The Folding Knife (57 page)

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," Basso 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 Bassano:

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 classes: 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 classes: regular, urgent and first-class. Only Basso used the first-class. 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. Basso gave his two letters to a Bank messenger and told him, first-class.

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 Bassianus Licinius, the First Citizen's nephew.

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

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

From Bassano:

... 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 Basso, 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 analyse 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, assuming 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 arsehole, 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 balls 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 pissed 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.

Mostly, I suppose, I want to say thanks for sending me here. If I hadn't come, I'd never have learned the truth. I guess that if I'm anything, I'm a philosopher (what do you want to be when you grow up, Bassano?); cracking the fundamental question of ethics and the purpose of human existence before the age of twenty-one is about as good as you can get, in my line of work. It's also a dead end--nowhere else to go, nothing left to do--so the risk really isn't that great. If I'd stayed in the City, I could've lived to be ninety and never achieved a damn thing.

Cordially, and with love,

Bassano

"I'm afraid not," the soldier told him patiently. "No matter how quickly we get there, they'll be deep inside the forest by then."

"So?" Basso snapped. "Something the size of our army can't be hard to find, even with a few trees in the way. Just follow all the footprints."

"A courier," the soldier went on, wisely ignoring him, "would probably be picked off by the insurgents long before he could catch up with the army. If he made it through and found them, it would be extremely unwise for your nephew to leave the army and go back, for the same reason."

"The hell with that," Basso said. "Aelius'll have to send a regiment to escort him. He's got seven, he can spare one, can't he?"

Maybe the soldier was deaf, in both ears. "It's my considered opinion," he said, "that any attempt to retrieve Bassianus Licinius would put him in greater danger than if he stayed with the main army. General Aelius has twenty-eight thousand men, all well armed and well trained. I'm certain that he will regard preserving the life of your nephew as a high priority. Anything we do from here will probably only make things worse."

Basso shook his head. "I can't accept that," he said. "Go to the forest, find the army and tell Aelius to turn round and come back. We can do that, can't we?"

The soldier didn't reply, which was probably just as well. He was a very patient man, with an inexpressive face. Basso said, "What do you make of their chances?"

That was different. The soldier was prepared to treat him as a rational human being. "Given what we know about the terrain and the enemy, naturally I'm deeply concerned. On the other hand, Cazar troops aren't exactly strangers to fighting this sort of war. And General Aelius is quite possibly the most resourceful and determined soldier I've ever come across. Most certainly he knows what the dangers are, and he'll have made plans accordingly. The great military disasters of history, where large armies have gone into mountains or forests and never come back, were mainly the fault of inexperienced or overconfident commanders."

Basso nodded. "Their principal mistake being walking straight into a trap in the first place. Which Aelius has just done." He stood up, turned his head as though looking for something, then sat on the edge of the desk. "Well, we'll just have to wait and see. What else?"

The soldier hesitated, and in that split second Basso knew he was about to hear something bad. He very nearly interrupted; but what would be the point?

"We're getting reports that the Imperial Second Fleet has left its spring harbour at Flobis and put to sea," the soldier said. "One source, unconfirmed but usually reliable, says that they're making for Voroe."

Just for a moment, Basso couldn't remember where Voroe was. "The island," he said. "The one we turned the Hus loose on."

The soldier nodded. "As I said, just one report. However, if the Empire is contemplating war, Voroe would be an ideal place to start, and of course, this would be the ideal time. If the Empire has learned that Aelius has gone into the forest..."

"Yes, I see." Basso was lying. For some reason, he couldn't get his mind to close around the fact he'd just been given. "They've got a claim to Voroe, so it's a legitimate act on their part, and if they take it, they cut our supply line to Mavortis. Nasty thought. What should we do?"

A question, where at any other time he'd have given an order. The soldier replied immediately, "Mobilise the fleet. Send four full squadrons to Voroe and get ready to fight."

"Mobilise the fleet." Basso frowned. "I can see the sense in that," he said awkwardly. "Trouble is, there's no money to pay for it. To supply, man and launch a squadron: three hundred thousand nomismata. To keep a squadron at sea for a week, sixty thousand. Four squadrons for, say, three weeks: one million, seven hundred and twenty thousand--"

"One million, nine hundred and twenty thousand," the soldier corrected him. Basso opened his mouth, then closed it again. First time he'd got a sum wrong for as long as he could remember. "We can't afford it," he said. "Not even with pretend money. The most we can do is two squadrons, and that's if the Bank spends its own money." He scowled, as though irritated by someone he couldn't see but knew was there. "Should we do that?"

"The report could be false," the soldier said, "in which case the money would be wasted. If the report is true and we do nothing, the consequences don't bear thinking about." He hesitated, then asked gently, "Is it true about the money, or are you exaggerating?"

"It's true," Basso said. "It's gone. I've spent it." He pressed his thumbs to the sides of his head. "How long can we wait before launching the ships?" he said. "In case we get further and better reports."