The Folding Knife Part 36

It's hard to reconstruct in the absence of witnesses, and we killed every Mavortine who didn't manage to get away, but my guess is: they blundered on after us until they were too scared to go off the road any further, then they headed back to the ambush site to make a really thorough job of sending us a message. I do know they kept two (2) survivors alive-to send back to tell the nearest garrison commander what they'd seen, because we were just in time to save one of them. All the other survivors, five, six hundred, they nailed alive to trees, ripped open, wound out their guts on sticks. Apparently there's a religious reason. Leaving aside the moral issues, it's not a good thing to do in the circ.u.mstances because it's so very labour-intensive. What with that, and mas.h.i.+ng up and destroying every single artefact we'd brought with us, not to mention getting the felled lumber off the road (their road, their lifeline), they were fully occupied-no men to spare for sentry duty.

The hero of this story is some Hus whose name I'll never know, who probably shouldn't even have been on the expedition (Aelius specified: no Hus, too undisciplined), who was scouting ahead of the main rabble. Apparently the Hus can no more not-scout-ahead in unfamiliar territory than breathe underwater; and we felt, if these people want to tire themselves out creeping from bush to bush and hooting like owls, let 'em. Anyway, this Hus saw the enemy just in time, figured out what had happened, came back, told us. By some miracle, I believed him.

What happened after that was pretty straightforward. After all, the men are Cazars. They had a pretty good idea of what needed to be done. All I had to do was say, Right, I want them completely surrounded and sealed in tight before anybody so much as thinks about moving in, and they did all the rest. Very well, too. I stayed right back. My burning thirst for martial glory well and truly quenched some time earlier.

They came and found me when it was over, though I'd more or less guessed by the noise level. No idea of our casualties in the encirclement/butchering phase; the impression I got was single figures (including the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d Hus who made it all possible, of course). Their side: well, n.o.body would admit to having let through a single man, but we reckon a couple of dozen oozed through the cracks. Nothing is ever perfect, not even wholesale slaughter.

We all felt pretty good about it; even though, as always in these circ.u.mstances, it was an incredible amount of hard, gruelling physical slog. Some Cazar told me: you don't actually feel tired when you're smas.h.i.+ng heads; it's the next day when everything aches like h.e.l.l and you wish you were dead. Took his word for it. But anyway: dog-tired, but quietly, ferociously pleased.

We counted the bodies, then just left them to lie; too much work putting our own dead back together and dumping them in a pit. Our losses: four thousand, six hundred and fifty-seven. Theirs: twenty-seven thousand and some.

Since intelligence a.s.sured Aelius before we left that the absolute maximum number of insurgents there could possibly be in the whole forest, including support and non-combatants, was twenty-four thousand, I think it's probably safe to a.s.sume we got most of them.

Well, we had a good night's rest after that (apart from the poor devils who drew sentry duty, of course); and in the morning we faced up to the fact that we'd permitted ourselves to overlook the previous evening: namely, that the Mavortines had (in pursuit of their religious and cultural agenda) destroyed all the food we'd brought with us.

No exaggeration. They must've worked like men possessed to do so much damage in such a short s.p.a.ce of time. I'm guessing: either it's the old ritual-killing-of-objects thing, where you don't just kill your enemy but everything he ever owned or a.s.sociated with, to wipe him off the face of the earth totally and for ever; or maybe it was to deny a hated enemy food in the afterlife; or maybe even to provide food for the slaughtered enemy in the afterlife as a way of apologising for killing him in the first place. Who knows? Who gives a s.h.i.+t? The point was, there wasn't an unsmashed bacon jar or an unburnt wheat grain or a dried cod fillet not trodden into the mud and jumped on in the whole wreck of our provisions train. Oh, and they'd killed the packhorses too, and gutted them and filled up the body cavities with mud, so we couldn't eat them either.

Your sylvan poets, Tarchannius and the Elemental school, would have you believe that living in forests is the natural, unpolluted state of Man; that all you've got to do is trudge your merry way through the greenwood, plucking this, killing that, was.h.i.+ng it down with crystal-clear water from unsullied streams, and you're back with our ancestors in a state of pure and natural virtue, before greed and ambition were our racial downfall. Well, yes. Maybe you, or you and your own true love at a pinch, in berry season. There were twenty thousand of us, and we were starving hungry. Forget food-there wasn't enough water. I used to think the stuff in the old histories about armies drinking rivers dry was dramatic hyperbole, like arrows blotting out the sun. ("In which case," replied our indomitable ancestors, "we'll just have to fight in the shade." All cheer, and sing the School Song.) Actually, it's frighteningly easy. You don't drink it right down to the gravel and the clay, of course. What happens is, you drink off the clean water and kick up the silt at the bottom, which means the river-which in the forest means the big stream-fouls up into a thick silty muck and stays foul for hours. You can't afford to wait till it clears, because all that means is another five thousand out of your twenty thousand get to swallow a few brackish mouthfuls; in ten hours, ten thousand of your twenty thousand have each drunk a pint of water. It simply doesn't add up. No big deal while we still had barrels and water-skins and bottles: fill 'em at night, in rotation, making sure you get all your capacity full whenever you get the opportunity, like a big enough river or a freshwater lake. But most of us had nothing to carry water in, on account of having left our kit behind when I ordered the retreat during the ambush.

Oh well, I thought, at least we killed a lot of them before we starved and parched ourselves to death. You know what? I actually thought that. Seriously. Like it made it better, as opposed to worse.

After a while my inner logic started telling me: fine, and you'd have had exactly the same problems if you'd read the sun right and managed to lead the army north instead of round in a circle; we'd still all have died of thirst and starvation, and then the savages would've come screaming out of the forest and slaughtering our brave lads in the forts. Some degree of truth in that, but I definitely rationalised it after the event, to excuse myself for the original purely spontaneous thought.

After that, I decided to play a game. Obviously, I told myself, I'm not going to be able to get twenty thousand of us out of this forest alive. Fact faced: can't be done. Accepted. But how'd it be if I played this game: guess the number of survivors I actually do manage to lead out into the sunlight. Five hundred? A thousand? Five thousand? For every five hundred saved, I get a prize-a sausage, or a cup of water, or a century let off my time in h.e.l.l being trampled under the hoofs of the horses of the Invincible Sun. Of course, the game would presuppose me being alive at the end, to see if I'd won, so I'd have to survive too. Just a silly game.

Sometimes, that's all it takes. We sc.r.a.ped up as much edible food as we could with potsherds and our fingers, and tied it up in pockets torn from dead men's shredded coats. We figured: the bottom of a smashed gallon jug will carry a pint of water; one pint between ten men may be enough to save one man's life. We were ridiculous, laden down with stupid little parcels and packets, nursing broken barrels and sc.r.a.ps of crockery in our hands as we walked, like put-upon husbands carrying their wives' shopping. Of course, it was far too little to make any difference, and it slowed us right down, so in that sense it was counter-productive. But it got us into the game, and it was the game that saved us.

How it saved us isn't quite so uplifting and edifying.

As I just said, nursing all that junk slowed us down. It also made us rather quieter, less obvious than the average army on the march. Which, I guess, is why we escaped the notice of the insurgents' wives, children and livestock, coming up the road to meet us.

More guessing: that as soon as the ambush struck and we ran for it and the initial pursuit was called off, they sent for the women and children and food to rejoin them as soon as possible-scared because there were lots of enemy still loose in the woods, I guess, or maybe they were hungry too, or just lonely. Don't know. Don't care. We practically b.u.mped into them; just enough advance warning for a three-quarter envelopment manoeuvre.

Which worked fine. We charged in on three sides, making a h.e.l.l of a noise. The women and kids ran like h.e.l.l out the fourth side. Naturally, we didn't pursue. We had no interest whatsoever in ma.s.sacring innocent, harmless civilians. I expressly ordered, not one of them to be harmed, if at all possible. All we wanted to do was steal all their food and livestock and leave them alone in the heart of the merry greenwood to fend for themselves. I regard that as the mark of a civilised man. Of this particular civilised man, at any rate.

Who knows? Some of them may make it, especially if they figure out their own version of the game. Point is, they may be women and kids, but they're still the enemy. Or at least, they're not Us. Us and Them. Sides.

Dear Uncle Ba.s.so, I know perfectly well what I've become, what I've turned into. Maybe it's an effect of the place, or the situation. Maybe, when I'm home again, I'll get better. Right now, I really don't care. No: rephrase. I really don't mind. There's a difference.

Anyway, that's enough from me; how are things at home?

I imagine I'd rather not know. But, as far as I can see, in my capacity as acting unconfirmed viceroy of Mavortis, we will start digging iron, copper, silver and lead precisely on schedule.

Love, Ba.s.sano "General Aelius," the lawyer said, "filed a will with the probate registry two days before he left. I have a certified copy here." He lifted the plain bra.s.s tube out of his pocket as if slowly drawing a sword at the start of an exhibition bout, and placed it on Ba.s.so's desk, gently, so as not to wake it. "He appointed you, myself and your nephew Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Licinius as his executors. I have to ask you if you are prepared to accept the appointment."

"Yes," Ba.s.so said.

"Very well." The lawyer pinched the tiny collar of parchment just showing above the rim of the tube, and carefully drew out the roll. "I have, of course, read the will, which is quite short and simple. As required by standard procedure, General Aelius listed his a.s.sets in the opening declaration. You might care..."

Ba.s.so nodded, and the lawyer unrolled the paper and held it down on the tabletop to stop it curling-a curiously brutal movement, like soldiers with a prisoner.

"That's all he had, was it?" Ba.s.so said.

The lawyer's eyebrow nearly lifted. "Quite a substantial estate for a man of his background and antecedents. Valuing the house at seven hundred nomismata, we arrive at a total of just over six thousand."

Ba.s.so looked down at his hands. "I spent more than that on a book once," he said.

"No doubt it was very rare and precious," the lawyer said briskly. "Since the general died on active service, his estate is exempt from death duties and foreign-born citizens' capital transfer tax. Likewise, his funeral and testamentary expenses will be borne by the government."

"They couldn't find his body," Ba.s.so said. "So we're getting a bargain there."

The lawyer couldn't have heard, because he went on: "The general kept very precise and well-ordered household accounts, and his wants and pleasures were few. Unless there are debts we don't know about, the liabilities to be deducted from the estate amount to something in the order of fifteen nomismata."

"Fifteen nomismata." Ba.s.so scowled, as though the concept of fifteen nomismata was utterly alien to him. "The h.e.l.l with that," he said, and dug his hand in his pocket. "Here's fifteen nomismata. Pay the bills with that." He almost ground the coins into the table, then took his hand away. "Right," he went on, "who gets the money?"

The lawyer nodded, as though Ba.s.so had just pa.s.sed a test. "There are five specific legacies, of twenty-five nomismata each, to named military welfare funds: the Army Benevolent, the Salt Fund, the Boots Fund, the Widows and Orphans and the United Disabled. A further legacy of one hundred nomismata is made to the Cazar Salt Brotherhood, as trustees, to hold and use for the relief of poverty and want among his clan resulting from the deaths and injuries of clansmen serving in the Mavortine war. I should point out that this legacy is unenforceable, since it conveys the property of a Vesani citizen to foreigners resident abroad. The government can, however, authorise payment..."

"It just has," Ba.s.so said grimly. "Go on."

The lawyer was jotting down a note in the margin, using Ba.s.so's own gold and silver pen and inkstand. Churlish to object, but he might have asked. "The balance," he said, "amounting to something in the order of five thousand, seven hundred and seventy-five nomismata, he leaves to you."

Ba.s.so didn't move. He couldn't; it even crossed his mind, for a fraction of a second, that he'd just had a stroke. Then something gave way, painfully, in his mind, and he said: "No, scrub that. Divide it up between the army funds and the clansmen."

The lawyer looked at him. He'd clearly done something very bad. "It's not as simple as that, I'm afraid," he said.

"It had better be."

"Sadly," the lawyer said (a man who knew no fear; reminded Ba.s.so of Tragazes), "it isn't. As residuary legatee you are, of course, ent.i.tled to refuse to accept the legacy. Should you do so, however, the residue-the five thousand, seven-seven-five-devolves by intestacy to his nearest of kin; since he had no relations who are citizens, we are left with the default position, which is that the entire estate, including all the legacies, pa.s.ses to the Treasury."

Ba.s.so blinked, as though he'd had a bright light shone in his eyes. "That's the law?"

"Yes."

"Fine, I'll change it."

"An admirable idea," the lawyer said, "of which I'm sure my profession will approve. We've been lobbying for such a change for thirty years. However, such a change could not be made retrospective, for obvious reasons."

Ba.s.so sighed. "All right," he said. "If that's the law, it's the b.l.o.o.d.y law. I'll just have to take the money and give it to the boot people and the rest of them myself."

The lawyer nodded slowly, which meant awkwardness. "You certainly can do that," he said. "However, I should point out that if you make such gifts within two years of the death of the deceased, the Treasury can, and most certainly will, apply its anti-avoidance powers and confiscate the money from you. This includes any gift made on your behalf by intermediaries, or any gift by a third party that can be shown to have been funded by you, directly or indirectly; or any loan you make to the funds in question with the intention of cancelling the debt at a later date; or any such loan where the Treasury has reason to suspect that you intend to cancel at a later date."

"Two years," Ba.s.so repeated. "Are you mad? The Opposition..."

"I am simply stating the law," the lawyer said, so politely it was clear he was deeply upset; "the law which you oversee, and which you could have amended at any time during your term of office. In fact, the specific provisions relating to estates of Vesani citizens of foreign birth are drawn from your own Enfranchis.e.m.e.nt Acts. I fear," he went on, "that you have no option but to accept the legacy with a good grace. In two years' time, you will of course be at liberty to make whatever dispositions you may wish."

Ba.s.so sat perfectly still for a while; then he said, "You're a lawyer. How do we get round this?"

Nothing changed in the lawyer's short, thin face. "Given your rather exceptional circ.u.mstances, I suppose it would be feasible for you to refuse to accept the residuary estate, thereby causing the entire estate to pa.s.s to the Treasury; whereupon the Treasury might be induced to make ex gratia grants to the funds named in the will of sums equivalent to such sums as they would have received had your original intentions been legally feasible."

"Give the whole lot to the Treasury, and then they give it back."

"Essentially, yes. However, such a course of action would require the exercise of political influence, which is of course outside my field of knowledge."

"Thanks, I see." Ba.s.so blinked and rubbed his eyes, like someone waking up from a strange dream. "I suppose we'll do that, then. I imagine there's a certain amount of paperwork involved." The lawyer nodded. "No surprise there, then. Go away, do it and fetch it here for me to sign." He frowned. "You're sure that's all there was," he said. "Six thousand nomismata."

"Quite sure."

Later, for a while, he made sense of it by a.s.suming Aelius must've sent all his money home, to support his family and his clan and probably most of his tribe as well. But that turned out not to have been the case. He'd sent home three hundred nomismata a year-considerable wealth over there, but not enough to make much of a hole in Ba.s.so's vague, unsatisfactory sense of guilt. When the mines are running, he promised himself, and everything's back to normal again, I'll have to see about raising army pay, at least for the senior officers. But he knew that was a promise he wouldn't keep; not for malice or treachery, but because in six months' time he'd have forgotten the way he felt now, remembering only that he'd felt ashamed about something when Aelius died, and he'd made a rash promise about army pay that fortunately n.o.body else had witnessed.

In conclusion, he told the House, he urged them to consider two brave men; one dead and one alive, one a dedicated, experienced soldier who gave his life for the city that had adopted him, the other a young man from a privileged background who had risen to a challenge that few would have dared to face, who by his resourcefulness, courage and sheer determination had saved the army and the honour of the Republic. Two very different men; but they had one thing in common: they were Vesani citizens, equal partic.i.p.ants along with every man, woman and child in the City in the greatest and most fascinating project the world had ever known, shareholders in the greatest enterprise in history: the Vesani Republic. He had no desire to detract in any way from the extraordinary things accomplished by his friend and his nephew; but it hadn't been Aelius' victory or Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Licinius' victory. It had been the triumph of the Republic itself, in which every citizen had a right to share.

All that remained, he concluded, was for him to propose the motion than Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Arcadius Licinius be confirmed as the new Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces of the Republic, with the rank of field marshal and the honour-name of Mavortinus.

Pa.s.sed unanimously.

Ba.s.so to Ba.s.sano: ... You can, of course, be sure that n.o.body will ever call you that, not to your face and most certainly not behind your back. But they'll call you something, though a consensus has yet to emerge, as far as I can tell. Round-in-Circles is one I've heard in a few places; I'd be perfectly happy with that if I were you. I've also heard Golden Boy, the Fighting Toff and Camel's b.a.l.l.s (which I take to be a reference to your courage and fort.i.tude). Any of them would do me. As you know, my only vanity is the wish to have a name like that for my very own: the Magnificent, the Great, the Wise, the Fortunate. Now it looks like my last, best chance is Ba.s.sano's Uncle. With which, I hasten to add, I shall be hugely content.

My first order to you in your new job is to come home as soon as you possibly can, for urgent high-level debriefing, making your formal report, intensive discussions concerning short-, medium- and long-term policy issues, and any other d.a.m.n thing it takes to get you back here. And if you ever scare me like that again, I'll skin you alive.

If anything had happened to you out there, I'd never have forgiven myself. But, now it's over, I have to say how enormously, incredibly proud I am-of myself, of course, for having spotted long before anybody else just what a clever little sod you are. I venture to suggest that I saw it rather earlier than you did; I guess I've always known. You know what I'm like with reasons. I think you're the reason that explains and justifies me. I've done what I've done so you can follow on after me; and when people look back on me, in a hundred years' time, they'll say that Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Severus was the necessary evil that made Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Licinius possible; and that, just for once, the end absolved the means.

I've been thinking a great deal about what you wrote about sides. I'm inclined to go along with most of it, though I wouldn't go so far as to say I agree. I do firmly believe that the wrong fails and the right prevails, like they taught me to say in Temple. Experience has shown me that nine times out of ten, you can't hope to make your mind up what's wrong and what's right until the fighting's over and the winner has won; the judges' decision, in other words, is final. Ever since I read that Aelius was going into the forest, I held my breath; if we'd lost, quite apart from everything else, I'd have had to accept the decision that I'd been wrong, everything I've done's been wrong, everything I am is wrong. You know how everybody always goes on about my marvellous luck; how everything, even disasters, turns out right for me. Well, that last phrase is the key: turns out right. I don't believe in luck, never have. I believe that things happen, and the good come out of them well and the bad badly. All my life I've been waiting for the time when I come out bad; at which point I'll know, and I'll abide by the referee's decision. Till then, I know I'm right. I was right about you.

The biggest thing I ever did (we're not using good and bad, remember) was killing your father and my wife. I couldn't possibly see how any good could come out of that. I tried to make sense of it by looking out for you. To begin with, it was more guilt than anything: I may have killed his father, but I'll see to it the kid gets the best possible start in life, that sort of thing. But you grew up and I came to know you, and I realised that you were someone completely out of the ordinary; someone recognisably connected with me-we share some key qualities-but sufficiently different to make all the difference, if you follow me. By killing your father, I gave myself an opportunity to help and guide you that I wouldn't otherwise have had. And look how you've turned out, and think what you're going to do. And then I look back to what I did, all those years ago, and I can make sense of it now. Didn't turn out so bad after all.

To a certain extent, my life ended that day, when I killed them both. I lost my sister, who I loved best of all. I lost my own sons; I could never be a proper father to them, not after they'd seen me with their mother's blood on my arms and face. I lost my wife, everything human about me. Since then, apart from you, all I've had is the Bank and politics-which are both things I enjoy very much, but they're not a life; they're not people, they're not love.

Everything I've done has been for you; because of you, I might just turn out right in the end. I guess that, like you, I had to come round in a big loop to get back to the place where I was ambushed and defeated, and turn that defeat into victory.

Or something of the sort. Reading this, you will immediately conclude that I've been drinking steadily for the last three days and it's high time someone loaded me in a wheelbarrow and took me home. Actually, I suspect I'm one of the very few sober adults in the city right now. Come home, and we'll have a drink together, to celebrate.

Your loving uncle, Ba.s.so The messenger entrusted with this letter was the fastest and the best. He rode straight from the Severus house to the docks, where a fast sloop lay at anchor; Ba.s.so had bought four of them for the Bank's messenger corps, so they wouldn't have to rely on ordinary commercial or naval s.h.i.+pping. On Ba.s.so's orders, at least one of the sloops had to be ready and waiting at the Bank's private mooring at all times. Ten minutes after the messenger came on board, the sloop cast off. It was lucky enough to be able to ride out on the last gasp of a brisk south-easterly wind that had been blowing all day, and which took the sloop far enough out to catch the eastern Trade, which also happened to be blowing strong. Twenty-seven hours later, the sloop came in sight of Voroe-a record.

Experience had shown that it was quicker for the messenger to land, ride across Voroe and take a light gallea.s.s than for the sloop to pick its way through the reefs at the southern end of the island. The messenger's approach was signalled by beacons, and when he reached the northern bay, he found a twelve-oar cutter waiting to carry him across the strait to Mavortis. Once again the winds were exactly right, and an experienced captain steered the s.h.i.+p quickly and neatly through the complex shoals on the Mavortine side. The lookout had seen the cutter coming and recognised the Bank-messenger pennant it was flying; there was a horse ready saddled for the messenger when he disembarked. By noon he was on the main road, and two hours later he changed horses at the last fort before the forest.

Forty hours later, he was back at the City docks. Instead of coming in, the sloop held off, until a coastguard cutter came out to it. By then, the messenger was dead; but he'd had just enough time to write out a message, which the sloop's captain shouted to the coastguard officer, who wrote it down. The sloop then raised anchor and sailed out into the bay.

The coastguard couldn't leave his post, so he sent one of his subordinates to the post house on the south quay, where a Bank courier could always be found. The courier took the message to the Severus house.

Ba.s.so's letter could not be delivered. Four days after the victory, plague had broken out in the army. Apparently it was the variety that caused black swellings in the armpit. When Ba.s.so's messenger arrived at the camp, three-quarters of the army was already dead, including the commanding officer, Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Licinius.

Seventeen.

The indictment was read out in his absence by the special prosecutor, Gracilis Scaevola, the new leader of the Optimates. The charges were: that he had knowingly deceived the House as to the state of the public finances; that he had spent public money knowing the Treasury to be insolvent; that he had abused his position for private profit; that he had appropriated public funds for his own use; that he had, in his capacity as First Citizen, arranged loans to the Treasury from the Bank of Charity & Social Justice at excessive rates of interest; that he had irresponsibly and recklessly mortgaged public a.s.sets; that he had irresponsibly and recklessly occupied the island of Voroe, knowing that such occupation was likely to provoke war with the Empire; that he had repeatedly lied to the House about the conduct and progress of the war; that he had misled the House concerning the threat posed by the Mavortines in order to procure the war; that he had culpably mismanaged the affairs of the Republic, by negligence or recklessness involving the Republic in war, knowing the risks such war posed to the well-being of the Republic and its citizens.

Since he was not present, in spite of a formal summons to attend, the clerk entered a guilty plea on his behalf.

Scaevola addressed the House. It was impossible, he said, to quantify the damage Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Severus had done to the Vesani people. Quite probably, the full extent of the disaster would not become apparent for some time. What they already knew was, however, quite bad enough. The field army in Mavortis had been devastated. The savages, inspired by this development to new and unparalleled heights of barbarous energy, were picking off the forts one by one, and very soon would be in a position to claim that they had driven the Vesani out of their country. The fleet-what was left of it-was pinned down in Voroe by the huge Imperial armada that had appeared off the island a matter of days after the news of the plague broke. The Empire's declared intention was to retake Voroe and then launch a punitive expedition against the City itself. Thanks to Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Severus, there were no s.h.i.+ps, no crews and no money with which to repel them, and the Republic would therefore have no option but to sue for terms. Again thanks to Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Severus, there was no possibility of recruiting soldiers for the defence of the City; horrified by the fate of their countrymen, the Cazars were refusing to enlist, and the other nations from whom the Vesani had traditionally hired mercenaries were refusing to receive amba.s.sadors, for fear of displeasing the Empire. Even if recruits could be found, there was no money to pay them with, and the whole world knew it. Quite possibly, the future of the Republic as they knew it had only a few weeks left to run. Surrender, and reincorporation into the Empire, was a distinct possibility for which the House would be advised to prepare itself. For all these miseries, one man and one man only was responsible; the man who had gambled the nation's wealth, its security, its very survival on a dream of self-aggrandis.e.m.e.nt and personal gain. The testimony of the chief cas.h.i.+er of the Bank of Charity & Social Justice, Tragazes, who had cooperated fully with the special investigators, was irrefutably d.a.m.ning. By pinning all his hopes on the Mavortine mines, Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Severus had acted with a degree of blind stupidity that bewildered the mind; by concealing the extent of his insane speculations, he had converted a monstrous error of judgement into a criminal offence for which there could surely be only one penalty. Before justice could take its course, however, it was necessary that he be impeached in due form. Whether his failure to attend the House was a tacit admission of his appalling burden of guilt or simply further evidence of the contempt with which he regarded the Republic and its people was of no consequence. No defence having been entered, the House had no option but to declare Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Severus impeached and to discharge him from the office of First Citizen; further, Scaevola recommended, his pa.s.sport should be impounded and he himself should be arrested without further delay, to await criminal proceedings.

Motion carried unanimously.

"You should have gone to the House," she said.

Ba.s.so shook his head. "Not likely," he replied, stuffing two s.h.i.+rts into his bag. "They wouldn't have let me leave."

"You're going, then."

"I think so, yes," Ba.s.so replied. "Probably a good idea if I cleared out for a while." He pulled open his desk drawer and pocketed a few things. "Is there any cash money in the house?"

"Sorry," she said. "I just did the month's shopping."

"Oh." He scowled. "How much?"

"Eight nomismata and some change."

He sighed. "That'll have to do, then." She brought him the money. He put the silver in his pocket and wedged the gold into the toes of his boots. "Pity about that," he said. "Dropping by the Bank and making a withdrawal probably wouldn't be a good idea right now."

"You can have my jewellery," she said. "That must be worth a good deal."

"Keep it," he replied, "you'll need it. Might be an idea to pack a bag of your own. Unless..." He paused, a shoe in each hand. "Unless you feel like coming with me."

She frowned. "All right," she said. "If you want me to."

"Thanks." He wasn't looking at her. "In that case, grab anything you've got that's gold or silver and won't weigh you down." He lifted his head and grinned at her. "I've never had to do this before," he said. "But I know plenty of people who have. I gather the main thing is small items of great value, and keep them out of sight."

She took a pillow off the bed, peeled off the pillowcase and started filling it with clothes, shoes and the contents of her jewellery boxes. "I really wish I'd bought you more gaudy and expensive presents," he said. "A diamond tiara or two would come in really handy right now."

"I never cared for diamonds," she replied. "How about some of your books? Aren't they rather valuable?"

Ba.s.so nodded. "But not safe to sell," he said. "My own stupid fault, for having the covers monogrammed. Could cut the covers off, I suppose, but it'd still be too risky. Besides, too bulky. Never carry anything that might slow you down if you have to run."

She'd finished filling her pillowcase. "You could stay," she said.

"What, and fight my corner?" He laughed. "No thanks. My life may have turned to s.h.i.+t, but I'm in no hurry to be rid of it quite yet. And if you're coming with me..." He frowned. "Anyway," he said, "that's going to have to do." He emptied his silver inkwell on the floor, wiped it out with the corner of a tablecloth and dropped it in his pocket. "Time to go," he said.

On the way out, he propped a letter on the small marble-topped table where visitors were encouraged to leave their hats and gloves. He doubted very much that it would reach his sister, but he knew he had to make the effort.

It read: I know. I killed your husband, and now I've killed your son.

I love you more than anyone else in the world, now that Ba.s.sano's gone. I know. I've got a b.l.o.o.d.y funny way of showing it.