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Authors: K.J. Parker

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BOOK: Purple and Black
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So, the next thing I did was call in the Aram no Vei liaison, and offer a HS 100,000 reward for relevant information. It's amazing how helpful and co-operative they can be when there's a vast amount of money at stake. They found me this sergeant (their equivalent of a sergeant) who remembered a man with a tooth missing and a limp. Naturally, I didn't believe a word of it, so I had the man arrested and taken down into the cellars for a word with the very bad men who work there. Fortunately for my conscience, he was both willing and able to adduce proof of his assertion; quite by chance, but it's good evidence. He remembered the missing-tooth man because he'd gone to pull a gold signet-ring off his finger, and instead of being all meek and scared, the man had punched him in the mouth. He was so taken aback he let the man live, but he took the ring, and—

Phormio, it's his ring. It's on the desk in front of me right now. I remember it so well. I remember how we gave him hell about it when he first started wearing it, and how he got all upset because his dying father had made him promise to wear it, because it bore the family crest; and how we said that was very touching, but his father was still very much alive; and how he came clean and admitted that this girl had given it to him and—You remember, don't you? Of course you do. I'd know it anywhere, Phormio, and it's here, in my hand. The savage stuck it on his own finger, but it was too tight and he couldn't get it off again, and there it still was. My people got it off no trouble at all; it can't have been much fun for the savage, but he's got HS 100,000 to console him, so I don't suppose he's too unhappy, at that.

After that, it was comparatively straightforward. The prisoners from the 725th were interned in one of the prison ships in Thymnos bay. Obviously, some of them died; the ship's captain had the bodies dumped over the side, and since the ship never moved all the time it was being used as a prison, it was a fairly simple job for my team of pearl-divers to go down and fish them all up again. Gorgias wasn't one of them. So, he was alive when the surviving prisoners were released at the end of the war. I talked to the officer in charge, and he told me they were each given a change of clothes, a pair of boots, three days' rations and HS 10 and sent on their way; I checked, and that's what actually happened, remarkably enough. I managed to trace a dozen 725,h veterans who were on the ship, and they backed up the officer's story.

Better than that; much better. I asked each of them in turn if they knew the name, Gorgias Bardanes. One said yes. I talked to him this afternoon, and he described Gorgias exactly. He said they'd been in the same compartment of the hulk; he remembered Gorgias very well because of his posh voice, also he muttered in his sleep (didn't that make me grin when he said it). To cap it all, he told me a name he used to mutter, over and over again; Eudocia.

He can't have known that unless Gorgias was there, and alive. He just can't.

This man said Gorgias was very much alive when they all got sprung; that he collected his clothes and his money and walked away, and that was the last he saw of him, headed into town, same as most of the others, but walking alone, not talking to anybody.

Phormio, if he survived the battle and the march and being in the prison ship, I absolutely refuse to believe he could've died of anything after that—pneumonia, knocked down by a cart, slipped on a muddy bridge and fell in the river, no way. Gorgias was alive when he was released from the prison ship, he had money in his pocket, he knew that all he had to do was come here, or write me a letter, or get in touch with any of us, or his sisters, or— There's all those people he could've gone to, but he didn't. And that was two years ago. His family haven't moved house, and there's no way in hell he doesn't know exactly where to find me, or the rest of us.

That's what I simply can't understand, and it's tearing me up. He's alive, he's on his feet and walking about, and he hasn't made contact. Why? What the hell is going on?

Naturally, I've got a small army of people on it; trying to pick up the trail in Thymnos. So far, no joy.

The others are stunned. I didn't tell them anything until today, just in case the news turned out bad, or it didn't add up after all. None of us can make head or tail of it. It just doesn't make sense.

Anyway, now you know. As soon as there's any news, I'll write. The main thing is, he's still alive. But why—Oh, the hell with it. He's alive.

*

Phormio, governor of Upper Tremissis, to His Divine Majesty Nicephorus V, brother of the invincible Sun, father of his people, defender of the faith, emperor of the Vesani, greetings.

Phormio begs to inform His Majesty that general Lamachus has successfully engaged the enemy.

Nico, it's not true. I'm sorry. I couldn't bring myself to tell you, or Menestheus, or any of the others. Gorgias is dead. He died just after I got here, at the temple in Parcys. There's a free hospital there, run by the Order. The doctor who treated him said it was pneumonia. I've known for some time.

He knew I was coming here—must've heard the announcement, I don't know; he wrote to me, but by the time I got here and saw his letter, he was already dead. I went to Parcys straight away, but they'd buried him in the paupers' ground and nobody could remember where. So, no, I haven't actually seen the body, but I know for a fact it was him. Quite by chance, they hadn't got around to getting rid of his stuff, what little there was of it. The drill is, when someone dies in the free hospital, his things are stored in a ware* house along with the other paupers' stuff, until there's enough for an auction. I went there and scrabbled about—it's heartbreaking, Nico, all that junk, the last scraps of so many wasted lives—and in an old arrow-barrel I found Gorgias' things; his clothes, shoes, penknife, an old kitbag, and his journal.

That's how I know it was him, Nico. Proof positive.

I sat on a biscuit box in that dismal bloody shed, and I read it. It was like he was sitting next to me, talking, moaning, complaining, looking for an argument, soaring off on crazy flights of extrapolation and speculation. He was furious at being ill; of all the bloody stupid things, he said. He was determined he wasn't going to die. Then he started to wonder; what if I am going to die? Then he was scared stiff, and then he was angry again. He tried to calm himself down—it doesn't matter, he said, nothing matters, viewed objectively one life is utterly trivial. But he couldn't accept that. All the memories, the knowledge, the perceptions, the experiences stored inside a man's head, all wasted in the time it takes a heart to stop beating. It was the waste that appalled him. What a ridiculous way to organise things, he said; a man spends his whole life learning, acquiring information, both on his own and as part of a collective. Just when he's starting to get somewhere, the bucket's tipped out and all the good stuff is poured out onto the ground. He had a lot to say about that. He said that of all the evils in the world, of which there were rather too many for his liking, the greatest evil of all was love; it's sheer spitefulness to allow mortals to love, because everybody dies, but the love they cause to be in others doesn't die with them. Therefore love is the cause of the greatest sorrow, therefore love is the greatest evil.

I think I know what he meant.

I know why he never got in touch with any of us after the war. He was so angry about being conscripted. The last thing he wanted was to be a soldier. He didn't want to have to march all day in sopping wet clothes and sleep on the damp ground and eat garbage and get dysentery and do demeaning physical labour and get ordered about by men who weren't fit to clean his shoes. He didn't want to kill anybody, and he most definitely didn't want to die. But, being Gorgias, when it became obvious that there was no getting out of it, he determined to do his very best, if only to show the ignorant rubbish around him how much better than them he was. He tried really hard. He was determined to get promoted, to make sergeant at least; but he didn't, and that really hurt him, because he wasn't good enough, and in the end he knew it. That really depressed him. In the battle, he only survived by pure fluke. He was livid that a savage stole Eudocia's ring; he tried to fight for it, but the savage punched him in the mouth and (here's a typical Gorgias phrase) he was left with no alternative but to fall over. While he was in the prison ship, he more or less gave up. He lay there in the dark trying to remember as much as he could of the first book of the Bessaid, but he could only remember the opening thirty lines; so he said them to himself over and over again, until they lost all traces of meaning. When they finally let him go, he made a conscious decision that he was through with everything from his past life. He'd betrayed himself and us, we'd betrayed him, the whole world, everything he'd valued and put his trust in had failed him and let him down. As far as he was concerned, he'd died at Thanatta. He made up his mind to walk to the monastery at Eschate—mostly, I think, because it's a very long way away; as and when he got there, he'd pull himself together and decide what to do next. He made it four-fifths of the way; and then he got ill.

That's how Gorgias died, Nico. And that's why I couldn't bring myself to tell you, or send you his journal. That Gorgias, of all people, died angry and afraid and in despair; I had to read that book, Nico. I didn't see why the rest of you should have to.

Well, there you have it. I've got a team of clerks making copies of the journal (I'm not going to risk the original in the mail, not even your infallible Imperial couriers). I suppose I was wrong to try and keep it from you all. I'm sorry.

Lamachus won a battle against the insurgents. I enclose a copy of his report. He did a great job and things are going really well.

*

His Divine Majesty Nicephorus V, brother of the invincible Sun, father of his people, defender of the faith, emperor of the Vesani, to Phormio, governor of Upper Tremissis, greetings.

His Majesty commends the courage and diligence of General Lamachus.

I see. Thank you for telling me. Thank you, I suppose, for not telling me. I guess I've only got myself to blame.

The trouble with this job, with all the power and the resources and the ability to actually get things done, is that you start believing you can fix things. You see an obvious injustice; fine, you stretch forth your Imperial hand and there, you've fixed it. The economy's in a mess. So, you summon the people who really control it, and you make sure that on their way to your office they're taken past the guard-room and the dungeon and the place I told you about where the very bad people work, and then you tell them to get it sorted out, and it gets sorted out. You're disgusted at the poverty in the Naranite Quarter; you send in food, you start up public works to provide employment, problem solved. You think the new wing they've built onto the Goldsmiths' Hall is an eyesore and shouldn't have been allowed; ten days later, they're carting it away in big skips. Job done.

But you never fix any damn thing. The obvious injustice turns out to have rather more to it than you first thought. You make them fix inflation, you get a run on the banks. Your public works mean you've got to jack up taxes, and small businesses go to the wall. And everybody liked the Goldsmiths' new wing except you, and you had it pulled down. The more you try and make things better, the more you end up looking, sounding and acting like the Government.

I thought I could fix the Gorgias problem. Either I'd find him alive, or at least we'd know for sure what happened to him. Result; more misery, more unhappiness, which you tried to spare us.

My illustrious ancestors and predecessors in this ridiculous job used to have themselves made into gods. Some of them actually believed it, and I always used to wonder how that was possible.

How can you believe you're immortal, all-powerful, equal of the invincible Sun, when you've got a toothache, or when you're wiping your arse? But I understand better now. After all, I tried to bring the dead back to life, and look where it got me.

Oh well. Looks like it's still just the five of us after all.

*

General Theophano Lamachus, commanding the auxiliary forces in Upper Tremissis, to His Divine Majesty Nicephorus V, brother of the invincible Sun, father of his people, defender of the faith, emperor of the Vesani, greetings.

General Lamachus begs His Majesty's indulgence far the grave breach of protocol which this letter represents. In his defence, he pleads the potential seriousness of the allegations herein contained.

General Lamachus has been given to believe that His Majesty has been making enquiries concerning the whereabouts of Dr Gorgias Bardanes, late of the University of Anassus, formerly a fellow-student with His Majesty at the said University. General Lamachus further understands that Governor Phormio has assured His Majesty that the said Gorgias Bardanes died in Parcys on the seventh day preceding the Ides of Trionalis.

General Lamachus begs to inform His Majesty that this is not the case.

Furthermore, General Lamachus has compelling evidence, acquired during the course of his intelligence operations relating to the current insurgency, that the said Gorgias Bardanes is closely involved with the said insurgency, possibly at the highest level. General Lamachus annexes hereto duly notarised copies of witness statements taken from suspects questioned by him in which said witnesses state, without prompting or coercion, that the said Gorgias Bardanes is involved with the said insurgency. The said witnesses are in custody and can be forwarded to His Majesty at any time.

General Lamachus makes no accusation against Governor Phormio, but begs to suggest to His Majesty that the said Governor Phormio should be questioned by His Majesty or his agents concerning his knowledge of and dealings with the said Gorgias Bardanes.

General Lamachus begs to remind His Majesty that he loyally served His Majesty's late father, now restored to the Divine Element, for twenty years, and it is General Lamachus' dearest wish that he be permitted to serve His Majesty with the same loyalty, sincerity and total commitment for as long as His Majesty shall please to employ him in any capacity whatsoever. General Lamachus is aware that in making allegations that might potentially be interpreted as detrimental to the honour of Governor Phormio, he risks His Majesty's grave displeasure. Should such allegations prove to be unfounded. General Lamachus submits himself willingly and penitently to His Majesty's mercy, should His Majesty see fit to bestow it.

BOOK: Purple and Black
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