The Folding Knife (11 page)

Antigonus smiled. "True," he said.

"Tell you what," Basso went on, "let's rub it in. Let them know that as far as we're concerned, three hundred thousand is just pocket money. Let's buy something."

"There are times," Antigonus said solemnly, "when you remind me of your father."

"Thank you," Basso said. "No, really, it's a compliment. He may have had the business sense of a small rock, but he understood gestures. I know," he went on, "let's buy a ship. Better still, let's
build
some ships. Let's start up a shipyard."

"Basso..."

Basso didn't smile, but he wanted to. Antigonus had used his short name twice, maybe three times, in all the years they'd known each other. "No, I'm serious, listen," he said. "There's the government yards, three big private builders and a few old men who make rowing boats. There's no shortage of skilled labour we can poach from the government--they pay rubbish, and the conditions are primitive. Raw materials we can source ourselves, and bring them in on the Bank's freighters, on the return trip from Escia. We've got bay-front land standing idle for a site. I'm surprised you didn't think of it before."

"Lax of me," Antigonus said. "My apologies. Have you forgotten there's a war on?"

"All the better. Once the Sclerians start sinking our freighters, we'll have all the demand we can handle. You know," he said, "this could be the best deal I ever make."

Antigonus held his hands up. "If he was alive today, your father would be proud of you," he said. "But there, if you're dead set on it, I suppose it might work. I suppose there have been worse ideas in our nation's long and illustrious history. Who do you want me to put on it?"

They discussed that for a while, reached agreement, and Antigonus said goodnight and went away. Basso reached out with his hand and snapped the lamp-flame between forefinger and thumb, extinguishing it. There was almost enough light to read by from the windows of the Notaries' Hall across the street.

Shipbuilding, he thought: what on earth had possessed him to say that? He considered it for a moment. If a stranger had suggested it as an investment opportunity, would he have put money into it? The answer, all things being equal, would have to be yes. In fact, it was a stroke of genius; but he felt no pride or pleasure in it. He'd said, "let's buy a ship", because that was what his father had done once, and the rest had slipped out after it, like a lamb following its mother.

Lower town, near the Victory Temple. A long time since he'd been in lower town; before house prices started going up, and places where you wouldn't have gone after dark started to get expensive and fashionable. He pictured the Victory in his mind: a huge, stark white thing, built six hundred years ago, when lower town was the whole city, to commemorate some glorious feat of arms whose name he'd forgotten. Last time he was there, it reminded him of a beached ship, stranded and lost and out of context. Handy for the docks and the law courts, and that was about all you could say for it. And the fish market, of course, but Lina had never liked fish. He tried to remember what Bassano's views on fish were, but realised he didn't know.

He was sitting alone in the dark, which was ridiculous. He stood up and walked to the door, then became aware that he didn't know where he wanted to go. Home or his office in the House; his father had told him what a nuisance it was when you're the First Citizen, not being able to take a walk in the streets for fear of being recognised. Father, of course, had never walked a step if he could help it, and as for wandering the alleys and byways of the City, he'd just as soon have been eaten by bats. Presumably what he had in mind was not being able to walk from his front door to his carriage (they'd had to carry him those vulnerable ten yards in a sedan chair). The hell with it, Basso thought. His face wasn't on the money yet, surely nobody would recognise him. Then he thought about the dreaded Severus lower lip. Bassano hadn't inherited it, thank God; he took after his father as far as looks went. He thought about that, too.

Feeling mildly stupid, he went back to his desk and scrabbled about with the tinderbox to light the lamp. There was plenty of work to keep him occupied, which was just as well.

"Terico, you're the historian." Basso was keeping his temper very well. "You tell him."

That man, Aelius thought, has no neck. How does he breathe? Or swallow food? "He's quite right," the neckless man said. "At one time it was standard procedure for the First Citizen to lead the army in the field. Back then, of course--"

"You see?" Basso said, moving his arm for a gesture and knocking over a wineglass. Fortunately it was empty. "Standard procedure. This isn't just some whim, it's my fucking duty."

Aelius wasn't impressed. "At one time," he said. "What time would that be?"

"That's got nothing--" Basso started to say, but Terico talked over him; without raising his voice, just a matter of emphasis and clarity. "The last recorded instance was at Nasencat," he said. "Well over two hundred years ago."

Aelius grinned. "Nasencat. Wasn't that where we got wiped out by the Dalasseni?"

"Since then--" Terico started, but this time Basso raised his voice. "Cowardice, that's all it is," he said. "Cowardice and laziness. My illustrious predecessors didn't want to get killed, and they didn't want to have to sleep in a tent. That's not a good enough reason, if you ask me."

Aelius didn't answer. Instead, he gave Terico a long, deliberate stare. The historian had no trouble understanding. "I think I'd better be going now," he said, standing up. "I need to--"

"Terico, stay where you are."

"No, really." Terico reached for his document case. "Call of nature," he added, and Basso decided he probably wasn't lying about that.

"Now, then," Aelius said, when they were alone. "What the hell is all this about?"

Basso scowled at him. "There's a war on," he said. "I've given the matter serious thought, and I feel my place is at the front."

"Balls," Aelius said, and waited patiently while Basso pretended to be angry. "So," he went on, "what's the reason?"

Basso smiled at him; a huge, warm, good-natured grin. "All right," he said. "I give in." He paused, as though he'd suddenly realised what he'd just said. "You know," he went on, "I'm going to have all sorts of trouble with you. That's not good. The First Citizen shouldn't let himself be shoved around by the military."

Aelius looked at him calmly. "I think that's why you chose me," he said.

"Sorry?" Basso cupped his hand to his left ear. "Didn't quite catch that."

"It must've been tough on you," Aelius went on. "There you were, a kid, barely started shaving, and your father dumps running the Bank on you. But you cope. In ten minutes flat you've got the hang of it, and ten minutes after that you're a merchant prince, beating the best in the Republic."

"I had help."

"I know." Aelius nodded. "Your man Antigonus. Probably the only man in the world you actually respect. Tell me," he went on, "if you wanted to do something and Antigonus said no, would you listen to him?"

Basso frowned, as though the question didn't make sense. "It'd depend."

"On what?"

"Whether he was right."

Aelius laughed. "In other words, no. Even Antigonus." He touched the point of his beard with his left thumb. "I think that's because he was a slave."

"Bullshit."

"It's true," Aelius said quietly. "That's why you can't respect him. You realise he's very clever, very good indeed at what he does. You love him like he was a close relative--uncle or something, maybe even your father--but deep down inside, you can't help despising him because of what he was. Well?"

Basso's scowl flattened out a little. "Your point?"

Aelius nodded. "Me," he said, "I'm a foreigner. 'Barely house-broken Beroean', you once called me."

"How the hell did you know that?"

Aelius shrugged. "Antigonus didn't tell me," he said. "But I'm the man who made you deaf in one ear and got away with it. I was the man who wanted you to hang for killing your wife." He paused, as if issuing a challenge. "Well?"

"Your point?"

"Very well." Aelius seemed to untense a little. "You want to go and take charge of the war, personally. Fine. I'm saying no to you. Well?"

Basso closed his eyes, then opened them again. "Don't you want to know why I'm so keen to do this?"

"I know why," Aelius replied. "Partly, you don't trust anybody else to do a proper job; not me, not anybody, not in anything. You want the war over and done with as soon as possible. Sitting back here and waiting for news will have you biting your nails to the quick."

"True," Basso said. "But that's--"

"Second," Aelius went on, "it's something you haven't tried yet. In fact, it's about the only thing you haven't yet tried to do, done, done brilliantly well. In your mind you can see yourself winning the war in ten minutes flat."

"No false modesty," Basso said quietly. "I believe I probably could."

"You've read a book about it, you mean."

"I read a book about banking. Also, you'd be there to teach me. Like Antigonus taught me about business."

Aelius shook his head. "It's a little different," he said. "Not that I'm saying you couldn't do it. The difference is, if you get it wrong, a lot of men will get killed."

"All right," Basso said. "What's so different about you? You read a better book than me, or what?"

Aelius smiled. "Actually, I've read forty-seven books," he replied. "And attended four courses of lectures at the Academy, and you could say I've been apprenticed to masters of my craft for thirty-five years. Which means nothing," he added. "Biggest defeat in the history of your Republic: the Danzine Forks. General Carus Vetranio and sixty thousand highly trained professional soldiers wiped out by a bunch of farmers led by a blacksmith. Teudel was, of course, a military genius. We spent a term on him, studying his use of mobile reserves and his innovative approach to the support of supply lines, and he couldn't even write his name. When he was Emperor, he had to sign documents with a stencil. You could be another Teudel, I don't know."

Basso nodded. "In other words?" he said.

Aelius dipped his head, conceding the point. "You want to go to war so you can get away from the City," he said. "Simple as that. You want to put as much geography as you can between yourself and your sister."

"Yes," Basso said. "So what's wrong with that?"

Aelius sighed. "Nothing," he said. "In your shoes, I'd think the same way. But I don't want you in my war. You'd be a distraction. You'd interfere." He breathed out, and seemed to shrink a little. "The one thing you've got to do in a war," he said, "is give your general a little bit of room to make his mistakes in. It's inevitable," he went on. "All generals make mistakes, it simply can't be prevented. But when they've got the boss there right on top of them, breathing down their necks, it's too much pressure. You try too hard to be perfect, and that's how disasters happen. I'm sorry," he said, "but no. You can't come. You have to stay here."

So Basso stayed; and within a month, Aelius smashed the Sclerian land army at Drepana, captured the King's uncle and won a convincing naval victory in the Strait of Jeano, bottling up what was left of the Sclerian fleet in their home port. Two days after the report reached the City, the Severus shipyard launched its first warship; supplied to the government at cost, better specified than the products of the state yards and twenty per cent cheaper. Announcing this development, the First Citizen told the House that his yard would be operating at full capacity within six weeks, at which time he pledged to deliver one warship, fully equipped and seaworthy, every day for as long as necessary.

During the course of the subsequent negotiations, sources close to the King let it be known that it was the Republic's new shipbuilding programme, as much as the land and sea defeats, that had influenced the Sclerians to seek peace. The King's admirals, they said, would have no trouble sinking the Republic's ships the next time they met, but if they could be replaced so quickly, what would be the point? The royal yards, by contrast, were hopelessly inefficient, staffed by indolent drunkards, run by the labour guilds rather than the supervisors, and managed by aristocratic favourites who never left their country estates. In fact (the sources hinted carefully), once a solid and dependable peace had been established, the King might well be interested in placing a substantial order with the Severus yard, with a view to establishing a lasting trading relationship.

He was almost tempted to recall General Aelius. The Republic's finest tactical thinker, he reasoned, was probably the only man capable of working out a plan whereby the First Citizen (who never left home without an honour guard, his personal staff and half a dozen personal attendants) could accidentally bump into his nephew in the street without closing off half the streets in the city. In Antigonus' considered opinion, it simply couldn't be done. The highways commissioner held that it was possible, but only if Basso was prepared to breach the west aqueduct and flood the Drapers' Quarter. Macrinus the City Prefect offered to have Bassano arrested, so his uncle could drop by to visit him in jail.

In the end Basso gave up and sent for him.

"Uncle Basso," said Basso. "I haven't seen you in ages. But I guess you've been busy."