Sharps (56 page)

She frowned at him for a few moments, as if he was written in a simple code that could probably be deciphered if she could be bothered. Then her face relaxed. “Suidas,” she said sweetly, “you’re so full of shit they ought to spread you on the strawberry beds. And the day I take advice from you about—Oh
hell
,” she added thickly, through the web of the fingers she was pressing to her mouth. “It’s started bleeding. Now look what you’ve …”

Tzimisces said: “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Were you surprised? To find out it was the Carnufex boy.” He pulled out a chair and sat down. “Oh, I brought you some apples, by the way.” He reached in his coat pocket. Two apples, to justify the use of the plural. Suidas looked at them. “You choose one,” Tzimisces said, “I’ll eat the other. Then you’ll know they’re not poisoned.”

“You know what you can do with your apples, Colonel. Assuming they’ll both fit in there.”

“Suit yourself.” Tzimisces smiled at him. “Don’t feel bad about not guessing who it was,” he went on. “I didn’t know for sure, or I’d have told you. Still, with hindsight …”

“Yes, I know.” Suidas yawned again. “Advantages to the Irrigator of sending his son: nobody suspects what he’s planning, because they can’t believe he’d send his own son to his death. If he succeeds, there’s a war. If he fails, there’s still a war. And no chance of Addo telling anyone or getting cold feet, because the son of the Carnufex does as he’s told. Disadvantage: his son dies. But so what? The family history’s just one long catalogue of sons buried by their fathers in a good cause. They’re proud of it, which I think is disgusting. But I’m guessing he never really liked the boy all that much.”

Tzimisces waited for a moment. “So what happened?”

“He won.” Suidas lay back and closed his eyes. “Proved himself the better man, you might say. But he ran out of time. Once he’d realised that, he gave up. Not a killer, you see. I could tell there was a precise moment when he knew it was too late, and he …” Suidas sighed. “Not a killer,” he said. “Or he’d have finished me off to shut my mouth. Now, of course …”

Tzimisces shook his head. “Nobody would ever believe you, your word against his.”

“I realise that.” Suidas stretched, stifled a yawn with his bandaged hand. “I don’t think he does. But I reckon that’s beside the point.
He
knows, even if nobody else ever will.”

Tzimisces grinned. “A financial settlement, then, presumably.”

“Among other things.” Suidas frowned. “After all, it’s because of him that I’ll never be able to practise my one and only skill, so why not? Compensation. The Carnufex aren’t exactly short of money.” He sighed. “You know, it’ll be nice to have the excuse. I was getting sick to death of bloody swordfighting.”

“Well,” Tzimisces said. “I’ve got something for you, by way of a reward.”

“Money?”

“No,” Tzimisces replied. “Better than that. Something money can’t buy, as they say.”

“All the things I like cost money,” Suidas replied. “But go on.”

Tzimisces drew closer; the closeness, and the intensity of his expression, made Suidas wonder if he was about to kiss him. But Tzimisces lowered his voice and said, “The first time, in the War, when you were a carter with the supply train, and some fool sent you on a collision course with a Permian column. You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”

Suidas frowned. “What about it?”

Tzimisces came nearer still, until his face was so close, Suidas could smell the rosewater he’d shaved with that morning. It reminded him of Sontha. “Haven’t you ever wanted to know the name of the officer who gave that order? And wouldn’t you like to meet him? In some quiet place, where no one really gives a damn? Well?”

Suidas felt cold. “I can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.”

“Would you like me to tell you his name?”

When Tzimisces came out, he looked straight at Phrantzes. “You next,” he said.

“Is he all right?” Phrantzes asked. “I wouldn’t want to bother him if he needs to rest.”

“That’s fine,” Tzimisces said. “He’d like to see you.”

Phrantzes stood up. In his pocket was a folding knife, a special sort the Permians made that you couldn’t get in Scheria. When you opened it, a little spring locked the blade, until you pulled on a ring to release it. You could cut, or stab, quite hard, and the knife wouldn’t fold up and cut your fingers. He’d seen a clerk sharpening a pen with it, and the clerk was a fencing fan and had heard all about the big match. “I’ll go on in, then,” he said.

Suidas was sitting up in bed. “Phrantzes,” he said. “I gather you had a pretty rough time.”

Phrantzes nodded. “I’m too old,” he said.

“You won, didn’t you? That’s what counts.”

“Well, I’m still alive.” He took a step closer, like a man in a crowd pushed up against a barrier. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Suidas replied. “I just had Tzimisces in here. He’s hard work.”

“You ought to get some sleep,” Phrantzes said.

“I’d like to,” Suidas said, “but I can’t seem to get comfortable. I think the pillows are too soft.”

Phrantzes laughed. “Well, if you’ve been used to sleeping rough for a while, I guess they probably are.” He took a step forward, through the invisible barrier, into close measure. “Here, let me see what I can do with them.” He advanced, beside the bed, level with Suidas’ head. There were two pillows. He lifted one off. “Lie back,” he said. “There, that’s better. The doctor says …”

“I know,” Suidas said. “But I’m not holding my breath.”

Gently, almost tenderly, Phrantzes put his left hand on Suidas’ head and pushed it back on to the pillow. “How long did they say you were on the table? Six hours? That must’ve been hell.”

“It wouldn’t have been so bad if the doctor hadn’t been a fencing nut. But he wanted to hear all about the fight at Joiauz, every detail. Well, there wasn’t that much to tell, so I had to make stuff up.” He yawned. “That Tzimisces,” he said. “I’ll be so glad to see the back of him.”

“Close your eyes,” Phrantzes said. “Get some rest.”

Suidas did as he was told. As soon as his eyes were shut, Phrantzes lifted the pillow in his right hand, dropped it on Suidas’ face and lunged forward, laying his chest and forearms on it, crushing it down into Suidas’ nose and mouth. Suidas’ back arched; he kicked away from the bed, lashed out with his left hand, caught Phrantzes’ chin in his cupped palm and pushed him on to the floor. Then he scrambled off the bed. By that time, Phrantzes had found his feet and opened the folding knife. Suidas kicked it out of his hand, and smacked Phrantzes in the mouth with his elbow. Phrantzes tottered, tripped over his own feet and sat down hard on the floor.

“Well?” Suidas said, catching his breath. “Finished, or do you want to try again?”

Frantically Phrantzes looked round for the knife. It was in Suidas’ left hand. He was folding away the blade, holding the ring in his teeth. He closed it up and threw it to Phrantzes, who tried to catch it and failed. It bounced off the tiled floor and vanished under the bed.

“Forget it,” Suidas said.

Phrantzes looked at him. “I …”

“I said,” Suidas repeated firmly, “forget it.” He breathed out, long and slow and even; then he climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over his legs with his left hand. “I figured as much,” he said. “You’re a pretty good fencer, but you can’t fight worth spit. Definitely not up to killing anybody.” He laughed. “Not that that’s a bad thing,” he said. “One thing my life’s taught me, fighting’s a fairly useless way to communicate.” He paused for a moment. Phrantzes was perfectly still, frozen with shock. “Killing’s even worse,” he went on. “But you couldn’t kill me, even if you wanted to. And I don’t really think you do.” He was holding his right wrist in his left hand, keeping it away from his chest. “Tzimisces told me,” he said.

“He told you.”

“That’s right.” Suidas flattened his shoulders against the bed. “I think it was meant to be a sort of reward, for being good. Long story, you really don’t want to know. He told me it was you who put the supply column I was with in harm’s way, in the War.” He shifted his head slightly. “Did you know?” he asked. “Before you joined up for this trip?”

“He told you.”

“Yes. Presumably, the threat was, if you don’t do as you’re told …”

“I did everything that was asked of me,” Phrantzes said. “Which wasn’t much,” he added bitterly. “For all the good I’ve done, I might as well not have come. They didn’t
need
me.”

Suidas laughed. “From what I gather, this whole trip’s been a bit of a disappointment. Or it would’ve been, if it hadn’t been for young Addo. Thanks to him, I really do believe there won’t be a war.”

“Both of you, surely.”

“Oh, I didn’t do much. Anyway,” Suidas said briskly, “I told Tzimisces his reward wasn’t worth having. Too long ago, and too much has happened since. You know, there’s some deadly secrets that are a bit like fine red wine. You keep them for too long and they go off.” He closed his eyes. “You can get out now,” he said. “Next time you want to smother a man with a pillow, for crying out loud just get on with it. Your big murder attempt was better signposted than the Golden Step Temple.”

Phrantzes got up. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Oh, everyone’s sorry,” Suidas replied irritably. “Sorry for getting you all cut up, nothing personal, won’t happen again. Like I give a shit. Assuming Tzimisces hasn’t screwed me over, I’ve now got twenty-five thousand in the bank in Scheria, more to come, that’s really all that matters. I’m out of it now, safe. All my troubles are over. And that’s in spite of me doing the right thing, so it’s probably more than I deserve.”

“Even so,” Phrantzes said. “I really am sorry. If I’d known …”

“Go away,” Suidas said. “Please.”

And then it was Addo’s turn. He sat down and was perfectly still and quiet for a long time, until Suidas couldn’t stand it any longer. “Well?” he said.

“You said you’d deal with me later.”

“So I did.”

Addo looked up. “Is it later yet?”

Suidas laughed. Addo gave him a disapproving frown. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he said. “Holding court. You look like the Emperor lying there.”

“Quite,” Suidas said. “Champion fencer. I’m the one they came to see.” He laid his head on one side, peering up at Addo like a puzzled dog. “If it’d been me,” he said, “and you’d been in my way, you’d be dead now. Over and done with. I’m surprised about that. After all, you killed two, sorry
three
government ministers in cold blood. I’d have thought you’d have had no trouble.”

“They were Permians.”

“Ah.” Suidas nodded. “Yes, I can see where you’re coming from. Back in the War, I did a lot of that. Soon as you can turn them from people into the enemy, it’s not such a big deal.” He shrugged. “The enemy,” he said, “the opponent, the other man. Targets, like the silhouette painted on the wall, with all the vulnerable parts numbered. Different when it’s someone you know.”

Addo shook his head. “They needed killing,” he said. “You didn’t. Therefore, there was nothing to be gained.” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “I asked you, is it later yet?”

“Later has been and gone,” Suidas replied. “Apart from the shitload of money that’ll keep me idle and happy for the rest of my life, I’ve finished with you.”

“I see,” Addo replied. “What have you done?”

“You’ll see. It’s not justice,” he added, “because there’s no such thing, but it’s expedient. Makes the world a safer place. And your dad’ll be livid.”

Addo waited, but Suidas didn’t enlarge on that; so he said, “And there won’t be another war.”

“Not tomorrow, at any rate. Later, maybe, but I’ll be out of it by then, so it won’t be my fault.”

Addo smiled. “My father once said—”

“Oh, spare me, please.”

“My father,” Addo repeated firmly, “once told me I was his fault. I imagine it was the worst thing he could think of to say. He was in that sort of a mood.”

“Your father,” Suidas said, “is a turd. All right, you’re dismissed. That’s army talk,” he went on, when Addo didn’t move, “for go away. Thought you’d have known that.”

“I’m not a soldier,” Addo said.

Suidas looked at him. “I know,” he said. “Be grateful.”

In the square, they were chanting
Carnufex, Carnufex
. It made the First Minister smile. He looked to be out of practice, which was understandable.

“In a moment, you and I must go out on the balcony together,” he told Addo, who winced and asked if that was really necessary. “Oh, most definitely,” the First Minister assured him. “Unless you want to provoke a riot. They want their new hero.”

Tzimisces beamed. “Yes, you’ve got to, Addo,” he said. “It’ll be one of those moments that people remember. The First Minister of Permia and the Irrigator’s son shaking hands on the Guild house balcony. Seven years ago, nobody would’ve believed it possible. Shows how far we’ve come in such a short time.”

“But it wasn’t me,” Addo said desperately, “it was Suidas. He was the one—”

“Indeed,” the Minister said, smiling firmly. “Unfortunately, Captain Deutzel isn’t well enough just yet. And besides, you’re the one who’s captured their imagination. The symbolism, you see: perfect.” He laid a small, plump hand on Addo’s shoulder. “We both know that Captain Deutzel was there too, but I dare say that in ten years’ time, he’ll have faded out of the story almost completely. It’ll be one of those test questions: who was the
other
Scherian who foiled the assassination of Minister Lajos? And people will be really pleased with themselves if they manage to recall his name. That’s history for you,” he added cheerfully. “I’ve always thought of history as growing up around the truth like ivy on a tree. Not that it matters. The important thing is the moment, you and me together. They’ll point to it in years to come and say, that was when the War finally ended.”

“I really don’t think …”

“Oh go on, Addo,” Iseutz said. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“My people are going home,” the old man said. “We’ve been here too long. The money’s good, but there’s more to life than money, don’t you think? Besides, we don’t really use money where we come from. It just ends up sitting in big wooden boxes, and they’re a nuisance to carry about. I never did quite understand why they feel the need to make coins out of gold. It’s so
heavy
.”