Evil for Evil (65 page)

"If they believed you were just a runaway, scared for your own skin, only interested in staying safe, what did they need a Vaatzes expert for? They didn't. So, that explanation didn't work."

Vaatzes nodded slowly; a little genuine respect. As though she'd looked up at you and smiled.

"Which left the alternative," Psellus went on. "Namely, that they promoted me from Compliance up to Necessary Evil simply in order to keep me under control. Which is something I should've figured out long ago," he went on, "after I'd been sitting alone in my office with nothing to do for weeks on end; completely out of the loop, isolated—I might as well have been locked up in a cell somewhere. It was because there was something about you they didn't want me to find out. I was blundering about, talking to your wife, the people at the factory. Sheer aimless curiosity; but they didn't want me doing it. I knew something was funny when I tried to contact the men who'd investigated the case, the prosecutor, the advocate; and for one reason and another, all quite reasonable, I couldn't. They didn't answer my letters, they weren't available, they'd been reassigned. As far as I know, none of them've died or disappeared, but perhaps that's only because I stopped poking around. I wondered why they hadn't just got rid of me; I think that was when I started worrying about what the whole business was doing to me. But it's hard, when you're cooped up in an office all day long with absolutely nothing at all to do." He stopped. Vaatzes was looking at him.

"Which is all I can tell you, really," he said. "And it's just a theory, I can't prove anything. I believe that there's some unpleasant secret, something about the circumstances of your—" He was about to say
offense
. "Of what you did. I'm more or less certain that you weren't aware of it; at least, not at the time. But now I've reached the dead end, as far as what I can find out on my own, back home. Basically, if I'm going to solve this puzzle, the only one who might be able to tell me anything useful is the source himself: you. And…" Deep breath. "And I thought," he went on, his voice shaking just a little in spite of everything, "it also occurred to me that you'd probably be interested in any conclusion I might reach. Which is why I'm here," he added feebly.

Silence; not even rats or chickens. Just the two of them.

"One thing," Vaatzes said, eventually, in a voice so tense it hurt Psellus to listen to it. "Is it true? Really? About…?"

"The wedding?" Psellus nodded. "And no, it's nothing to do with me, not something we arranged. Probably I was the only one in Necessary Evil who even knew about it."

"You told them?"

"Yes. By then I was starting to have my suspicions, about why I was there. On reflection, it didn't seem wise to advertise the fact that I was still—well, taking an interest."

"I think it matters," Vaatzes said. "I think it's really important; if any of them knew, before you told them. Do you agree?"

One expert consulting another. Psellus nodded. "I'm not sure how I can find out," he added. "Obviously. But I'll try."

"Thank you."

Two words that mean so much. "That's all right," Psellus said. "I feel—" Vaatzes interrupted him. "This is getting strange," he said, with a slight grin. "Not what I expected. I hadn't anticipated you having anything to offer that I might actually want."

"You think I'd come all this way with nothing to sell?" The words came out before Psellus was ready; but they were gone now, too late to worry about it. "I would like to ask you some questions," he said. "But maybe not straightaway. I want…" He nerved himself. "I want you to be able to trust me. So I'd like to get the other stuff out of the way. The stuff I was sent to do. If I bring it up afterward, you might think…"

"I understand." Vaatzes' eyes were cold, but not hostile. "I take it there's an offer."

"Yes."

"I'd be interested in hearing it."

So Psellus told him. The Vadani, in return for immunity in exile.

"I see," Vaatzes replied, after a long moment. "Is that the opening bid, or the final offer?"

This was the boundary; he could cross it, or hold back. "They feel it's important that you trust them," he said. "They know that you'd be suspicious if they offered you a chance to come home, but that's what they want you to hold out for. My mission isn't supposed to succeed. I'm supposed to make you an offer they know you'll reject. Accordingly, immunity in exile is all I'm authorized to offer you."

"I see."

"Which is where the marriage was useful," Psellus said (bad choice of words; he cringed). "I was supposed to tell you about it—well, it was my idea, they agreed—so you'd realize there's nothing left for you back home; you might as well accept exile, settle down, find a nice girl, get a job. I was supposed to believe there was a good chance you'd see the sense in that and accept."

Vaatzes grinned. "They underestimated you."

"Something I'd have said was impossible," Psellus replied, "but apparently they managed it. So, there's the offer. Take it or leave it."

They looked at each other across the table; two Mezentines in a strange, empty city.

"I accept," Vaatzes said.

After Psellus had asked his questions and Ziani had answered them, they discussed the implications for a while. Then Ziani said, "I think I understand now."

"It's only a theory," Psellus said nervously. "I couldn't prove…" Ziani shook his head. "You don't have to," he said. "Not for my benefit. After all, it's not as though it changes anything."

It amused him to see Psellus shocked. "It doesn't?"

"Not now." To make his point, he rested his hand lightly on the packet of documents lying on the table. "That's changed everything, you see. You do understand, don't you?"

"Yes." No, of course he didn't.

"Are you married?" Ziani asked.

"What? Oh, yes." Psellus frowned. "Well, after a fashion. We're separated. Have been for years. Most of our married life, actually." He said it lightly.

"Why?" Ziani asked.

"We can't stand living in the same house," Psellus replied. "As I recall, it took us a whole month to realize. I haven't set eyes on her for…" He frowned.

"As long as that." Ziani nodded. "Why didn't you simply get a divorce?"

"Not an option," Psellus replied, looking away. "I guess you could call it a political marriage. To be honest with you, I can't actually remember the details; it was pretty complicated, and of course everything's changed since then, the whole balance of power between the Guilds. I suppose I could get rid of her now, but where'd be the point? I'm far too set in my ways to bother about such things." Ziani nodded, as if to say he understood. He didn't, of course. It was as though Psellus had said he was too old and cranky to be interested in breathing. "That's your business," he said, trying to keep the disapproval out of his voice. "It seems a bit of a waste of a life, though."

"The least of my worries," Psellus said.

Strange, Ziani thought. Such a very different attitude to the business of being human. But he said, "I suppose you're lucky, being without love." Psellus looked uncomfortable. "You know what they say," he replied. "What you've never had…"

"I suppose so. I can't pretend I've had any luck with it myself. After all," he added with a humorless chuckle, "if it wasn't for love, I'd still be working in the factory, and the Eremians would still have their city." He decided not to go there.

"But that's like saying the cure for death is not being born. I still believe in it, you know. Love."

Just hearing him say the word seemed to embarrass Psellus. "Do you? I'd have thought…"

"Yes?"

"In your shoes," Psellus said slowly, "I'd look on it as an escape. Like a runaway slave."

Ziani thought for a moment. "There's a bit of poetry I heard once," he said.

"About falling out of love. It's not just escaping from the game, it's taking the dice with you. I used to wonder what that meant."

Psellus pursed his lips. "You mean it, then? About not wanting to come home anymore."

"What is there for me to come home to?"

"Doesn't that mean…?" Psellus was looking at him. "Well, it's admitting that you've lost, isn't it?"

Ziani couldn't help laughing at that. "Who cares?" he said. "As far as I'm concerned, it's as if they'd both died. Nothing left to go home to. I might as well find something to do with the rest of my life." He smiled. "One thing's for sure, I've found out a lot of things about myself I'd never have dreamed of before. The things I've achieved…" He paused. "I could make a great deal of money," he said. "I could be a nobleman, a great lord, like all these ridiculous Eremians and Vadani I've been spending so much time with. Great big houses, country estates; I could go hawking and hunting. I could marry a nobleman's beautiful, accomplished daughter, have a whole brood of aristocratic children who'd never have to work for a living. Well?

Can you see any reason why not? I've proved what I can do, more or less without trying. If I could make my peace with the Guilds, so I wouldn't have to be looking over my shoulder all the time for a Compliance assassin, there's no reason at all why I shouldn't. And…" He shrugged. "It's not as though I've got anything better to do." He raised an eyebrow. "Or are you going to tell me about my duty to my country; my duty not to steal her secrets and hand them over to the savages?" Psellus shifted in his seat. "None of my business," he said. "I'm not in Compliance anymore."

Ziani laughed. "Nicely put," he said. "Tell me, why did you come here?"

"To negotiate with you."

"Nonsense. You've as good as told me that the Guilds have no intention of honoring any agreement we may make."

"True." Psellus' shoulders slumped a little. "To ask you questions," he said.

"To see if they'd confirm your theory?"

"I guess so, yes."

"Because that'd explain why you were transferred from Compliance to Defense."

"I suppose so."

"Well, then." Ziani yawned. "Did you know that Duke Valens' closest adviser is spying for the Republic?"

Awkward silence. "No," Psellus said, "I didn't know that."

"His name's Mezentius and he reports back directly to Councillor Boioannes," Ziani said. "I take it he hasn't been sharing what he's learned with the rest of the committee."

Psellus didn't answer that. "How do you know?" he asked.

Ziani shrugged. "Luck," he replied. "As you know, I use the women traders to carry messages for me, find things out, that sort of thing. I was talking to one of them a while back, and I must have said something that gave her the impression that I was in on the secret, maybe part of the setup. She told me things that left me in no doubt." He paused to marshal his thoughts before continuing. "You can see why it concerns me," he said. "To put it simply, if Boioannes already has a pet traitor, someone much better placed than me, he doesn't need me as well. He can get this Mezentius to give him the Vadani. So, obviously, any deal he offers me is bound to be a trap." He smiled. "I can also see how it affects you. If Boioannes could have the Vadani any time he wanted, why's the war still going on? He must be up to something, and his plan must turn on the war carrying on. Well, if he likes the war so much, maybe it's a fair guess that he was the one who started it." Psellus nodded. "By using you."

"Flattering, I suppose, though I could have done without the honor. Anyway," he added, "something for you to think about on your long ride home. Consider it a thank-you from me." He tapped the packet of papers on the table. "In return for this."

Psellus appeared to think for quite a while. "Do you mean it?" he said, avoiding Ziani's eyes. "About not wanting to come home anymore."

"Of course. Like I've been telling you, there wouldn't be any point."

"Where can you go? To start your new life, I mean."

"Oh, anywhere." He was pretty sure Psellus hadn't been taken in by that. "The Cure Doce seem a reasonable bet. I never realized how huge their territory is. In fact…" He stopped and clicked his tongue. "A year ago I'd never heard of them, except as a name. If you'd have asked me then, I wouldn't have been able to tell you if they were real, or something out of a fairy tale."

"You wouldn't like it there," Psellus said. "They're primitives."

"Worse than these people?" Ziani laughed. "And even if they are, they won't be for long, if I go there. I could go right the other side of their country, off the edge of the Guild maps, and in six months I'd be building my first factory. It seems I've got a talent for it. It turns out that the world's a fairly big place, and no matter where they live or what color their skin is or what language they speak, they're going to want nails, plowshares and cheap tin buckets. It's a law of nature." Psellus nodded slowly. "I'm glad I'm not in Compliance anymore," he said, with feeling. "You're exactly what we used to have nightmares about: the monster…"

"If I'm the monster, you made me into it," Ziani replied casually. "But of course, it all depends on this deal you've come here to arrange."