The Folding Knife (9 page)

The officer was looking past him, at the bodies and the blood. "Major Aelius, Seventeenth Auxiliary. You're..."

Basso allowed himself to smile. "You'll have to speak up," he said, turning his head slightly. "I'm a bit deaf in this ear."

Aelius looked straight at him. "Of course you are," he said. "All right," he added, turning to the soldiers, "one of you on each entrance to the house, nobody comes in or out. You, go to the Senate House, speak to Minister Honorius Severus and bring him here." He turned back and asked Basso, "He's the head of the family, right?"

Basso nodded. "But I think you'll find the proper complainant would be this man's wife. My sister," he added. "Fausta Tranquillina Carausia. I imagine she'll be at the Carausius house on the Horn; if not, they'll know where to find her."

Aelius nodded. "You know your law," he said. "What about her? Her father?"

"Aulus Licinius," Basso replied. "But he has no standing, it was a strict form marriage. So I guess you're right, the proper person to file a complaint would be the head of our family, my father."

"Fine," Aelius said. "Right, you heard him. You, fetch the Minister. You, go back to the guardhouse and get a messenger sent to the Carausius house at the Horn." He frowned, then asked Basso, "What was that name again?"

"Fausta Tranquillina Carausia," Basso said slowly. "Shall I write it down?"

Aelius shrugged. "Might be as well," he said. "All right, you, go downstairs and find an inkwell and something to write on. Ask a servant or something. That's all."

The soldiers left quickly. When they'd gone, Aelius closed the door. "So," he said, "what happened?"

Basso told him. He pointed out the toy dagger, lying on the floor, and showed Aelius his hand.

"I see. And what about her?"

Basso shook his head. "That's my business. At least, I suppose it's between me and my sister."

"I remember her," Aelius said. "You beat up a soldier for looking at her."

"Something like that." Suddenly Basso felt very tired. He sat down. Aelius shrugged, and sat down on the bed. "So, it's major now, is it?" said Basso.

"Six months ago," Aelius replied.

"Impressive, a man of your age."

"You run the bank, don't you?"

Basso nodded. "Family business," he said. "The clerks run it, I just sit in a chair and sign letters."

"Is it true," Aelius asked, "you're deaf in that ear?"

"Yes."

"But you never raised a complaint."

"Nothing to complain about."

Aelius was quite still for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and said, "I'll need everything left as it is until I've written up a formal deposition. It'll go on file, but it'll be restricted, unless a complaint is made." He paused, then asked quietly, almost gently: "Is that likely?"

Basso smiled. "No," he said.

"In that case..." Aelius was looking away now, not at Basso, not at the bodies or the blood. "If there's no complaint, it's a family matter and none of our business. You don't want to make any further statements." He stood up. "Is there somewhere I can use to write my report?"

Basso said, "Shouldn't you wait till my sister gets here?"

"Yes," Aelius said. "But what the hell." He stood up. "You might as well get started on your arrangements. I've seen everything I need here, and you've been very cooperative."

Basso nodded his thanks. "I'll show you to the library," he said. "You can use that."

At that moment a soldier reappeared, clutching an inkwell, a pen and a scrap of cheese-wrapping. Basso wrote down his sister's name and address and gave it to him, and he left quickly.

* * *

No complaints were filed. Some time later, his father said to him, "You did the right thing."

Basso wasn't sure he agreed, but he didn't like to contradict his father. "The trust fund," he said. "I guess that comes to us now, till Bassano turns eighteen."

Father frowned. "I hadn't thought of that," he said. He was an indifferent liar.

Basso's father died on the day of the election. He suffered a massive stroke in the middle of a shouting match with Ulpius Lorica on the steps of the New Reform Temple (the only time, Lorica said afterwards, that Elio had ever won an argument with him, adding that at least he'd have died happy). Given the dramatic nature of the election, it's likely that he died believing his son was about to lose, and he missed the unforgettable midnight scene in the House when the final result was brought in: Bassianus Arcadius Severus, by seventy-one wards to sixty-eight.

The death of the elder Severus would have been the talking point of the City under any other circumstances; as it was, it was noted in passing and hardly discussed. The events of that day--the outrageous pageantry of the twins' coming-of-age ceremony in the morning, the extraordinary scenes attending the Charity & Social Justice's hostile takeover of the Merchants' Benevolent Fund, followed by the vote itself, with its attendant riot and the unprecedented deployment of troops inside the City walls to restore order, culminating in Vipsanius Severus' death and the astounding denouement in the House--left the City too emotionally exhausted to react with anything more than stunned acquiescence when the King's envoy arrived with the news that the peace proposals had been rejected and accordingly the Vesani Republic was now at war with Scleria.

Under the circumstances, the new First Citizen would have been forgiven for not attending the House the next morning. But he was there, magnificent in purple and gold mourning robes that must have been designed, fitted and sewn in a matter of hours, to deliver a sombre but defiant reply to the King which most commentators place among his finest speeches. He said that in the three hundred years since the Republic had won its freedom, it had always gone out of its way to respect the King's interests; the citizens of the Republic regarded Scleria as a parent with whom they had had occasion to quarrel bitterly, but that they had always remembered where they came from and what had made them what they were: Sclerian justice and wisdom, Sclerian civilisation and institutions, the Sclerian dream of a better, fairer society; in a word, Sclerian freedom. If that love of freedom had withered in the mother country, it was the duty of its estranged but still loving offspring to remind her of what she had once been, and what she could be again.

Basso left the House with a headache, brought on by the dreadful noise of shouting and cheering in the bell-like acoustic of the debating chamber. He hadn't touched a drop for a week but he felt like he had the worst hangover of his life: splitting head, raging indigestion, nausea and an appalling mental numbness, the feeling of being temporarily but intolerably stupid. He collapsed into his seat in the covered coach and scrabbled for the blinds, unable to cope with the sight of the solid, howling wall of his fellow citizens, yelling his name and scrabbling at him with their outstretched hands. His mind felt like porridge, and he tried in vain to remember what he'd just said to the Sclerians. Given the situation, he was fairly sure he hadn't made matters worse (that would be impossible), but he had no idea whether he'd just made a fool of himself in public or not. A hell of a way, he decided, to celebrate his fortieth birthday.

Antigonus was waiting for him in the lobby. "Am I glad to see you," Basso said, stumbling on the threshold and barging the old man's shoulder. Then he saw the expression on Antigonus' face. "What?" he said. "Not something else, for God's sake."

"Your sister's here," Antigonus said quietly.

"Wonderful." Basso stuck out a hand and steadied himself against a pillar. "All right, I'd better see her. Can you...?"

Antigonus nodded. "All being taken care of. The twins are in temple, your mother's in her room and doesn't want to see anybody, I'm meeting the Patriarch's office in an hour to discuss the funeral, followed by the Merchants' Benevolent board at noon and your cabinet at three, so you're clear till the inauguration rehearsal at six." He smiled. "Enjoy your day off," he said. "Tomorrow you'll wish you'd never been born."

Basso nodded. "Thanks," he said.

Antigonus did that nod-bow thing, half ironic, half sincere. "I live to serve, as we used to say in the slate quarries."

Basso laughed. "When the hell were you ever in a slate quarry?"

"Actually, I visited one once. Interesting, but you wouldn't want to work there. Go on," he said, "I'll take care of things."

Basso pushed open the front door, then stopped. "Where's Bassano?" he asked.

"Music lesson," Antigonus replied, "followed by double rhetoric, fencing and lunch. Routine is the best anaesthetic, in my opinion. Do you want to see him?"

Basso nodded. "But later," he said, "after I've seen Lina. Good work," he added, "I'm obliged to you."

"I know," Antigonus replied, and Basso walked through into the hall.

He looked up at the middle gallery, still garlanded from the twins' reception, and thought, I feel like a stranger in my own house. That was an uneasy feeling, because now it really was his own house, its previous owner having just died. He didn't want to climb the stairs; he didn't have the energy. If Antigonus was any good, he'd have arranged for a doctor.

A man he didn't know appeared from the west wing door, holding a blue glass. "Drink this," he said, "you'll feel better."

"Who the hell are you?"

The man (long black beard and the cleanest fingernails Basso had ever seen in his life) bowed efficiently. "Nestor Antimachus," he said, "president of the Grand College of Surgeons. It's just a basic tonic."

Oh, Basso thought. He drank the contents of the glass, which tasted like something from his mother's collection, and felt as though someone was squeezing his head in a giant pair of tongs. Then, as promised, he felt much better. "Thanks," he said. "You're hired."

"I'm not available," the doctor said, took the glass from his hand and walked away. Basso scowled, then decided not to worry about it. His head was still hurting, but at least he could think.

She was in her sitting room on the third floor, perched on the edge of the window seat, with a book open on her lap: a picture of something, Basso thought, by a good but not great artist. She looked up as he opened the door, then turned away.

"So you're here, are you?" she said.

"I live here," he replied.

"I'm moving out," she said to the window. "I'll need furniture and bedlinen, and you'll have to pay me a regular allowance."

He decided not to say anything, and after a moment or so she went on: "I'm going to have the lodge at Curcuas. It's plenty big enough, and you never use it for anything. I want it made over into my name."

"Why Curcuas?"

"It's a long way from the City. Less chance of meeting you there."

He thought for a few seconds. "There's also the house at Simisca," he said. "That's even further away."

"No it isn't."

"I think you'll find it is," he said. "You can measure it out on a map if you like."

"It's too big," she said sharply. "If I'm going to have to live on a fixed income, I don't want to have to pay a fortune staffing and heating a great big barn when there'll just be the two of us living there, and half a dozen servants."

The two of them. "Bassano's going with you, is he?"

"He's not staying here." She'd turned her face round so far he could only see the curve of her cheek. "In two years' time, of course, he can do whatever he likes. Till then, he'll come with me."

Basso came into the room and sat down. "Have you thought about that?" he said. "For one thing, there's his education."

"There'll be room for his tutors at Curcuas," she replied. "There's the three estate cottages in the grounds, or I'll make room for them in the house."

"Yes, but that's not what I meant." It was a ferocious effort to keep his voice quiet and even. "Do you really think it's fair on him, stranding him out in the country at his age? What about his friends?"

"They can visit," Lina said, in her end-of-discussion voice. "And it's not like it's in the middle of the desert. He can come into town if he wants to." She paused, judging her timing nicely, then added, "He can stay at the Licinius house, or with a friend."

Basso breathed in slowly. "I don't think it'd be a good idea," he said. "And what about you? There's your friends. You always hated the country."

"Fine," she snapped. "Then buy me somewhere in town, for when I get sick of Curcuas. Just promise me you'll stay away."

He closed his eyes. Normally it helped him concentrate, but his mind was numb again, stupid. "Will you think about it some more?" he said. "Please?"

"No." She picked up the book, marked the place with a length of red cord, and stood up. "Your man Antigonus can make the arrangements," she said. "Let me know how much money I can have. Please don't be generous," she added. "I'd rather not take anything at all, but I haven't really got much choice." Now she turned and faced him, and he looked away. "I don't want you to give Bassano any money," she said. "I'll pay for him till he comes of age, and then he'll have the trust money, assuming you haven't spent it all. You haven't, have you?"