The Escapement Page 14

  But Ziani shook his head. “If you found out the truth about me, you’d have me killed,” he said. “After you’ve taken the City.”

  Valens smiled. “Do you really think so?” he said. “Of course, I’m in no position to offer an opinion, since I don’t know what you’ve done. But you’re a clever man, you haven’t made this extraordinary confession just to cleanse your soul. You want to make a deal, presumably. Well?”

  Ziani nodded. His mouth was dry, but he felt calm. The art of designing a mechanism lies in enclosing the components so that they can only move one way. “Very simple,” he said. “If you find out… my dark secret… you won’t have me killed until the siege is over and we’ve either taken Mezentia or given up in despair. In return, I’ll build your siege engines and do everything else I possibly can. That’s all. A stay of execution, not a pardon.”

  Valens stared at him for the time it takes to peel an apple. “That’s it?” he said. “It’s practically reasonable.”

  “I don’t ask for something unless I know it’s possible,” Ziani said. “You can’t promise me a pardon, because you couldn’t keep the promise. But you can give me the time, because you need me alive and working, until the City falls. And,” he added casually, “because you’re a man of your word. Well? Is it a deal?”

  Valens’ eyes were very wide; he hadn’t blinked for a long time. “I suppose it is,” he said. “Because it’s feasible, like you said. And because I don’t have a choice.”

  Ziani dipped his head in formal acknowledgement. “Life’s so much simpler without choices,” he said. “Thinking about it, I’m glad I never had to make one. I’m not sure I’d have been able to.” He nodded sharply. “Can I go now? There’s nothing else I wanted to talk about, if you’ve finished.”

  “No, that’s fine.” Valens was still looking at him as though he was somehow impossible, the result of a conjuring trick. “I’d like a detailed report on the book in the next three days, if you think that’s going to be enough time.”

  “Plenty.” Ziani stood up. His knees were quite firm, but his feet felt as though he had lead blocks in his shoes. “I’m glad we’ve sorted that out, it was bothering me. Now I can help Daurenja make his pot. I’ve been putting him off, and he’s getting impatient. It’s strange, him and me: the more I grow to hate him, the more I admire his good qualities. He’s like you, you know, a man of principle. It’s just that he has different priorities.”

  “I’d rather not talk about him any more,” Valens replied. “I don’t like the fact that I don’t care about what he’s done as much as I should. Anyway, you’d better go. I’ve got a mountain of work to get through.”

  “Of course.” Ziani was at the tent door when he turned back. “You weren’t telling the truth,” he said.

  “Wasn’t I?”

  “No. You didn’t know Duke Orsea was innocent when you ordered his execution.”

  Valens sat very still. “I knew later,” he said, “when I asked Veatriz to marry me.”

  “That’s different,” Ziani said.

  “Yes.” Valens frowned. “It’s the difference between shooting a doe in the close season and eating it once you’ve gone home and checked the calendar. The latter is better in some ways and worse in others, but it all balances out, more or less.”

  When Vaatzes had gone, Valens opened the letter. He read it three times, as he’d always done when she wrote to him. After the third reading, he held it for a moment over the lamp, so close that a smudge of soot formed on the bottom edge. He could think of no more appropriate way of punishing himself than to burn her letter and not reply to it. No, not strictly true (he pulled the letter away sharply and put it on the table). He could ignore the guilt of Ziani Vaatzes, the man who’d enabled him to kill Orsea and achieve his heart’s desire. The thought made him grin. In his father’s day, the punishment for forgery was disfigurement; the forger’s nose was slit lengthways, his ears and lips were cut away, his cheeks sliced, his hair shaved and his forehead branded. He’d put a stop to that, of course, because he was a humane man, and the self-righteousness inherent in the punishment disturbed him. It wasn’t good for people to be able to see justice gloating in another man’s wrecked face. In which case, there was a fine poetic justice at work. Being a humane man, a good duke, he silently condemned himself to punishment by a disfiguration that only he could see.

  He had a ridiculously large amount of work to do, all of it urgent and important. Instead, he answered her letter, indulging himself in every word he wrote, crossed out, rephrased. He knew how much it would mean to her; and if pleasing her meant allowing himself equal pleasure, he couldn’t be blamed for it. After all, he had no choice.

  As he wrote, he couldn’t keep a small part of his mind from trying to guess what Vaatzes had done that could be so very terrible. That, he decided, was a bit like looking for one particular coin in a treasury.

  The next day should have been a hunting day, according to his mental calendar. Instead, he started the war.

  In theory, of course, the Mezentines had done that, by sending their half-witted Cure Doce to burn the nonexistent engine sheds. But that affair had been so pathetically ill-conceived that it didn’t really count; the joke alone had been more than enough compensation for a shed full of flour. A war like this one had to be started properly, and since the enemy didn’t seem capable of doing it, he’d have to deal with it himself.

  The objective was to be the Mezentia–Lonazep road. Twelve miles from the City, according to his more reliable maps and the reports of his scouts, the Republic had built a customs house. Presumably they’d been trying to impress someone or other. By all accounts, it was the size of a small town, conveniently sited next to a river and all done in the pseudo-military style of architecture that the Republic seemed to favour – thin but grandiose walls, trompe l’oeil arrow slits, crenellated pepperpot towers, and a portcullis that didn’t actually work. Tempting providence, really, since if you pulled all that rubbish down and replaced it with real defences, you’d have a castle that’d cut the road completely. Playing at soldiers, Valens decided, wasn’t something he approved of.

  The assault party was one hundred Vadani heavy cavalry supported by three hundred Aram Chantat. Assuming all went well, the Vadani would stay behind afterwards as a garrison until the masons and carpenters arrived to do the makeover. The Aram Chantat had to be involved because they were restless and starting to be a nuisance. They didn’t like the fact that the Mezentines were still able to bring in food and supplies, and they wanted something done about it. Valens had tried to explain – only once – that it didn’t matter because starving the enemy out had never been an option, and he wanted the City to have good stocks of food in hand, since he’d need them himself, once the City had fallen, to feed the army and his own people while they were being resettled. They hadn’t listened, and he wasn’t in the habit of repeating himself. By his calculations, there was now enough food in the City for his purposes. Time to start the war.

  The raid was an open secret around the camp; nevertheless, Valens was more than a little disconcerted when he was told, the night before the raiding party was due to set off, that Daurenja the engineer wanted to talk to him about it.

  “I thought you were back at the city, looking after things while Vaatzes is away,” he said.

  Daurenja stood over him like a spider up on its back legs; intimidating, but he was damned if he was going to let him sit down. “That’s where I should be,” Daurenja replied. “But actually it’s quite quiet there at the moment. There’s been a hold-up with the lumber supply – I’ve seen to it, and we’ll make up the lost time, and to be honest with you, we can do with a rest. The men aren’t used to working flat out like they’ve been doing, work’s getting sloppy and there’s been a lot of waste in materials. A few days off will put that right.”

  Valens shrugged. “Sounds fair enough,” he said. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here. By your own argument, you should be resting too
.”

  Daurenja grinned. “I don’t need rest,” he said. “Not good for me. Too much energy, my father used to say. Which is why I’d like to ask a big favour.”

  “Something to do with the cavalry raid – how the hell did you find out about it, by the way?”

  “I hear things.” Big smile. Charm, Valens thought. But he does charm the way an illiterate craftsman copies letters; everything perfectly replicated, but he doesn’t know the meaning. “I gather you’re sending an expeditionary force to cut the Lonazep road. I’d like to go along, if that’s all right.”

  Valens’ eyebrows shot up. “You?”

  Eager nod. “I’m a good horseman,” he said. “My father bred horses, we used to send five destriers and two palfreys a year to the fair at Goyon and I helped break them in. And I’m not a complete novice at soldiering, either. I spent six months with the Tascon scouts, though I don’t suppose I ought to tell you that.”

  He’s not lying, Valens thought. He doesn’t lie much, that’s the extraordinary thing. And the Tascon heavy cavalry were at least as good as the Vadani, as he knew to his cost. “Really? When?”

  “About eleven years ago,” Daurenja replied. “In your father’s time, and I’m sorry to say we did have one or two unfortunate episodes with your people. Nothing serious, but…” The smile broadened. “Good experience, anyway. Mostly we were annoying the Eremians, if that’s any consolation.”

  Valens leaned back in his chair. “You do like to keep busy, I can see that. But no, you can’t go. I need you here.”

  “But it’s only for a few days. I’ll come back with the Aram Chantat after the—”

  “What I mean is,” Valens said slowly, “I can’t afford to risk you getting yourself carved up or killed. I’ve been thinking about the weapon you told me about. The brass pot that throws stones.”

  If he’d been a cat, his ears would’ve gone back. “You’ve spoken to Ziani about it, then.”

  Valens nodded. All this openness was making him dizzy. “He said the idea’s worth developing. In fact, he’s quite impressed.”

  “Really.” For a moment, Daurenja’s eyes shone. He’s pleased, Valens thought; like when a mutual friend tells you the girl you’re after really likes you. “So we can make a start, as soon as the siege engines are finished?”

  “That’s between the two of you,” Valens said quickly. “But you can see why I don’t want you galloping around the countryside playing at knights in armour. Vaatzes said he can’t build this weapon without you.”

  “That’s true.” Faint smile. “But you don’t want to worry about me, I’ll be fine. My mother used to say I slip in and out of trouble like an eel in a net. And I really do want to go. I need to… well, stretch my legs a bit, before we start building the weapon.”

  “Fine,” Valens said. “Walk back to Civitas Vadanis. But you’re not going on the raid.”

  He went anyway. He stole a helmet, coat of plates, arm and leg harness from different tents during the night, and at dawn presented himself to the Vadani captain as the duke’s special observer.

  “First I’ve heard of it,” the captain said.

  “Maybe you weren’t paying attention,” Daurenja replied pleasantly. “If you like, we can go and wake the duke up and ask him to confirm.”

  The captain didn’t think he wanted to do that. “Why’s he sending you, though?” he asked. “You’re that engineer.”

  “He wants a report on what’s going to be involved in refortifying the station once you’ve taken it. I know about that sort of thing.”

  The captain shrugged. “Just do as you’re told and don’t get in the way,” he said. “And if I want advice, I’ll ask for it. All right?”

  They followed the river as far as the Cure Doce border, then headed south, making good time over the top of the moorland ridge that ran parallel with the mountains. Strictly speaking they were trespassing, but if the Cure Doce wanted to make anything of it, that’d be fine too. Not surprisingly, they had no trouble. Valens had decided on the route himself, and though he hadn’t shared his reasoning with the captain, the likeliest explanation was that he wanted the Mezentines to know they were coming. Why that should be desirable, the captain didn’t want to speculate.

  They arrived on the plateau above the station with half a day in hand, and the captain decided to use the time to rest the horses, since they’d been at grass for months and weren’t yet back to full campaigning fitness. The Aram Chantat captains didn’t agree; they were uneasy about the fact that the Cure Doce must have seen them coming and would undoubtedly have reported back to the Mezentines. Sitting about doing nothing for several hours would only give the enemy more time to react. The Vadani captain said that that was quite likely, but he had his orders. He was lying, but something about the Aram Chantat brought out the worst in him. “In fact,” he added, “I think we’ll spend the night here and attack first thing in the morning. I want the horses completely fresh.”

  “Unnecessary. Our horses don’t need rest. We don’t let them get fat like you do.”

  The captain smiled. “We’ll wait till morning,” he said.

  He spent the afternoon watching the mountains behind and the road below. Four parties of riders, none of them more than a dozen strong, came and looked at them and went away again. He assumed they were Cure Doce – could the Mezentines even ride horses? – but he reckoned they couldn’t see anything they wouldn’t already have known. When it got dark he had something to eat, checked his armour by feel one last time for loose rivets and snagging joints, then went to sleep.

  It was still dark when he was woken up, but he knew intuitively who was shaking his shoulder.

  “What do you want?” he growled.

  “Thought you might like to know.” Daurenja sounded horribly cheerful. He smelt of blood. “There’s a large force of infantry camped on the road from the City. Two thousand, maybe three; I’ve been counting campfires.”

  “Mezentines?” He reached up to disengage Daurenja’s hand from his shoulder. It was sticky.

  “Yes. Full infantry armour, and a field artillery train. Scorpions. My guess is, they’ll try and lure you into a killing zone and shoot you up.”

  The captain propped himself up on one elbow. Very bad. An artillery ambush wasn’t something he’d anticipated. “How long… ?”

  “I’ve just come from there,” Daurenja replied. “Still three hours before daylight. I imagine they were planning to set up the pieces – well, round about now, actually, so as to be ready for a dawn attack. They’ll be running a little late, though. I made a bit of a nuisance of myself while I was there, let the horses out, did what I promised my mother I wouldn’t and played with fire. Oh, and I took the liberty of sending some men down to keep an eye on them. It’d be a good idea to know where they’re planning to lure us, don’t you think?”

  An unpleasant thought occurred to the captain at that point. “The savages,” he said. “Did you tell… ?”

  Daurenja laughed softly. “Sleeping like babies,” he replied. “I thought it’d be a shame to wake them. So as far as they’ll know, you figured all this out for yourself.”

  “I see.” The captain didn’t want to say it but he had no choice. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. I have trouble sleeping.”

  He started to straighten up, but the captain grabbed his arm. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Really.”

  “Observing. You’d better get up now. You don’t want to have to rush.”

  *

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” Valens said, looking up from a map on his knees.

  The captain gave him a worried look. “I know, sir, but if I could…”

  Valens nodded him into a chair. “That’s all right,” he said. “Nobody seems to do what I tell them any more, so don’t worry about it. Congratulations, by the way.”

  “Thank you.” The captain seemed more worried rather than less. “I know I was meant to stay behind with the garrison
,” he said nervously, “but in the circumstances, I thought I’d better report to you direct. I didn’t want…”

  “Quite.” Valens smiled. “I was just about to write to you ordering you to get back here on the double, so you’ve saved me a job.” The smile vanished like spit on hot iron. “What the hell happened?” he said. “That lunatic…”

  “Did you send him with us?”

  “Me? God, no. In fact, I expressly told him not to go.”

  The captain took a deep breath. “Just as well he disobeyed orders, then. If it hadn’t been for him, we’d all be dead by now.”

  A look the captain couldn’t read passed over Valens’ face. “Is that right?” he said. “The report said—”

  “With respect.” The captain realised how loudly he’d said that, and cringed. “With respect, the report was for the Aram Chantat – well, in case they got hold of it. I don’t know if it’s procedure for them to see direct-level dispatches, but I didn’t want to take the chance. So I came myself.”

  “Ah.” Carefully, Valens rolled up the map and slid it into its brass tube. “So, what really happened?”

  The captain shifted slightly. “We got there early,” he said. “I thought it’d be a good idea to rest the horses overnight and attack at dawn.” He looked down at the desk, then back up again. “May I ask a question?”

  “If you like.”

  “You wanted them to know we were coming.”

  (He’d said it, then. And he was still alive, and not on his way to the guardhouse.)

  “That’s a statement, not a question.”

  “Yes, sir. You wanted them to have time to get ready, do something. Capturing the customs post was a minor objective.”

  “That’s not a question either. But yes, that’s right.” Valens sighed faintly, as though knuckling down to a chore he’d hoped to avoid. “I wanted to get a taste of how the Mezentines are coping on their own, without mercenaries,” he said. “For one thing, I wanted to test their reconnaissance and intelligence system. I wanted to see if they’d notice you and if they’d be able to send a message back to the City before you got there. Next, I wanted to see how they’d react. I guessed it was fifty-fifty whether they’d panic and assume you were the advance party for an attack on the City, or guess we were planning to cut the Lonazep road. Finally, I wanted some idea of how they fight. Cutting the road was important too, of course, but it wasn’t uppermost in my mind, if you follow me.”