The Folding Knife (6 page)

He could see all that. Any fool could. The problem was, there wasn't anything he could do about it. If they had a house of their own, of course; or if they could run away together and live in the woods--no, she'd hate that. Spiders, for one thing. If it was just the two of them, without all the other people. He thought about that and shuddered. At least other people meant someone you could talk to.

We'll grow out of it, he told himself. People do. Or they grow into it, the way your foot adapts if you spend twenty years wearing shoes that are three sizes too small. In any case, it would resolve itself (because if it didn't, society couldn't function), and in the mean time, at least he had his work to occupy his mind.

Three days before the twins were born, Antigonus came in late. Instead of sitting down and reading through the morning reports in silence, he solemnly placed a small wicker basket in the centre of the exchequer table and took away the napkin that covered the contents.

"What's this?" Basso asked.

Antigonus looked at him gravely. "We're celebrating," he said.

Amazing behaviour. "Celebrating what?" Basso asked. "The baby hasn't come yet, if that's what..."

The old man lifted a large round simnel cake out of the basket and looked round for something to put it down on. "We're celebrating," he said, "the end of the war. King Moemfasia surrendered last night."

What war? He had to think about it. "The Metanni," he said. "The dispute about the Strait of Neanousa."

"Correct." Basso felt as though he'd just earned a bonus mark. "We now control the whole of the east coast as far as the Soter Peninsula." He paused. "Well?"

It was as though someone had knocked a hole through into a walled-up room in the back of his mind. "Which means," Basso said, "that we can shave two days each way off the grain run to the Euoptic..."

"Very good."

"Which means we can undercut Ousa on bulk grain to the southern market and put them out of the game altogether..."

"And?"

"And," Basso chanted triumphantly, "that explains why you insisted that we buy seven thousand shares in the Asinarii shipping line, the day after they announced a massive loss and the price dropped sixty per cent..."

"Because?"

"Because the Asinarii bought the east coast route when it was worthless, and nobody believed we could beat Moemfasia at sea." He stopped and frowned. "But it was impossible. Well, you know what I mean. Highly unlikely. What made you think...?"

Antigonus actually smiled. "Hint," he said. "Barrel staves."

"Oh." The hole in the wall became a huge breach. In fact, there wasn't any wall left. "That report from our agent in Soter City about the large consignment of barrel staves that went down in a storm."

"Excellent." The smile broadened. "And?"

"And without seasoned barrel staves you can't make barrels, and without barrels you can't carry water, and without water, you can't keep a fleet at sea for more than a day at a time, which meant Moemfasia..."

Antigonus nodded slowly. "Exactly so," he said. "I deduced that the King would try and find an alternative source of supply, but he would fail, because..."

Basso laughed. "Because four months ago you ordered our man in Artouche to buy up all the seasoned planked oak he could find, which you then sold to the government at five per cent mark-up." Basso nodded furiously. "And at the time I wondered why you were going to so much trouble over a deal that barely broke even after costs."

"Actually, we made money," Antigonus reproved him, "but you're quite right, it wasn't worth the candle as a deal for its own sake; though we did impress the War Office with our patriotism, which will stand us in good stead when the next round of supply contracts comes along."

Basso laughed. "But actually, you won the war."

"I suppose so." Antigonus shrugged. "I knew we would eventually, so that's beside the point. What mattered was the timing. That was what I had to control precisely."

"Oh come on," Basso said. "You must admit, there was a bit of luck involved."

"Not really," Antigonus replied quietly. "At the same time as I was negotiating the sale of the stave lumber to the War Office, I was corresponding with the King through the Soter City office. As long as the King thought there was a chance of getting the staves, which he knew I had, he'd leave his fleet where it was, in the bay. Naturally I had no intention of selling to him, but I was able to keep the war going until the Asinarii announced their results, at which point I broke off negotiations with the King, which left him with no alternative but to try to beat us once and for all in a major pitched battle. On my advice, your father persuaded the Senate to recall Admiral Carausius, which meant our navy was temporarily leaderless and unable to engage the enemy. At that point, the King's time ran out and he had to surrender. No," he added, wiping a penknife on his handkerchief and cutting into the cake, "luck didn't really have much to do with it. Not," he added, "that luck isn't an important factor in business. Your father, for example, has no commercially valuable qualities apart from luck; but he has a remarkably consistent record of being quite ridiculously lucky when it really matters." He balanced a slice of cake on the blade of the knife and conveyed it into Basso's hands. "So consistent, in fact, that I was prepared to accept it as valid and valuable collateral when I decided to come and work for him. I," he added solemnly, cutting another slice, "have no luck at all, just intelligence, shrewdness and a degree of intuition. You're not eating your cake."

"Actually, I don't like simnel cake."

"Eat it anyway," Antigonus said, making it clear that he was giving a direct order. "In my country, there are certain occasions that must be celebrated with simnel cake. For example, the successful conclusion of an apprenticeship."

Very slowly and quietly, Basso said: "What does that mean?"

"Surely that's obvious," Antigonus said, with his mouth full. "It's my professional opinion that you're fit to be allowed out on your own without a wet-nurse or a keeper. If you try and cross the road, there's a better than even chance you'll make it to the other side in one piece. Given time, you could probably tie your own bootlaces. In other words, you've come a very long way in a very short time, and I'm sending you back to your father. Well done," he added, as Basso looked at him. "You passed."

"Oh," Basso said. "What does that mean?"

Antigonus sighed. "I was given the job of teaching you the basics of the banking trade. I consider that I have done so. I can now go back to my own office in the Exchange, which is considerably larger and warmer than this, and catch up on my own work. You," he added kindly, "stay here. This is your office now."

Basso blinked. "My...?"

Antigonus stood up slowly. "Well," he said, "nominally it's your father's, but if I were you I'd try and keep him out of it as much as possible. You'd be amazed how much damage a man like him can do in a relatively short time."

"Yes," Basso said, with a slight edge of desperation to his voice, "but what am I supposed to do?"

"Run the Bank," Antigonus said. He was loading things into the cake-basket; his silver hand-washing bowl, his inkwell, his special silver-handled penknife that nobody else was allowed to use. "Decide what you're going to do, then write it down, call a runner and send me my instructions at the Exchange, and I'll carry them out. I am, after all, your slave, your chattel, with no free will of my own." He lifted Basso's elbow off a book of mathematical tables, which he put in the basket. "I haven't done today's morning reports, they're there in the tray, same as usual. You may want to reply to the Trebonianus letter first, and you'd better chase up the Sulpicii over the seven per cent debenture stock revaluation. It's been..." He paused, as if reconsidering a rash start, then said, "Much to my surprise, it's been a pleasure. You have the makings of an intellect, Bassianus Arcadius. You'll make a ghastly hash of things for about six months, and then I predict you'll do just fine. With your permission." He opened the door and stood there, until Basso realised he was waiting to be dismissed.

"Come back here," Basso said. "I can't do all this stuff on my own."

Antigonus shook his head. He looked, Basso decided, like a small white beetle. "With your permission," he repeated.

Basso jumped up. "If you're my slave," he said, "I order you to come back in here."

Antigonus smiled. "No," he said. "Goodbye, Basso. And good luck."

The door closed. Basso sat down again, nearly missing the chair and ending up on the floor. He felt stunned, terrified and absurdly pleased with himself. I can't do this, he thought; then he considered his father--best deal I ever made--and decided he probably could. Six months, Antigonus had said. Very well. But perhaps, if he tried really hard, he could shave that down to five.

He got up out of his chair and walked round the desk to where Antigonus sat, used to sit. The thin-legged, elegant chair creaked under his greater weight, but he leaned back anyway and breathed in and out, deeply, five times, the way his fencing instructor had taught him before a fight. Then he picked up the morning reports and started to read.

When the twins were two years old, shortly after his sister's wedding, Basso launched the first major coup of his banking career, the takeover of the Mutual Brotherhood of Friends.

"Their capital assets are significantly undervalued," he explained to his father, as they practised archery on the lawn. "Whereas they're dangerously overextended on their government loans. The government won't default, obviously, but it means their cash reserves aren't high enough to fight us off. We could go after them through proxies, and they wouldn't know a thing about it until it's all over."

His father was quiet, concentrating on his aim. He was a naturally talented archer, and worked hard at it. When he loosed, the arrow clipped the thin black line between purple inner and gold centre. "We're inward scoring, aren't we?" he asked innocently.

"Outward, I thought," Basso replied. "So that's just a nine."

His father drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it. "You do know who the Vitellii's chief clerk is, don't you?" he said. Basso smiled, but Father went on: "You remember Antigonus Poliorcetes, who used to work for us? Well, of course you do, he taught you everything you know. Well, it's him."

"Yes," Basso said.

"Well?" Father drew evenly, loosed smoothly and followed through. No ambiguity this time; gold at five o'clock. "You really believe you can get the better of him in a bank deal?"

"I know how he thinks," Basso replied.

Father shrugged. "Good for you," he said. "But I doubt it. Best chief clerk we ever had, and I'll never forgive Sano Vitelli for poaching him off us. You let a slave have his freedom, and how does he thank you? No loyalty, that's what's wrong with this city."

"I know him better than he knows himself," Basso said. "He always had a tendency to underestimate himself. You'd never guess it to listen to him, but it was there nevertheless. I can handle him, trust me."

Father loosed--an honest nine at two o'clock, but Basso could see he was annoyed with himself. After they'd retrieved the arrows Basso took his time over his first shot, but dropped it low, in the eight. He wasn't much good at archery, but he tried hard.

"It's up to you," Father said. "I won't have to mortgage anything, will I, or put up anything as security?"

"The Bank can cover it," Basso lied, "we've got stocks and Treasury loans we can put up against the borrowing." Father hadn't noticed, but his business seal had been missing from the top drawer of his desk for a week, during which time Basso hadn't been idle. "I won't lie to you," he said. "Obviously there's a certain element of retribution involved. Also, I want Antigonus back."

"After he betrayed us like that? Absolutely not."

Basso took his second shot. He knew he had a tendency to pull low, so he held a little bit higher, and just managed to avoid the inside edge of the gold line. "Shot," his father said approvingly. Basso felt like he'd cheated.

"Antigonus is one of the best men in the trade," Basso said. "I want him back."

"We'll discuss it later," Father said. "Concentrate on your last shot. A ten and you've won it."

Like it mattered; but of course it did matter. He tried the same technique again, but this time, without realising it, he avoided the loosing error that dragged his shots low. As a result the arrow flew perfectly true and pitched exactly where he'd aimed it, a finger's breadth into the nine.

"Scores level," Father said; and Basso knew he was proud of his son; but for shooting arrows, which was just a game. "Best of three or sudden death?"

"Best of three," Basso replied. "You first."

Father shot two tens and a nine; Basso's first shot was an eight, which lost him the match and saved him having to waste further concentration and effort on a pastime. "So," he said, as they pulled out the arrows. "How about it?"

Father shrugged. "So long as there's no risk to us outside the Bank, I suppose you might as well go ahead," he said; which when translated meant, I don't understand this stuff but apparently you do; carry on. Fair enough. Recognising the superior gifts of others was one of Father's strengths. "But I really don't like the thought of taking Antigonus back."