Devices and Desires (22 page)

Most of the population of the city turned out in the morning to see the remains of the army come home; by nightfall, however,
when Orsea rode his weary horse through the gate, the crowd had long since given up and drifted away. That in itself was encouraging;
maybe they weren’t going to lynch him after all.

Miel Ducas was looking after all the important stuff; accommodation for the wounded and so forth. There was no good reason
why Orsea shouldn’t just go home and go to bed. It was what he wanted to do, more than anything else in the world. Tomorrow,
of course, he’d have to do the things he’d been dreading all the way up the Butter Pass. At the very least, he’d have to convene
the general council, tell them about the battle and everything that had happened — the extraordinary kindness of the Vadani;
the Mezentine defector and his offer. Probably he ought to stand out on the balcony that overlooked the market square and
address the people. That was only reasonable, and he knew he had to do it. Tomorrow.

He clattered through the citadel gate, and there was a group of people waiting for him: a doctor whom he recognized, some
people whose names he knew, some strangers. The doctor pounced on him as soon as his feet hit the cobbles. He’d had a detailed
letter from one of the Vadani medics, he explained, full details of the injury, description of treatment to date, prognosis,
recommendations. It was imperative that the Duke get some rest as soon as possible. For once, Orsea didn’t argue.

Remarkably soon he was in his bedroom on the fourth floor of the South Tower. He sat on the bed and tugged at his boots (if
they were this tight, how had he ever managed to get them on?), gave up and flopped on his back with his hands behind his
head. He was home; that made him one of the lucky ones. Tomorrow…

Tomorrow, he told himself, I’ll deal with everything. First I’ll have a meeting with Miel, he’ll brief me on everything he’s
done, getting the army home, and everything that happened on the way. Then I’ll have to go to the council, and make my speech
on the balcony (he made a mental note: think of something to say). Right; I’ll do that, and the rest of the day’s your own.

Veatriz, he thought. I’ll see her tomorrow. She’s not here tonight because she knows I need to be alone, but tomorrow I’ll
see them both again, and that’ll make things better. It occurred to him that he hadn’t thought much about her over the last
few days; he felt ashamed, because really she was everything, the whole world. But there’d be time for her tomorrow, and things
could slowly start to get back to normal.

Things would never be normal again, he knew that really. But he was tired, and there wasn’t anything he could do tonight;
and besides, the doctor had told him, rest…

He fell asleep. Below in the castle yard, Miel Ducas was still trying to find billets for wounded men, water and fuel for
cooking, hay and oats for horses, somewhere for the carts to turn so the road wouldn’t get jammed, somewhere to put the Mezentine
until he had time to deal with him. He didn’t resent the fact that Orsea had left him with all the arrangements; he was too
busy, standing out of the way by the stable door so that the stretcher-bearers could get in and out, and women with bedding.
He was trying to carry on four conversations at once — the garrison captain, the chief steward, Orsea’s doctor and a representative
of the Merchant Adventurers, who was trying to gouge him over the price of twenty gross of plain wool bandages. He kept going
because there wasn’t anybody else. It would, of course, be just as bad tomorrow.

Ziani Vaatzes sat in a stationary cart for an hour, and then some men came. They didn’t seem to know whether they were welcoming
a guest or guarding a prisoner, but they made a fair job of hedging their bets. They took him up a long spiral staircase with
no handrail — it was dark and the steps were worn smooth — to a landing with a thick black door. If there was anything he
wanted, they said, all he had to do was ask. Then they opened the door for him and vanished, leaving him completely alone.

There was a candle burning in the room — one candle — and a jug of water and a plate of bread and cheese on a table. It was
a large room, though the darkness around the candle-flame made it look bigger than it really was. He found the fireplace;
a basket of logs, some twigs and moss for kindling. He laid a fire, lit a spill (very carefully, so as not to snuff the candle
out), found a small hand-bellows hanging on a nail in the wall. It hadn’t occurred to him that the mountains would be so cold.
The bed was huge, musty, slightly damp. He took his boots off but kept his clothes on. He couldn’t sleep, needless to say;
so he lay on his back staring at the extraordinarily high ceiling (he could just make out shapes of vaulting on the extreme
edge of the disk of candlelight), and soon his mind was full of details as he worked on the mechanism that was gradually beginning
to take shape. Somewhere below, a dog was barking, and he could hear heavily shod cartwheels grinding the cobbles, like a
mill crushing wheat. For some reason it comforted him, like rain on the roof or the soft swish of the sea.

“This Mezentine.”

Zanferenc Iraclido (Orsea had always felt overawed by him; not by his intellect or his commanding presence or his strength
of purpose, but by the sonorous beauty of his name) reached across the table and took the last honey-cake from the plate.
He’d had six already. None of the other members of the council appeared to have noticed.

“His name’s Vaatzes,” Miel Ducas said. “I had a long talk with him on the way home, and I’m fairly sure he’s genuine — not
a spy or anything. But that’s just my intuition.”

Iraclido made a gesture, a quick opening and closing of the hand. “Let’s say for the sake of argument that he is. Let’s also
assume he can actually deliver on this promise to teach us all the stuff he claims he knows. The question is, would it actually
do us any good?”

Heads nodded, turned to look down the table. “I think so,” Orsea said. “But it’d be a huge step. What do you reckon, Ferenc?”

“Me?” Iraclido raised his eyebrows. “Not up to me.”

“Yes, but suppose it was. What would you do?”

Iraclido paused before answering. “On balance,” he said, “I think I’d have his head cut off and stuck up on a pike in the
market square, and I’ll tell you why. Yes, it’d be just grand if we could learn how to build these spear-throwing machines
— though I don’t suppose you’d approve of the direction I’d be inclined to point them in once they were finished. But we won’t
go into that.”

“Good,” someone else said; mild ripple of laughter.

“It’d be just grand,” Iraclido repeated. “And when this Mezentine says he knows how to build them, I believe him. But it’s
no good giving a shepherd a box of tools and a drawing and telling him to build you a clock, or a threshing machine. My point
is, we can’t make use of this knowledge, we aren’t…” He waved his hands again. “We aren’t set up to start building machines.
Might as well give a ninety-pound bow to a kid. It works, it’s a bloody good weapon, but he’s simply not strong enough to
draw it. And you know what happens next. The kid can’t use it so he puts it somewhere; then along comes his big brother, picks
it up and shoots you with it. Not smart.”

“Slow down,” someone said. “You just lost me.”

“Then use your brain,” Iraclido said. “I said I’d have the Mezentine executed. Here’s why. We can’t afford to let him live,
not with all that stuff in his head; because we can’t use it, we aren’t strong enough. But we all know who is.”

Brief silence; then Miel said, “Let me translate, since Ferenc here’s decided to be all elliptical. He’s afraid the Mezentine’s
knowledge would fall into the hands of the Vadani. They’re no smarter than us, but they’ve got pots more money; they might
be able to use the knowledge, presumably against us. Right?”

“More or less,” Iraclido said. “So the only safe thing to do is get rid of the information. Now, while it’s still in the box,
so to speak.”

“It’s a point of view,” Orsea said after a moment. “Anyone like to comment?”

“Under normal circumstances,” (the voice came from the other end of the table; a thin elderly man Orsea didn’t know particularly
well; Simbulo or some name like that) “I’d agree with the senator; we can’t easily use this knowledge, and there’s times when
a head on a pike is worth two in the bush; we could make out he’s a spy — which could be true, for all we know — and it’d
go down well with the market crowd. But we have a problem. We’ve just had our guts ripped out by the Republic, like a cat
on a fence; people need to see a miracle cure, or they’re going to get nervous. Basically, we need a secret weapon.”

Iraclido leaned forward and glared down the table. “So you want to build these machines?”

The thin man shook his head. “I want to tell the people we’re going to build these machines,” he said, “and I want to parade
this Mezentine in front of them and say, here, look what we’ve found, here’s a Mezentine traitor who’s going to show us how
to build them, and a whole lot of other stuff too. Now,” he went on with a shrug, “whether we actually build any machines,
now or at some indeterminate point in the future, is a subject for another day. What concerns me is what we’re going to do
tomorrow.” He paused, as though inviting interruptions. There were none, so he went on: “Same goes for our friends and allies
over the mountain. We won’t get started on all that now; but I don’t suppose I’m the only one who’d love to know what all
that loving-kindness stuff was really in aid of. I’d also like to know who the genius was who thought it’d be a good idea
to take the army home over the Butter Pass, right under Valens’ nose. The fact we got away with it doesn’t mean it wasn’t
a bloody stupid thing to do.”

Orsea saw Miel take a deep breath and say nothing. He was proud of his friend.

“But anyway,” the thin man went on. “Valens has made his point; he had us in the palm of his hand, and for reasons best known
to himself he let us go. Fact remains, we’ve just lost a big slice of our military capability; if Valens wants to break the
treaty, as things stand we can’t give him a good game. In other words, we’re at his mercy; and I don’t know about you gentlemen,
but that makes my teeth ache. I’d feel a whole lot happier if Valens was under the impression we had the secret of the spear-throwing
machines.”

“It’d give him something to think about,” someone said.

“Too right,” Iraclido said. “And if I was in his shoes and I heard that we were planning on arming ourselves with those things,
I know what I’d do. I’d invade straight away, before we had a chance to build them.”

“What about that, though?” A short, round man with curly hair; Bassamontis, from the west valleys. “What do you think he’s
playing at?”

“Good question,” Miel said. “And I don’t think we can reasonably make any decisions about this or anything else until we know
the answer.”

“You were there,” the thin man said. “What did you make of it?”

“Beats me,” Miel admitted. “They just appeared out of nowhere and started helping. No explanations, they weren’t even patronizing
about it. Just got on with it, and a bloody good job they made of it too.” He frowned. “One thing that did strike me,” he
said, “was how very well prepared they were: food, blankets, medical stuff, it all just sort of materialized, like it was
magic. Either Valens has got them very well organized indeed, or they had some idea what’d be needed well in advance.” He
shook his head. “Which still doesn’t make any sense,” he added. “It’s a puzzle all right.”

“Like the Ducas says,” said the thin man, “it’s a puzzle. And, like he says, I don’t think we can make a decision until we’ve
got some idea what actually happened there. The problem is, how do we find out?”

Silence. Then Miel said: “We could ask them.”

Puzzled frowns. “I don’t follow,” someone said.

“I suggest we send a delegation,” Miel said. “To say thank you very much for helping us. Only polite, after all. While they’re
there, if they keep their ears open and their mouths shut —”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Bassamontis said. “The Ducas is right, we owe them a bread-and-butter letter; we might as well combine
it with a fishing trip.”

“And what do we tell them,” Iraclido interrupted, “about the Mezentine? We’ve got to assume they know about him already.”

“Nothing,” the thin man said firmly. “Let them fret about it for a while, it’ll do them good.”

“If Valens wanted to attack us,” someone else said, “he had his chance. I can’t see how it benefits him, lulling us into a
true sense of security.”

“We don’t know what kind of issues he’s involved with,” Bassamontis said. “We’re not the only ones with borders, or neighbors.
Which is why I’d like to get some sort of idea of what’s going on over there; and the best way to find out is to go and see
for ourselves.”

“Well?” Miel turned to look at Iraclido. “Are you still in favor of putting the Mezentine’s head up on a pike?”

Iraclido smiled. “I never expected you’d go along with that,” he said. “I was just telling you my opinion. By all means go
ahead, send the delegation. As you say, it’s simple good manners. And on balance, I’m inclined to agree with Simbulo here;
we can’t really do anything until we’ve got some idea of what’s going on next door. So, for the time being, we’ll just have
to keep the Mezentine on a short leash and see what happens.”

“Wouldn’t do any harm,” someone suggested, “to start finding out what he can do for us; assuming we decide to go down that
road, I mean. So far, we’ve had some big promises. I propose we see the Mezentine for ourselves.”

“Orsea?” Miel said.

Orsea nodded. “By all means,” he said. “I’ve told you the gist of what he told me, but I’m no engineer, I don’t know if what
he said’s possible, or what it’d involve. The trouble is, there’s not many of us who do. We need some experts of our own to
listen to this man.”

There was a short silence, as if he’d said something embarrassing. Then Iraclido said: “All due respect, but isn’t that the
point? We don’t have any experts of our own. If we’d got anybody who could understand what the hell the Mezentine’s talking
about, we wouldn’t need the Mezentine.”