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  I can’t describe what it looked like, when the cranes winched it out of the pit—still unfettled and unpolished, gritty and dull from the mold, with the sprues still branching out of it, as though it had been stored all winter and started to sprout. Even so, it was, quite literally, staggering. I turned to Master Prosper and said, “The best thing ever,” and I meant it too.

  He—they—looked at me. Couldn’t say anything, because it wasn’t something any of us would talk about, ever, to anyone. But words weren’t necessary. We all understood.

  * * *

  Anyway, it rose up out of the pit, and was mounted on rollers and hauled into the enormous shed they’d built to house it while it was cleaned up and polished, ahead of the grand unveiling ceremony, in the presence of the royal family, the great man himself, and the entire ruling nobility of the nation. The day before the ceremony, my old friend the chaplain came back from his far-distant posting to bless the statue. I met him outside the shed; it was just starting to get dark. There were four or five heavily laden carts outside, and a small bunch of carters.

  * * *

  I didn’t attend the actual unveiling ceremony, which was just as well.

  The account in the official biography makes thrilling reading, especially the bit when, at high noon precisely, the Great Horse exploded like a cannon shell, blowing out a crater a quarter of an acre across and raining fragments of bronze shrapnel over half the city. The entire royal family was killed instantly, along with Prosper of Schanz and the flower of all Essen.

  To this day, nobody knows who was responsible for filling the inside of the horse with gunpowder, though naturally the finger of suspicion points at the leaders of the Republican faction, who immediately took control of the Duchy and continue in power to this day. Nor—not that it matters, unless you have a morbid taste for technical trivia—has anyone ever been able to explain how the bomb was set off, since a burning fuse would have been painfully obvious, with all the security attending such an event.

  Actually, I can explain that. After we sawed a hole in the top of the horse’s head and poured in the powder, thirty-five barrels of the stuff, I replaced the horse’s enamel eyes with glass ones, which I’d had specially made, following a design in Prosper’s Principles of Mathematics; the section on burning glasses. I knew where the horse would be at precisely noon, and also the sun. The rest was simple optics. Soldering the top of the head back on was a ticklish business, with all that powder in there, but we got away with it.

  The Great Horse was very beautiful indeed. The mythical version of it, which will survive in people’s imaginations until there are no more humans left on earth, will be many, many times lovelier, and its effect infinitely more powerful and inspiring. Moral: you can blow up a statue, and its creator, but you can’t kill goodness and beauty. Which is another way of saying that the greatest force for good in this world is, of course, Art, especially Art filled with high explosives. I think Master Prosper would have liked that.

  (You see, I could have dragged Him out of the Prince, which would have killed the Prince, but then the Duke would’ve had me hanged, and She’d have got away free. Or I could have thrown Her out of Master Prosper, and She’d have killed Prosper on the way out—the gallows for me, and the Prince would’ve grown up with my old friend lodged inside him. One but not both—if it hadn’t been for Prosper’s wonderful horse.)

  I met Him again, not long after. He told me He’d lodged an official complaint about me with the proper authorities. Bloody cheek, which I’ve since given Him reason to regret.

  And the grand design goes on, presumably, in some form or other, world without end, amen. But not on my watch.

  About the Author

  Having worked in journalism, numismatics, and the law, K. J. Parker now writes for a precarious living.

  K. J. Parker also writes under the name Tom Holt.

  You can sign up for email updates here.

  Also by K. J. Parker

  The Devil You Know

  The Last Witness

  The Company

  The Folding Knife

  The Hammer

  Sharps

  Purple and Black

  Blue and Gold

  Savages

  The Two of Swords

  Academic Exercises (collection)

  THE FENCER TRILOGY

  Colours in the Steel

  The Belly of the Bow

  The Proof House

  THE SCAVENGER TRILOGY

  Shadow

  Pattern

  Memory

  THE ENGINEER TRILOGY

  Devices and Desires

  Evil for Evil

  The Escapement

  AS TOM HOLT (SELECTED TITLES)

  Expecting Someone Taller

  Who’s Afraid of Beowulf?

  Flying Dutch

  Faust Among Equals

  Snow White and the Seven Samurai

  Valhalla

  The Portable Door

  You Don’t Have to Be Evil to Work Here, But It Helps

  The Better Mousetrap

  Blonde Bombshell

  The Outsorcerer’s Apprentice

  The Good, the Bad, and the Smug

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Epigraph

  Begin Reading

  About the Author

  Also by K. J. Parker

  Copyright Page

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novella are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  PROSPER’S DEMON

  Copyright © 2019 by Tom Holt

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Sam Weber

  Cover design by Christine Foltzer

  Edited by Jonathan Strahan

  A Tor.com Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates

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  New York, NY 10271

  www.tor.com

  Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.

  ISBN 978-1-250-26050-5 (ebook)

  ISBN 978-1-250-26051-2 (trade paperback)

  First Edition: January 2020

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