The Folding Knife Part 7

Shipbuilding, he thought: what on earth had possessed him to say that? He considered it for a moment. If a stranger had suggested it as an investment opportunity, would he have put money into it? The answer, all things being equal, would have to be yes. In fact, it was a stroke of genius; but he felt no pride or pleasure in it. He'd said, "let's buy a ship", because that was what his father had done once, and the rest had slipped out after it, like a lamb following its mother.

Lower town, near the Victory Temple. A long time since he'd been in lower town; before house prices started going up, and places where you wouldn't have gone after dark started to get expensive and fashionable. He pictured the Victory in his mind: a huge, stark white thing, built six hundred years ago, when lower town was the whole city, to commemorate some glorious feat of arms whose name he'd forgotten. Last time he was there, it reminded him of a beached ship, stranded and lost and out of context. Handy for the docks and the law courts, and that was about all you could say for it. And the fish market, of course, but Lina had never liked fish. He tried to remember what Ba.s.sano's views on fish were, but realised he didn't know.

He was sitting alone in the dark, which was ridiculous. He stood up and walked to the door, then became aware that he didn't know where he wanted to go. Home or his office in the House; his father had told him what a nuisance it was when you're the First Citizen, not being able to take a walk in the streets for fear of being recognised. Father, of course, had never walked a step if he could help it, and as for wandering the alleys and byways of the City, he'd just as soon have been eaten by bats. Presumably what he had in mind was not being able to walk from his front door to his carriage (they'd had to carry him those vulnerable ten yards in a sedan chair). The h.e.l.l with it, Ba.s.so thought. His face wasn't on the money yet, surely n.o.body would recognise him. Then he thought about the dreaded Severus lower lip. Ba.s.sano hadn't inherited it, thank G.o.d; he took after his father as far as looks went. He thought about that, too.

Feeling mildly stupid, he went back to his desk and scrabbled about with the tinderbox to light the lamp. There was plenty of work to keep him occupied, which was just as well.

"Terico, you're the historian." Ba.s.so was keeping his temper very well. "You tell him."

That man, Aelius thought, has no neck. How does he breathe? Or swallow food? "He's quite right," the neckless man said. "At one time it was standard procedure for the First Citizen to lead the army in the field. Back then, of course-"

"You see?" Ba.s.so said, moving his arm for a gesture and knocking over a winegla.s.s. Fortunately it was empty. "Standard procedure. This isn't just some whim, it's my f.u.c.king duty."

Aelius wasn't impressed. "At one time," he said. "What time would that be?"

"That's got nothing-" Ba.s.so started to say, but Terico talked over him; without raising his voice, just a matter of emphasis and clarity. "The last recorded instance was at Nasencat," he said. "Well over two hundred years ago."

Aelius grinned. "Nasencat. Wasn't that where we got wiped out by the Dala.s.seni?"

"Since then-" Terico started, but this time Ba.s.so raised his voice. "Cowardice, that's all it is," he said. "Cowardice and laziness. My ill.u.s.trious predecessors didn't want to get killed, and they didn't want to have to sleep in a tent. That's not a good enough reason, if you ask me."

Aelius didn't answer. Instead, he gave Terico a long, deliberate stare. The historian had no trouble understanding. "I think I'd better be going now," he said, standing up. "I need to-"

"Terico, stay where you are."

"No, really." Terico reached for his doc.u.ment case. "Call of nature," he added, and Ba.s.so decided he probably wasn't lying about that.

"Now, then," Aelius said, when they were alone. "What the h.e.l.l is all this about?"

Ba.s.so scowled at him. "There's a war on," he said. "I've given the matter serious thought, and I feel my place is at the front."

"b.a.l.l.s," Aelius said, and waited patiently while Ba.s.so pretended to be angry. "So," he went on, "what's the reason?"

Ba.s.so smiled at him; a huge, warm, good-natured grin. "All right," he said. "I give in." He paused, as though he'd suddenly realised what he'd just said. "You know," he went on, "I'm going to have all sorts of trouble with you. That's not good. The First Citizen shouldn't let himself be shoved around by the military."

Aelius looked at him calmly. "I think that's why you chose me," he said.

"Sorry?" Ba.s.so cupped his hand to his left ear. "Didn't quite catch that."

"It must've been tough on you," Aelius went on. "There you were, a kid, barely started shaving, and your father dumps running the Bank on you. But you cope. In ten minutes flat you've got the hang of it, and ten minutes after that you're a merchant prince, beating the best in the Republic."

"I had help."

"I know." Aelius nodded. "Your man Antigonus. Probably the only man in the world you actually respect. Tell me," he went on, "if you wanted to do something and Antigonus said no, would you listen to him?"

Ba.s.so frowned, as though the question didn't make sense. "It'd depend."

"On what?"

"Whether he was right."

Aelius laughed. "In other words, no. Even Antigonus." He touched the point of his beard with his left thumb. "I think that's because he was a slave."

"Bulls.h.i.t."

"It's true," Aelius said quietly. "That's why you can't respect him. You realise he's very clever, very good indeed at what he does. You love him like he was a close relative-uncle or something, maybe even your father-but deep down inside, you can't help despising him because of what he was. Well?"

Ba.s.so's scowl flattened out a little. "Your point?"

Aelius nodded. "Me," he said, "I'm a foreigner. 'Barely house-broken Beroean', you once called me."

"How the h.e.l.l did you know that?"

Aelius shrugged. "Antigonus didn't tell me," he said. "But I'm the man who made you deaf in one ear and got away with it. I was the man who wanted you to hang for killing your wife." He paused, as if issuing a challenge. "Well?"

"Your point?"

"Very well." Aelius seemed to untense a little. "You want to go and take charge of the war, personally. Fine. I'm saying no to you. Well?"

Ba.s.so closed his eyes, then opened them again. "Don't you want to know why I'm so keen to do this?"

"I know why," Aelius replied. "Partly, you don't trust anybody else to do a proper job; not me, not anybody, not in anything. You want the war over and done with as soon as possible. Sitting back here and waiting for news will have you biting your nails to the quick."

"True," Ba.s.so said. "But that's-"

"Second," Aelius went on, "it's something you haven't tried yet. In fact, it's about the only thing you haven't yet tried to do, done, done brilliantly well. In your mind you can see yourself winning the war in ten minutes flat."

"No false modesty," Ba.s.so said quietly. "I believe I probably could."

"You've read a book about it, you mean."

"I read a book about banking. Also, you'd be there to teach me. Like Antigonus taught me about business."

Aelius shook his head. "It's a little different," he said. "Not that I'm saying you couldn't do it. The difference is, if you get it wrong, a lot of men will get killed."

"All right," Ba.s.so said. "What's so different about you? You read a better book than me, or what?"

Aelius smiled. "Actually, I've read forty-seven books," he replied. "And attended four courses of lectures at the Academy, and you could say I've been apprenticed to masters of my craft for thirty-five years. Which means nothing," he added. "Biggest defeat in the history of your Republic: the Danzine Forks. General Carus Vetranio and sixty thousand highly trained professional soldiers wiped out by a bunch of farmers led by a blacksmith. Teudel was, of course, a military genius. We spent a term on him, studying his use of mobile reserves and his innovative approach to the support of supply lines, and he couldn't even write his name. When he was Emperor, he had to sign doc.u.ments with a stencil. You could be another Teudel, I don't know."

Ba.s.so nodded. "In other words?" he said.

Aelius dipped his head, conceding the point. "You want to go to war so you can get away from the City," he said. "Simple as that. You want to put as much geography as you can between yourself and your sister."

"Yes," Ba.s.so said. "So what's wrong with that?"

Aelius sighed. "Nothing," he said. "In your shoes, I'd think the same way. But I don't want you in my war. You'd be a distraction. You'd interfere." He breathed out, and seemed to shrink a little. "The one thing you've got to do in a war," he said, "is give your general a little bit of room to make his mistakes in. It's inevitable," he went on. "All generals make mistakes, it simply can't be prevented. But when they've got the boss there right on top of them, breathing down their necks, it's too much pressure. You try too hard to be perfect, and that's how disasters happen. I'm sorry," he said, "but no. You can't come. You have to stay here."

So Ba.s.so stayed; and within a month, Aelius smashed the Sclerian land army at Drepana, captured the King's uncle and won a convincing naval victory in the Strait of Jeano, bottling up what was left of the Sclerian fleet in their home port. Two days after the report reached the City, the Severus shipyard launched its first warship; supplied to the government at cost, better specified than the products of the state yards and twenty per cent cheaper. Announcing this development, the First Citizen told the House that his yard would be operating at full capacity within six weeks, at which time he pledged to deliver one warship, fully equipped and seaworthy, every day for as long as necessary.

During the course of the subsequent negotiations, sources close to the King let it be known that it was the Republic's new shipbuilding programme, as much as the land and sea defeats, that had influenced the Sclerians to seek peace. The King's admirals, they said, would have no trouble sinking the Republic's ships the next time they met, but if they could be replaced so quickly, what would be the point? The royal yards, by contrast, were hopelessly inefficient, staffed by indolent drunkards, run by the labour guilds rather than the supervisors, and managed by aristocratic favourites who never left their country estates. In fact (the sources hinted carefully), once a solid and dependable peace had been established, the King might well be interested in placing a substantial order with the Severus yard, with a view to establishing a lasting trading relationship.

He was almost tempted to recall General Aelius. The Republic's finest tactical thinker, he reasoned, was probably the only man capable of working out a plan whereby the First Citizen (who never left home without an honour guard, his personal staff and half a dozen personal attendants) could accidentally b.u.mp into his nephew in the street without closing off half the streets in the city. In Antigonus' considered opinion, it simply couldn't be done. The highways commissioner held that it was possible, but only if Ba.s.so was prepared to breach the west aqueduct and flood the Drapers' Quarter. Macrinus the City Prefect offered to have Ba.s.sano arrested, so his uncle could drop by to visit him in jail.

In the end Ba.s.so gave up and sent for him.

"Uncle Ba.s.so," said Ba.s.so. "I haven't seen you in ages. But I guess you've been busy."

Ba.s.so looked at him. No trace of the Severus lip. Instead, he'd grown up slight and thin (all the Severi ended up tall and stocky, but Ba.s.sano only came up to his shoulder), with straight black hair which he had the good taste to let grow, and his mother's light brown eyes. He looked boyish, but older than he actually was, and he had long, good-sized hands rather than the dumpy little Severus paws. According to the reports he was a fine dancer, an outstanding fencer, naturally talented on the lute, harp and rebec, a more than competent draughtsman and painter, and he wrote elegant, witty, contained poetry, usually in the form of letters to friends. So far, to Ba.s.so's great relief, he'd shown no interest whatsoever in horses.

"That's right," Ba.s.so said. "I've neglected you, and I'm sorry. Sit down, let me get you a drink."

Ba.s.sano sat. "Not for me," he said. "Wine gives me a headache." He smiled. "They keep telling me it's an acquired taste, but I can't see why anyone would bother." He flicked his fringe away from his eyes; a deliberate mannerism, Ba.s.so decided, that had escaped from captivity and become unconscious. "So," he said, "what did you want to see me about?"

"Ba.s.sano." The First Citizen stopped there. It was a rule of his, when making an important speech, always to have the next sentence prepared in his mind while he was speaking. If he couldn't, he paused, and tried to make it seem like he was doing it on purpose. "We've never really talked," he said (it sounded all wrong). "About your father."

Ba.s.sano looked at him. "Well, understandably," he said.

Ba.s.so had always had the knack of knowing when he was doing something completely misguided and stupid, though only once he'd embarked on it, and it was too late to turn back. "Maybe we ought to," he said. "I mean, it's not something we can just ignore. Especially-"

"I'd really rather not," Ba.s.sano said, "if you don't mind." He turned his head away and addressed the curtained window. "I think the town house is going to be a great success," he said. "Of course, so much depends on getting the basic colour scheme right before you start choosing furniture. Doing it the other way round's just asking for trouble."

"Ba.s.sano-"

"And how are the twins?" He was pushing with his head, straining against an imaginary rope. "The last time I saw them was at the Midsummer ball. Is Festo still mad about c.o.c.kfighting? It was all he could talk about at one time."

It was like tripping over something small when you're running flat out. "c.o.c.kfighting?"

"Good heavens, you're not supposed to know. Forget I said anything."

"No, it's all right." Ba.s.so frowned. "Since when?"

Ba.s.sano grinned feebly. "I gather it was one of your coachmen who got him started on it. They used to sneak out at night and go to the fights at the racecourse. Festo said he'd made a lot of money betting. Chip off the old block, you might say."

"c.o.c.kfighting?"

"I know." Ba.s.sano shrugged. "Never could see anything in it myself. All that noise, and people shouting; mostly people who don't smell very nice, with fat stomachs and missing teeth. I imagine that's what Festo likes about it; so different from what he's used to."

Ba.s.so was quiet for a moment. "You've been with him, then."

Ba.s.sano nodded. "Just the once," he said, "that was plenty for me. There was this little skinny thing, like a stretched bantam, and they put it up against this huge redpoll. I put a nomisma on the redpoll, naturally, but Festo put ten on the skinny object, at twenty to one. I think the fight only lasted a minute, and then there were red feathers everywhere and bits of raw chicken, and the skinny bird didn't have a mark on it, apart from the other bird's blood. Two hundred nomismata," Ba.s.sano added with a sigh, "one of them mine, if you like to look at it in those terms. You're not going to get nasty with him about it, are you?"

Ba.s.so laughed. "When I was Festo's age," he said, "I used to go to the prizefights down on the docks."

"You're joking."

"Quite true. You paid sixpence to get in, and a quarter if you wanted to fight. It was all quite organised, there were even rudimentary weight cla.s.ses. I was a featherweight, naturally."

"You fought?"

"That," Ba.s.so said coldly, "could be interpreted as an insult. Of course I fought. I never could see the sense in just watching anything."

Ba.s.sano was staring at him, eyes wide. "So what happened? How did you do?"

"I got bashed silly, of course," Ba.s.so replied. "The first time, and the second, and the third. The fourth time I made it through to the third round, and the fifth time, I won. Fifteen nomismata, first money I ever earned. I fought an apprentice from the rope-walk; big lad, very fast, but no footwork. They had to carry him out on a door."

"Is that true?"

Ba.s.so nodded. "As a matter of fact, yes, it is. I think Antigonus knew about it, but Father didn't have a clue. He thought I'd got the bruises from falling down the stairs. Of course," Ba.s.so added, "I had to fall down the stairs to make it plausible. Scariest thing I've ever done, actually. So," he went on, "if Festo wants to go to the c.o.c.kfights, good luck to him, and I'm delighted it's nothing worse. I'm just surprised at his choice of vice, that's all."

"Sorry?"

Ba.s.so shrugged. "Like you said," he replied, "it's so..." He made a words-fail-me gesture. "So commonplace. No, that's not what I mean. So uninspiring."

Ba.s.sano raised an eyebrow. "As opposed to, say, prizefighting."

"Well, of course. You go along, you watch poultry kicking s.h.i.t out of each other, you come away. Big deal. With prizefighting, you're taking part, you're involved. Still," he added, "I'm glad he's winning money. At least that suggests he's got a good eye."

Ba.s.sano had been staring at him; suddenly he burst out laughing. "Festo was sure that if you found out, you'd break his neck. Pio's livid with him about it, keeps telling him not to be such a b.l.o.o.d.y fool."

"Ah well." Ba.s.so sighed. "I think what I'll have to do is organise a national c.o.c.kfighting championship," he said. "Not a bad idea in itself. The people of this city are mad about sports, and I haven't done much yet to show I've got the common touch. Messano was nagging me about it only the other day. The Chancellor," Ba.s.so explained. "I can see you follow current affairs."

"Sorry." Ba.s.sano cringed. "Not my thing, politics."

"Very wise. Anyhow, we'll have this championship, and I'll make the twins come and sit with me in the presidential box for the grand finals. It'd be worth it just to see the look on their faces."

He leaned back in his chair. Ba.s.sano was grinning, and for a moment he caught a resemblance to something he'd seen in a mirror once, a long time ago; but without the comic eyebrows or the absurd lower lip. "There now," he said, "you were right. So much more fun than talking about your father."

Ba.s.sano's grin faded. "Yes," he said. "So I suppose we'd better. Do you play chess, Uncle Ba.s.so?"

"Chess? No."

"I'm surprised. I'd have thought you'd be good at it."

Ba.s.so couldn't resist. "I am," he said. "That's why I don't play. It's a rule of mine: don't beat people unless you have to."

Ba.s.sano nodded. "Good rule," he said. "Does the same go for killing people?"

"Always." Ba.s.so wanted to look away, but didn't. "Unless you have to."

"Quite." Ba.s.sano seemed to lose his energy. His hands dropped to his knees, and his neck bent. "Actually, I've found out quite a bit about my father; enough to make me wish I hadn't. People say he was good-looking, but apart from that..." He shrugged. "Oh, and he was good with horses. I don't take after him in that respect."

"Horrible animals," Ba.s.so said. "Actually, he did have his good points. He could be charming, he was generous, he didn't bear grudges. Also, he could do the most amazing tricks with a coin and a handkerchief."

Ba.s.sano looked up. "I remember that," he said. "When I was very young, he showed me one once. I was terrified, I thought he was a wizard." He shook his head. "I don't remember him much at all. He was never there, and when he was, he was drunk or in a temper, so Mother kept him away from me. I didn't like him much. He had a funny smell."

"Really?"

Ba.s.sano nodded. "Like oranges," he said, "only a bit sickly-sweet. I don't know, maybe it was some stuff he put on his hair, or something they put in when they washed his clothes. It always made me feel uncomfortable. And he used to wear a big gold ring on his left hand, with a stone that stuck out, and when he hugged me when I was small, it used to dig into my ear. Strange," he added, "stupid things you remember."