. "And the war's going very well. But it turns out we need more men than we originally thought."

"Ah." The salt brother nodded. "I'm delighted to hear it. My people enjoy victory, but are easily disheartened by defeat. It's why we don't have wars, only battles. One battle lost and we give up and go home. Of course," he added, "my people in Mavortis don't have that option. They can't leave, unless they swim."

Ba.s.so smiled. "If they enjoy victory, they'll be having the time of their lives," he said.

Next, he sent for the High Commissioner of the Hus. He'd been startled to discover that such a person existed; it was, he said, a bit like having accredited diplomatic relations with fire or the plague. But there was a High Commissioner; and he looked so much like a Vesani would imagine a Hus to appear that to begin with, Ba.s.so was convinced he must be an impostor; an out-of-work actor in a false beard and stage costume.

"My people have a rich and ancient culture," the Hus told him, in flawless Vesani, with a comic-opera accent that in no way impeded his mastery of syntax. "It's just different from your own. We are nomads. We move across the earth like the tide moves up the beach; but the tide obeys the moon, and we obey our own laws and traditions. We have amba.s.sadors in every major capital city, and a substantial body of treaties and agreements. I'm surprised you don't know this."

"Forgive me," Ba.s.so said, without the slightest trace of an apology in his voice. "I need soldiers. Two thousand, infantry, for garrison duty."

The Hus frowned. "My people are hors.e.m.e.n," he said. "We are practically born in the saddle. We say, why should any sane man walk when he can ride? And we do not do well when confined inside buildings. If we spend more than half an hour in a building, we tend to burn it down."

"Fine," Ba.s.so said. "So you can't help me."

The Hus looked at him. "Replace some of the Cazars in your field army with our hors.e.m.e.n," he said, "and send the Cazars to man your castles. We are the finest a.s.sault troops in the world. Where we have been, the gra.s.s does not grow again for a hundred years."

"Yes," Ba.s.so said, "that's rather the point. Please don't take this the wrong way, but we were hoping to take over Mavortis and develop it after the war's over."

The Hus grinned. "In that case," he said, "I don't think I can help you. Why not try the Jazyges? They are simple people, not intelligent, but they can be trained to perform simple tasks. Or the Blemmyans. The Auxentines hire Blemmyans for siege operations and domestic law enforcement."

There was no Jazygite representative of any kind, but the Moral & Ethical Bank (the Caelius brothers, in partnership with the Trustees of the Studium) acted as gangmasters for recruiting Blemmyan labour for civil engineering projects. Saloninus Caelius was sure he'd be able to deliver two thousand Blemmyans within a fortnight.

"Soldiers?" Ba.s.so asked.

Caelius made a vague gesture of demurral. "It might be a good idea not to tell them exactly what they're being hired for," he said, "at least, not till they're actually on the boat, at sea. By that point, I don't suppose they'll make any difficulties. They're a very biddable people."

Ba.s.so spent several hours holed up in his study with the army lists and personnel returns. By replacing all the Cazar non-combatants-drivers, porters, artisans, cooks, low-grade clerks-with Blemmyans, he could free fourteen hundred Cazars for the field army. That still left six hundred to find.

The next day, a rather surprising announcement was posted up all over the City, and read out by official heralds for the benefit of the non-literate. Volunteers were needed for the army in Mavortis. Any resident alien who joined up would be guaranteed full citizenship on his return, together with a one-nomisma bounty and full military pay.

In a way, Ba.s.so said later, it couldn't have come at a better time. The Opposition were still exhausted after the gruelling battle over the Finance Bill to pay for the reinforcements; they simply didn't have the energy to make more than a token protest at the further extension of the franchise. Ba.s.so's a.s.surance that it was a unique measure designed to deal with a specific situation that was highly unlikely to recur and therefore set no precedent was more or less accepted by default, and the Enfranchis.e.m.e.nt Bill pa.s.sed comfortably. The Opposition were, of course, the least of his problems.

"Sentio reckons I've lost my sense of proportion," Ba.s.so said wearily, stretching his legs out to the end of the bath. "Furio reckons it's pointless, because n.o.body in their right mind would leave a safe job in the City to go fight a war, just to be a citizen. At least Cinio isn't speaking to me, so I'm spared his input." He sighed. "I'm not used to this," he said. "My father had it all the time when he was First Citizen, but that's because he wasn't very bright and didn't know how to handle his allies. My mother used to say the fact that he was his own worst enemy was a tribute to his single-mindedness, since there were so many of his friends competing for the honour."

"I think I'd have liked your mother," Melsuntha said.

"I doubt it. She'd have hated you. She was a sn.o.b and she thought foreigners weren't proper humans."

"She was Vesani." Melsuntha shrugged; wasted gesture, since Ba.s.so had his back to her. "I like a lot of people who don't like me. If I didn't, I'd hate everybody in the City."

"My mother was a clever woman in lots of ways," Ba.s.so said, "but she had a fundamental core of stupidity that cancelled them all out. I worry sometimes that I take after her. Still," he went on, "about the only person in the world she really got on well with was her maid, and she was Blemmyan."

"Perhaps she was one of those women who can only really talk to servants," Melsuntha suggested. "There seem to be a lot of them here."

"Maybe," Ba.s.so said. "She certainly didn't talk to my father. At him, yes, all the time. He was very good at not listening. There were times when I wondered if my deafness was hereditary, rather than because of getting bashed on the head."

"You listen," Melsuntha said, "but more the way a spy listens, to gather useful information that you can hold against the speaker. You eavesdrop on your own conversations."

Ba.s.so laughed at that. "I'm more interested in what the things people say say about them, I'll grant you," he said. "Which makes me think I'm like my mother. She did that. Like I said, fundamentally not very bright." He reached for a towel. "Ba.s.sano listens because he's interested," he said. "He's interested in everything. I've never been able to understand that."

"You admire him for it."

"Definitely," Ba.s.so replied. "It fascinates me, like watching someone play the flute. Don't want to be able to do it myself, but I admire the man who can."

She laughed. He looked at her. "Sorry," she said. "You playing the flute. It doesn't really bear thinking about."

He frowned, mock-irritable. "I could play the flute if I wanted to."

"I don't think so," she said. "It takes time and practice. Unless you can do something perfectly first go..."

"That's a gross slander," Ba.s.so said. "I can be really patient if I have to. When I was a kid..."

He stopped, his face suddenly dead. It was only for a moment, but she saw and was keenly interested. Then he went on, "When I was a kid, my sister got given one of those wooden puzzles; you know, where you've got to slide one part across and turn it up and round until suddenly it magically fits. She played with it for an hour and then gave up. It took me a week, but I did it."

She nodded. "Because she'd given up?"

"What made you ask that?"

Shrug. "I don't suppose it was the sheer joy of applied geometry," she said. "Cussedness, maybe. But I'd have thought you'd have solved it straight away."

"Well, I didn't. But I stuck at it."

"Why?"

His turn to shrug. "I can't remember."

From Ba.s.sano: ... We got there as soon as we could, but by then it was all over. The embers were still hot, though. I trod on a piece of burned rafter, and it scorched my foot through the sole of my boot.

We don't yet know if any of our people made it out alive. Hard to see how they could've. The likeliest sequence of events is, they crept up round the fort on all sides during the night, and at first light they attacked on three sides at once. We found no dead bodies on the south wall, and dead men, ours and theirs, on the other three. Seems as though the only equipment they used was scaling ladders; we found four, busted up on the ground, presumably pushed down by our people. They didn't stop to loot the corpses or collect their own dead; just set fire to the place and left. Casualty ratio something in the order of six of theirs to one of ours, which Aelius says is astonishing. Usually, when an a.s.sault takes that sort of punishment, they give up pretty quickly. None of their dead had any sort of armour, just shields, and a lot didn't even have them. Most of their dead were shot. It would seem that once they got up onto the rampart, they had it mostly their own way; our people didn't put up much of a fight, hand-to-hand. Aelius says he's not surprised. They were second-line troops, after all. They'd been taught basic archery, but not hand-to-hand stuff. So far we've found a hundred and sixteen of ours, out of a garrison of a hundred and forty (only we're not quite sure of that-inconsistencies in personnel a.s.signment lists and duty rosters). Twenty Blemmyans, the rest Cazars, plus one Vesani (pay corps liaison) of course, some bodies have been so badly burned we can't tell which side they were, and some would've burnt away completely.

So: from what we can gather they came from the forest, got past all our scouts and observation posts, stormed the fort with no gear except ladders, kept at it in spite of appalling losses, torched the place and withdrew. Conclusion: they knew what they were doing, they did it well and they were absolutely determined to do it, even if they got killed. I would suggest that this makes them a nuisance, possibly even a genuine threat, and the war isn't over after all.

Advance warning. Aelius is going to ask you for even more men. He's badly shaken. The thing he was determined wasn't going to happen has just happened, and for the first time since we got here, he doesn't know what to do.

No, that's not true. He knows, but he really, really doesn't want to do it...

From Aelius: ... Therefore I feel that, having weighed up the available options and their likely chances of success, the only way to crush the insurgency before it has a chance to grow to unmanageable proportions is to seek out the enemy and destroy him.

This would entail advancing into the forest, which I am exceedingly reluctant to do. Our main advantages are in numbers and superior tactical ability. Both these advantages would be negated, quite possibly turned against us, in the forest. A large army is easier to hara.s.s in such conditions than a small one. Our techniques are tailored to fighting in the open. It is easy to imagine how a large column, necessarily strung out over a considerable distance, could be ambushed, pressurised by means of constant hit-and-run attacks, trapped, dispersed and slaughtered by a relatively primitive but fanatical enemy.

The alternative, however, is even less attractive. I had hoped, by building so many forts, so close together, that an attack such as the one we have suffered would not be possible; that a.s.sistance would arrive from neighbouring forts before an a.s.sault could be pressed home. This would appear not to be the case. We therefore face a long war of slow attrition, each victory inspiring the enemy and demoralising our troops. My belief that the enemy lacks the supplies necessary to survive in the forest would appear to be incorrect; presumably they are able to survive by hunting and gathering. The food reserves at the fort were burnt, not looted. I conclude that the enemy are not going hungry.

I am reluctant to order an advance into the forest without first giving you an opportunity to accept my resignation, which I hereby formally offer, and to decide for yourself whether the risk is too great. I shall be grateful, however, if you could communicate your decision to me, or to my replacement, at your earliest convenience, as I suspect that by the time you read this, further attacks will have taken place and the need to choose a course of action will be all the more urgent.

"What's that you're reading?" Melsuntha asked. She leaned towards his shoulder; he folded the paper.

"From Aelius," he said. "Apparently they've been sent ten thousand pairs of boots but no laces." He tucked the folded letter into a pile of other papers. "I suppose that sort of thing is what war is all about, but it's beginning to get on my nerves."

"Any news?"

"Nothing happening," Ba.s.so said. "With any luck, it'll all be over soon, and then we can get back to normal, maybe."

When she'd gone, he retrieved the letter and put its corner in the lamp-flame. He held it till it burned his fingers. Then he wrote two letters.

To Aelius: Proceed as outlined. I take full responsibility. Keep this letter.

To Ba.s.sano: Under no conditions are you to go with Aelius into the forest. Yell at me when you get back, but don't even consider disobeying. If things go wrong-well, they already have, obviously. If Aelius is unlucky in the forest, it'll probably be the end of me, and possibly the Bank as well. If Aelius doesn't go into the forest, it'll quite definitely be the end of the Bank and me; we've run out of money, and unless we can get the mines going on time, there's going to be an almighty mess. You, therefore, are not going to go into the forest. Someone's got to survive to sort things out, and look after your mother, and Melsuntha.

Just in case I haven't expressed myself clearly: do not go with Aelius into the forest. Understood?

There were the government couriers, three cla.s.ses: regular, urgent and the First Citizen's personal post. The urgent post had way-station relays, and its couriers rode from dawn to dusk, stopping only to change horses. The First Citizen's post-riders rode through the night.

There were also the Bank messengers, three cla.s.ses: regular, urgent and first-cla.s.s. Only Ba.s.so used the first-cla.s.s. It had its own way stations, and reckoned to reach any destination anywhere in two-thirds of the time the First Citizen's post would have taken. It kept no records, no logs of letters sent or delivered. Ba.s.so gave his two letters to a Bank messenger and told him, first-cla.s.s.

Exactly what happened isn't clear. Something happened to the messenger somewhere in Mavortis. His horse and body were never found, but his saddle was discovered on the bank of the Vispartha River by a government regular courier, who fortunately recognised the livery and realised that the saddlebag almost certainly contained important dispatches. He found two: one addressed to General Aelius, the other to Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Licinius, the First Citizen's nephew.

Again, the reasons why the courier did what he did are not entirely clear. Most likely, he a.s.sumed that the letter to Aelius was vitally urgent and had to be delivered as soon as possible; the letter to Ba.s.sano was personal, and therefore could wait. The fact that he separated the two letters, handing in the letter to Ba.s.sano at the next way station while going on himself to deliver Aelius' letter personally, can be explained if we a.s.sume that the courier didn't know that Ba.s.sano was with Aelius.

In any event, Ba.s.so's letter to Ba.s.sano arrived late in the afternoon of the following day, by which time Ba.s.sano had already left with the army.

Fifteen.

From Ba.s.sano: ... So, unless I hear from you, I'm definitely going. Can't pretend I want to; for one thing, it's going to be very uncomfortable and sordid, camping out in the woods and walking all day long carrying a ridiculously heavy pack (no riding horses, even for the gentry; every horse we've got will be carrying supplies). In my opinion, that's taking healthy exercise to unnecessary extremes. There's also the small matter of hostile activity. Essentially, we're doing exactly what they want us to. The fact that we know this doesn't make it any better. I'm very, very scared, Uncle Ba.s.so, and I wish I didn't have to go.

But I do have to; no possible doubt whatsoever about that. I came along to watch. I told myself, I'm just here to study an interesting phenomenon: the Vesani state at war. I'd observe, take notes, gather data, so that when I got home I'd be able to a.n.a.lyse the information I'd gathered and draw intelligent conclusions relevant to a wide range of social, political and moral issues. This would make me a better person, prepare me for the role you've got lined up for me and possibly contribute to the sum of human knowledge and understanding, a.s.suming I had the time and energy to pen a few exquisitely written monographs. I was happy with that. I could be here without having to take part (like a miserable child at a party). I'd have all the good stuff I wanted, without having to pay for it with guilt and complicity.

Doesn't work like that. Being here with the army, watching them, learning, I've come to realise that morality is an illusion, ethics is an intellectual exercise. All that matters is sides: our side, their side. Sides are everything. All I want is for our side to win, no matter what, no matter how bad we have to be.

Everything's sides, isn't it? Deep down, where the real reasons are. Your family, your friends, your business, your country-layers of the proverbial onion, of course. As each layer gets peeled off, you make your choices in the next layer. If you've got to betray your country or your Bank, you betray your country. If it's between the Bank and your friends, you choose your friends. If it's between friends and family, you side with your family. Sides. There's no logic to it. You can't even call it a matter of faith or belief; you believe in the Invincible Sun because He embodies all virtue and goodness-if He was an a.r.s.ehole, you wouldn't worship him. Sides are more fundamental than that. Sides are what you are. If you're on the losing side, tough.

I learned that looking at dead bodies. All soldiers are brave, even the ones who get killed while running away. But the winning-side dead are heroes and the losing-side dead were just suckers who deserved it. The men who robbed the Treasury must've been brave as lions to do what they did. So are most murderers; burglars, even. You must have b.a.l.l.s like a camel to break into a stranger's house in the middle of the night, knowing perfectly well you could be killed, or have your leg ripped off by vicious dogs, or you could slide off the roof and break your neck. Think of the risks rapists run, or even the people who defraud their employers. You take a conscious decision to run a risk, and if it all goes wrong you lose everything and end up in jail. You've got to be really brave to do that stuff. And courage is a wonderful virtue, yes?

Ditto loyalty, integrity, determination, faith; ingenuity, perseverance, resourcefulness, patience; all the burglar's virtues are top-flight, first-division excellent qualities. So are his motivations: to feed his starving kids, acquire wealth to make a better life for himself and his family. Your burglar is a man of character, of quality, of many virtues. You only get p.i.s.sed off at him because it's your stuff he steals. He's on one side, you're on another. I can't really see much difference between stealing silver tableware and stealing silver ore, breaking into houses and breaking into countries. Morality's just the winning side awarding itself a medal.

So I've got to go where my side goes, unless you tell me not to (the supervening imperative of the innermost layer of onion); to stay behind would be to deny the only truth I've ever found. Besides, it won't be too bad. My personal cook's been replaced by a Blemmyan; he burns everything and then swamps the embers with olive oil. If I stay here, I'll only have Segimerus to talk to, and I've grown heartily sick of him. It's starting to get hot here, and apparently, deep inside the forest the temperature is always just right, not too hot in summer, not too cold in winter. They say it's the same down a mine shaft, but I'll take their word for that.