The Folding Knife Part 25

"Oh for pity's sake," Ba.s.so said wearily. "Why ever not?"

"I know why you're doing it," she said. "You're trying to steal him from me."

Ba.s.so nodded. "Obviously," he said. "He's all I've got."

"He's all I've got," she replied. "And we can't both have him."

Ba.s.so met her glare. It took some doing. "Then surely it's up to him to choose between us."

"No." She said it quietly. When you're really angry, you tend not to shout. "You have more to offer. But I won't allow it."

"Think about it," Ba.s.so said, trying to keep his voice even. "It's the best opportunity he could ever have. He'll be a magnificent First Citizen, and it'll give him tremendous satisfaction. Don't you want him to be happy?"

"Under other circ.u.mstances, of course."

Ba.s.so closed his eyes. "You mean, you hate me more than you love your son."

She clicked her tongue-a sharp but everyday rebuke. "If you insist on putting it in those terms."

Ba.s.so opened his eyes again and looked at her. "That's dreadful," he said. "You ought to think about that."

"It's not what I'd have chosen," she replied. "And if it's as bad as that, you're to blame. This whole thing is entirely your fault. You murdered my husband. If you had a shred of decency, you'd have left me my son."

"Fine." Ba.s.so realised he couldn't be doing with this discussion. "You won't allow it. What do you propose doing about it?"

Her face was closed right down. "I'm going to file charges against you," she said. "For Palo's murder."

Later, he was quite proud of the way he let the shock break over him. "I think you'll find you've left it too long," he said, crisp and businesslike. "There's a limitation period of fifteen years-"

"Not for murder," she replied, quick and precise, like someone dead-heading a rose. "Really, Ba.s.so, you of all people ought to know the law. Murder, treason and gross incompetence in public office have no limitation period. I can bring charges whenever I like."

Ba.s.so nodded. "Quite right," he said. "You don't think that'd be something of an overreaction, bearing in mind that all I'm trying to do is give your son the best possible start in life?"

"It's a question of motives," she replied. "Like I just said, you took away my husband. I won't let you have my son as well."

Ba.s.so nodded, as if he could see the sense in that. "In that case," he said, "you go ahead. In fact, I'd like that. I must say, I never thought you'd actually do it, but I won't pretend it hasn't been a worry at the back of my mind over the years. I'd be pleased to get rid of that particular threat. So yes, go ahead." He paused, to see if she'd react, then went on: "Of course, I could have the charges quashed just by signing a bit of paper. The Optimates are in no position to make a fuss about it, because I'm backing their war-something they never expected me to do, of course, which is probably why I did it. While the war's still in hand, they can't really make trouble for me about anything."

"You're very sure about that," she said, but she was frightened.

"Even if they tried to," Ba.s.so went on, "I've got a two-to-one majority in the House and n.o.body on my side wants me to fall-a pretty unusual state of affairs, I grant you, but if you don't believe me, ask around. Too many people owe me money. Or," he went on, not allowing her a chance, "I could let the charges go ahead. There isn't a hope in h.e.l.l that any jury would convict me of anything right now. I could refuse to offer a defence, and they'd still acquit. Or I could defend the action, pointing out it was self-defence-which is true, of course-and asking the jury to consider your motives in bringing the charges after such a long time. I could make it impossible for you to stay in this city. You'd have crowds outside your house throwing rocks through your windows."

She looked at him. "Is that what you want?"

"No, of course not," he said angrily, then checked himself and went on: "As you know, once someone's been acquitted of a charge, it can't be brought again. So, if you try anything now, that'll be it. Your last hold over me will be gone for ever. I think I'd like that."

She didn't say anything, and the look on her face broke his heart. He managed to draw breath, and said, "All I want to do is give Ba.s.sano a chance to be really happy. He's one of those very rare people who only get pleasure out of doing the right thing. There's not a trace of selfishness in him; do you know how extraordinary that makes him? If he spends his life ambling along, doing no harm and no good, he'll be utterly wretched by the time he's my age. He needs this opportunity. I've done it all just for him. For G.o.d's sake, you're his mother, can't you see I'm right?"

"I'm not disputing that," she said. "But I can't let you win. I have to stop you winning, no matter what it costs. And everything bad that happens as a result is your fault."

He didn't reply, or move. He was just waiting for her to go.

"I shall consult my lawyers," she said (he thought: what a formal way of putting it, like a business letter). "I believe I stand a good chance of winning, or at least of ruining you."

She stood up. He stayed where he was. "Will you tell Ba.s.sano what you've got in mind?"

"Of course," she said. "I shall tell him that unless he refuses your offer, I shall press the charges. If he refuses, I shall let you go." A spurt of anger crossed her face; she froze it. "He's devoted to you, so of course he'll refuse the offer, to save you. I shall then insist that he comes home, and never has any contact with you ever again. I believe that takes care of everything."

She left the room, and Ba.s.so couldn't be bothered to send a clerk after her, to show her the way out. Let her spend the night roaming the corridors.

For a long time, he sat perfectly still, staring at the lamp in front of him, until it guttered and went out.

Eleven.

Antigonus died in his sleep three days before the first anniversary of Ba.s.so's election victory. When Ba.s.so came to see the body, he was amazed at the way the old man had lived. He'd never been in Antigonus' private chambers before; nor, he realised, did he have any strong preconceptions about what they would be like. He knew Antigonus had simple but refined tastes and wasn't short of money; he was always plainly but respectably dressed, his hair always trimmed in the same style to a constant length, so you'd be forgiven for forming the impression that it never grew at all, his fingernails immaculately cut and shaped, his clothes freshly laundered and pressed, his teeth (the full set, in spite of his age) impeccably white and even.

He had lived, it turned out, in three rooms just north of the docks: a dressing room, where all his clothes were hung on racks, orderly as a shop; a bathroom, containing a cheap copper bath, a very old polished-steel mirror, a table for razors, strigils and soap, and a chamber pot, slightly cracked; and a bedroom, containing a bed. Antigonus' servant, who had been with him for thirty years and looked like he was older than his master, had washed and shaved him, looked after his clothes and brought him his meal every evening: a bowl of soup and half a loaf of hard barley bread from the dockers' canteen at the bottom of the street. Always the same, the servant said, and he insisted on the two-day-old bread, stale but still edible, and half-price. When he came home from work, the servant went on, Antigonus immediately changed out of his good clothes and put on a long woollen tunic, very old and covered in darned patches, which he'd once said had come from his own country. He would sit on his bed to eat his soup and bread; then the lamp would be put out, to save oil, and Antigonus would lie in the dark till morning. He slept badly, especially in the last year, when the pain of his illness kept him awake. The servant, who slept on the dressing-room floor, handed Ba.s.so a folded yellow doc.u.ment, Antigonus' will, dated five years earlier. In it, Antigonus had left Ba.s.so everything, with the proviso that if he should die before his planned return to his home village, his body should be buried with the minimum of expense (there were detailed instructions on how to save money at every stage of the process) in the common graveyard on Corvis Island. All his savings were held at the Bank.

Although he'd been sorely tempted over the years, Ba.s.so had never looked to see how much money Antigonus had. It came to just over a million nomismata, the fifth-largest estate since records began. Ba.s.so followed the funeral instructions to the letter. He gave the servant twenty thousand nomismata, pretending that it had been a legacy from his master. The old man was so shocked that Ba.s.so thought he was going to die on the spot. Later, he heard that he'd given two-thirds of the money to the Studium, to endow a perpetual chantry for Antigonus' soul.

When he went to Antigonus' office, he found everything in perfect order, as he'd expected. He also found a book, in the old man's own handwriting, addressed to himself. It proved to be a detailed a.n.a.lysis of every aspect of the Bank's business, setting out its strengths and weaknesses, with copious suggestions and recommendations. At the end, Antigonus had written: I have served you, my lord Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Arcadius Honorius Severus, to the best of my ability. The Bank has been my life's work, and I am satisfied that, when you read this, you will find it in good order. My service has been involuntary; it was duty, not choice. I served your father with just as much effort and application, although I never could stand the man; I thought him foolish and reckless, his only redeeming feature being luck. Duty, however, is sacred. You, on the other hand, I have always loved as though you were my own son. The only joy in my life has been to see your triumphs. The only sorrow worth mentioning has been to see how little comfort your success has brought you. Wise as I am (and I know of no one wiser, except you, of course), I have no suggestions to make as to how you may be happy. I fear that will not be possible. I hope I am wrong.

Goodbye, my lord Ba.s.sia.n.u.s, Ba.s.so, my beloved master, my friend. My only regret is that I can serve you no longer. Forgive me.

Your servant, Antigonus Poliorcetes (formerly Genseric son of Dedric of Oesey, of the White Reed clan of the Jazygite nation) Tragazes succeeded Antigonus as chief cas.h.i.+er of the Bank. In turn, Ba.s.so gave his job to a young clerk from the counting office, by the name of Lascaris. Both appointments had been written down in Antigonus' book; Lascaris, he'd said, was bright, imaginative but cautious, with a good head for detail and an infinite capacity for work. At the same time (again on Antigonus' recommendation) he promoted the twins to be joint Controllers, and a.s.signed them both to the foreign exchange division. They were delighted and thanked him, profusely and (as far as he could judge) sincerely. He didn't tell them that he was only obeying orders, and wouldn't have done any such thing if left to himself.

The second attempt on his life was a relatively quiet affair, although it nearly succeeded. As he said to Sentio at the time, "Someone tried to kill me and I didn't even notice."

As the weather grew warmer, he took to working at the Severus house in the small herb garden rather than his office. In his grandfather's day it had been a courtyard, a place where the grooms could comb and tack up the horses. Grandfather had built new stables on a piece of land he bought from the government, adjoining the west side of the house. He knocked down the old stables and built a cloister (very much the fas.h.i.+on at that time), and dug up the paved yard, built a wall round it and planted it with pear trees and herbaceous borders. In the afternoons, the house shaded the garden and blocked out the wind. Ba.s.so's father had had a fountain put in (they'd had to dig up the main water pipe, which ran directly under the house-weeks of chaos and ruinous expense); Ba.s.so's only contribution had been to train espaliered fig trees up the back wall, install a retractable canvas awning for morning shade, and knock a doorway through the east wall to give access to the narrow alley behind it. He called it the sally-port, and often used it when he wanted to slip out of the house without anybody knowing.

On the day in question, he was working out complicated calculations on a portable chequerboard: costings for the Mavortine expedition, though the future of the project was still in doubt. He hadn't heard from Ba.s.sano since his sister's visit. There had been questions in the House, but he'd stalled, saying that the enterprise was too important to be rushed through. The sums of money involved were so large that, after a while, he found he'd run out of counters. As he stood up, to go into the house for the spare box, he noticed something that most definitely hadn't been there a few minutes ago, when he'd last looked up. There was an arrow, stuck in the wooden pillar that supported the canvas awning.

He looked at it for several seconds, bewildered by the incongruity. For one thing, it was an unusual arrow: too short to have been shot from a bow, rather on the long side for a crossbow bolt, and extremely thick, nearly half an inch in diameter. It had gone in deep-all he could see of the head was the socket and the points of the barbs, and it had split the pillar down the grain.

It was only a noise from the alley (inconsequential, as it turned out) that made him think about the implications. If it hadn't been there before, it must have arrived recently, while he'd been sitting in the garden, not very far away. Someone had shot it at him.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, he made a dive for the cloister door; stumbled over his own feet, nearly fell on his face, grabbed the door to pull himself upright, fumbled it open, collapsed through it, slammed it shut and shot home both the bolts. He ran into the house and yelled, "h.e.l.lo?" (it was all he could think of to say), repeating it several times before a fl.u.s.tered-looking clerk came out of the library.

"There's been an attack," he said.

Understandably, the clerk looked confused. "Sir?"

"I was in the small garden. Someone shot an arrow at me." He realised he was gabbling, and pulled himself together. "I want you to find the guard sergeant and tell him to send a runner to General Aelius. I want the house and gardens searched."

It was, of course, a complete waste of time, achieving nothing further than throwing the entire household into panic for the rest of the day. As Aelius explained, slowly and patiently, as to an imbecile, it was extremely unlikely that the a.s.sa.s.sin had ever been on the premises at all.

"The arrow tells us that," he said. It was lying on the table in the counting room (a good-sized room with no windows). "Just as well you noticed it when you did, really."

"Meaning?"

"It's an artillery bolt," Aelius explained. "From a scorpion; that's a light field catapult. Usually they're mounted on carriages and used to lay down a barrage just before the start of a battle, though we've started using them on s.h.i.+ps, to pick men off the rigging. They're extremely accurate out to two hundred and fifty yards."

Ba.s.so tried to organise the geography of the neighbourhood in his mind, but couldn't. Fortunately, Aelius had brought a map. "Most likely," he said, spreading the map out on the table, "they set it up in the tower of the Great Light Temple. It's the only building within shot that's tall enough to see into your garden."

Ba.s.so frowned. "That's unlikely," he said. "How the h.e.l.l could they have got something like that up the stairs without anybody noticing?"

Aelius smiled grimly. "In pieces, I imagine," he said. "Must've broken it right down and rebuilt it up in the tower. Otherwise, you'd need a crane. My guess is," he went on, "they loosed off the shot just before you got up. It takes a good minute to crank the thing up again. By the time they'd reloaded, you were on your feet and walking about. Scorpions are accurate, but they're not up to picking off a moving target at long range. They must've cursed you for not holding still."

Ba.s.so's eyes widened. "It seems a bit hard to believe," he said. "That's a h.e.l.l of a long way."

"It can be done," Aelius replied. "Seen it myself. I saw a general shot off his horse at well over two hundred yards once. In fact," he went on, leaning over the plan and laying a ruler across it, "they didn't miss by all that much, look. There's the fountain, so you'd have been sitting there-the table was just under the awning, as I remember, so your chair would've been..." He laid his fingernail on the edge of the ruler. "I'm surprised you didn't hear it go past," he said. "It's a sort of swis.h.i.+ng sound; you can actually hear it rotating in flight."

Ba.s.so didn't ask how Aelius came to know that. "I don't remember hearing anything," he said.

"You were lucky," Aelius replied. "If you'd stayed put an extra minute, there's a fair chance they'd have had you with the second shot."

Ba.s.so turned away, so he couldn't see the bolt. He had an irrational feeling that it might wake up and come after him again. "Even if they did take it to bits," he said quietly, "they couldn't have got the bits up into the tower without someone noticing. There's always half a dozen priests in the main hall, not to mention the novices and the cleaning staff."

"That's right," Aelius said. "They couldn't, could they?"

He had the priests arrested. They angrily pleaded benefit of clergy, a concept with which the Cazar guardsmen sent to round them up claimed not to be familiar. Not all of Aelius' distant relatives had gone home after the recovery of the money. One of the priests resisted arrest, which made it all much simpler.

Some time later, one of the priests confessed; a genuine confession, rather than the I'll-say-anything-if-you'll-stop-hitting-me kind, in Aelius' professional opinion, though of course it wouldn't be admissible in evidence. All the priest knew was that he and his colleagues had been told to stay out of temple that day. Where had the order come from? The deacon, presumably, though he couldn't actually remember how he'd heard it. Someone had told him; that was how orders were pa.s.sed along. If someone told you something, you a.s.sumed it was true. Why wouldn't you?

The deacon denied giving any such order. Aelius, who'd taken the trouble to look up benefit of clergy in the book, and who therefore knew that unless he could make his charges stick he was in deep trouble, handled the deacon's interrogation personally. When the deacon quoted the law at him (word-perfect; almost as if he'd recently read up on the statutes himself ), Aelius replied that the law didn't apply in a treason investigation. That was a lie, but the deacon clearly wasn't sure. Aelius then had him taken down into the stores, where they kept a lot of broken machinery; harmless enough, bits of old pump mechanism mostly, but the deacon was no engineer. He looked at the ratchets and gearwheels and drive chains, and admitted that yes, he'd given the order. Who'd told him to do it? The prior of the Studium.

"This is getting out of hand," Ba.s.so said, when Aelius reported to him. "What did you find in the tower, by the way?"

"This." Aelius opened his hand; on his palm lay a hexagonal nut, about the size of a thumbnail. "It's the capstan axis pin retaining nut off a late-model scorpion. It's a special thread," he added, when Ba.s.so looked at him. "One they only use in the armoury. Machine-cut, so it can't be a home-made copy. Also, there's places in the stonework where the stone's been chipped. When a scorpion goes off, the carriage jerks sharply backwards. There's not much room up in the tower. The back end of the trail fittings would've gouged into the back wall."

Ba.s.so sat down. "Thanks," he said. "I'm grateful to you for all your hard work. Now I'd like you to send the priests home and close down the investigation. I'll deal with it from here."

He knew the look that appeared on Aelius' face; he tended to think of it as his Oh-for-crying-out-loud expression. As far as he knew, Aelius didn't pull it for anybody else. "Ba.s.sia.n.u.s, we're talking about someone trying to kill you. I really think-"

"What did you just call me?"

Aelius pulled up short. "Ba.s.sia.n.u.s," he said. "Sorry, was that wrong? Only..."

Ba.s.so smiled. "No, nothing wrong," he said. "It's just, I don't think you've ever called me by name before, in all the time we've known each other. I'm trying to remember, but I'm pretty sure."

Aelius frowned. "I don't know," he said.

"Nor me. But I have an idea you've always found a way not to-presumably because you don't know what to call me, so you've cleverly ducked the issue. Ba.s.sia.n.u.s is fine, by the way, though it's rather a mouthful. Call me Ba.s.so."

Aelius looked at him. "Is that all right?"

"Don't see why not," Ba.s.so said. "After all, you're the man I trust most in the world, now that Antigonus has gone. When I think of all the rubbish that gets to call me by my name, I guess it's all right if you do too." He grinned, and Aelius laughed, something he didn't do often; he had a strangely high-pitched laugh, a bit like a heron calling. "And it's all right about the investigation," Ba.s.so went on, "believe me, it is. I'm pretty sure I know who's behind it, and I can put a stop to it without the need for a fuss. Talking of which, I don't suppose we can hush this thing up, but try and keep a lid on the details. If they ask you, yes there was an attempt on my life, all been taken care of, state security prevents you saying more. That sort of thing."

Aelius nodded. "We all know what to say by now," he said. "And you're sure about this? There's nothing more I can do?"

"Quite sure," Ba.s.so said.

It was perfectly normal for the First Citizen to ask the Patriarch of the Studium for a private audience, particularly when the government was about to embark on a controversial initiative or go to war. In fact, it was expected; the people liked to think that the Invincible Sun had been consulted (by proxy) and had given his approval.

"I need your help," Ba.s.so said, when they were alone together. "Someone tried to kill me the other day."

The Patriarch's face was a study in horror. "How appalling," he said. "That the First Citizen of the Vesani Republic should be attacked, with murderous intent, in his own house. These Mavortines-"

"We don't think it was them," Ba.s.so interrupted gently. "Actually, we know precisely who it was."

"Thank heaven for that," the Patriarch said fervently. "And has an arrest been made?"

"Not yet," Ba.s.so replied. "In fact, that's where you can help me. I need you to waive benefit of clergy so I can interview a priest."

The Patriarch looked very grave. "That would be difficult," he said. "What crime do you think the priest has committed?"

"That's the thing," Ba.s.so replied. "We won't know until we ask him. He could have been deeply involved, or he could just have been an innocent dupe. But without his evidence, I don't see how we can possibly get a conviction. He's the only link, you see, between the men who actually carried out the attack and the person who was really behind it."

The Patriarch turned his head away; a man wrestling with his conscience. "I would have to know who this priest is."

"Oh, I can tell you that," Ba.s.so replied. "It's you."

There was a very long silence, during which Ba.s.so kept perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the Patriarch, who stared back at him. Like two cats on a wall, Ba.s.so later said, though without the hissing.

"Alternatively," Ba.s.so said at last, "we could have you impeached and removed from office, in which case benefit wouldn't apply and we could interrogate you as much as we like. Of course, we'd need a priest of archepiscopal rank to lay a formal complaint, but apparently that won't be a problem. If I may say so, that's one of the great drawbacks about appointments for life. When someone's got the top job, the only hope for his rivals is to get rid of him, one way or another. I have to say, I'm surprised how many rivals you have. I've always thought you've done a splendid job, but it seems a great many of your peers would disagree."

The Patriarch lowered his chin a little. "There are no grounds for an impeachment," he said quietly. "The only possible charges..."

Ba.s.so nodded. "Gross incompetence, corruption or doctrinal error," he said. "Naturally, gross incompetence is out of the question. I wouldn't want to try corruption; I don't think your colleagues really want to go there, if you see what I mean. Doctrinal error, on the other hand, would appear to be a distinct possibility. I'm not really up on that sort of thing, I'm ashamed to say, but I know a great many very intelligent men who are. There would have to be an ec.u.menical council, of course. We're quietly confident we could get the necessary seventeen votes, and that's without offering any incentives."

The Patriarch s.h.i.+vered. "What are the alternatives?" he said softly.

"I think we've already covered that," Ba.s.so said pleasantly. "Waive benefit and let me ask you a few simple questions. Off the record, if you like. I just want to know the answers." He shook his head sadly. "It's a great shame we've had to be unpleasant about it, but I guess you had to be made to believe how serious I am about this."

The Patriarch breathed out long and slow. "You may ask your questions," he said.

"Splendid." Ba.s.so leaned back a little in his chair. "All right," he said. "First, who's your inside man in the armoury? The one who got you the scorpion."

The Patriarch hesitated, then said: "I don't know the man's name, of course, but I believe he's a clerk in the supply department. My understanding is that the machine was in fact built up out of spare parts, smuggled out of the building over a long period of time. I gather that the individual in question has quite an inventory of such things for sale."

Ba.s.so nodded. "Thank you," he said warmly. "That's a great help. Presumably, he'll be able to tell us who he dealt with, unless you'd care to save us the trouble."