The Folding Knife Part 38

"I didn't realise..." He shook his head. Too stupid to be able to think through the mess in his head. "I didn't think it mattered to you."

"Shows how well you know me."

He tried to sit down, slipped, landed heavily on his backside, jarring his back. "If you'd come to me and said, don't do this, for my sake."

"Would you have stopped the war?"

"Of course." b.l.o.o.d.y stupid question. "Of course I would."

She looked stunned, quite empty. Then she said, "It never occurred to me."

Stupid woman, he thought. "You realise what you've done," he said. "Didn't you see the reports? They've got the b.l.o.o.d.y plague in the villages now. It'll kill half your precious people."

"I know," she said. "But we'd rather die than be conquered."

That was so ridiculous, so utterly stupid, it made him want to scream. But that wouldn't help. He looked at her, and all he could see was a stupid woman. He was sick of the sight of her.

"Fine," he said. "You go, then."

Obediently she stood up. "If I'd asked," she said, "would you really...?"

He didn't answer. He wanted her to go away as quickly as possible. She'd killed Ba.s.sano; but he wasn't angry, somehow. You can't be angry with someone that stupid; just nauseated. "Get out of my sight," he said.

She walked away. He didn't look up until he was sure she'd be out of sight, in case he saw her again. When he lifted his head and looked round, there was just the road. He didn't even know which way she'd gone.

He pulled off his boot and fished out a gold nomisma. He turned it over and looked at his face on it. Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Honorius Arcadius Severus, by the grace of the Invincible Sun First Citizen of the Vesani. His head in profile, facing left; his deaf ear turned toward the viewer. Private joke. After a while he put it back and pulled his boot on.

He didn't feel stupid any more. Nor did he have any interest in looking over his shoulder, towards the City. His sister was still there, presumably. By now, the mob would have looted his house, probably set fire to it. They'd have smashed in the doors of the Bank. He tried to remember, but Ba.s.so the Magnificent, Ba.s.so the Fortunate eluded him. Just the face on the money. He grinned.

True, his own wife had betrayed him; committed a crime so extraordinary, so bizarre, that he could barely get his mind around it. She'd done it for her side, so that they'd won, even though it meant half of them dying in misery, pain and fear. Sides were all that mattered; Ba.s.sano had said that, so it had to be true. He thought about the picture on the beautiful yellow coin-Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Severus on one side, Victory advancing left on the other side. Two sides of the same coin; and there's no such thing as good or bad luck. Things just happen.

He stood up, and he felt wonderful. He knew it wouldn't last. Fairly soon, the full weight of loss would drop on him and crush him, like a stone from a siege engine. Fairly soon, hunger and weariness would turn him into an animal. Right now, however, he was a free man, with nothing and nowhere to go, and all his enemies behind him, not knowing where he was.

He drew his sister up into his mind, and felt nothing. Also, he reminded himself, he hadn't killed his wife. The penknife had been in his hand, and he'd folded it and put it away. He felt proud, as though he'd achieved something.

A middle-aged man, deaf in one ear, useless left hand.

He walked until it was too dark to see, then lay down beside the road with his bag for a pillow. He was too hungry to sleep, and Melsuntha had taken the biscuits. He lay with his eyes open, looking at the stars. They seemed hostile, like tiny white insects. He tried to a.n.a.lyse the situation he found himself in, but he found he couldn't accept any of it. Really, he was still head of the Bank, First Citizen, the bewilderment and admiration of the world, and Ba.s.sano was still alive, and for some reason which he'd doubtless remember in due course he was choosing to sleep out under the stars. He watched the sky grow dark, and saw orange and red oozing out of the seams. When the dark was thin enough for him to see the road, he got up, winced at six different variations on cramp, and started to walk. His feet hurt.

He had the road to himself; nothing to be seen anywhere, not even sheep. He found a stream, leaking out of a hillside; the water was slightly brown and tasted of mud. How long, he wondered, can you keep walking without food?

When he reached the top of the hills and looked down, and saw the road below him divide north and east, he decided to go east after all. Somewhere in that direction was Auxentia. He was fairly sure the Auxentines would kill him if they realised who he was; that or lock him up and send him home, or to the Empire, so same difference. Like it mattered.

He walked all day, and mostly he thought about food, about how hungry he was, though from time to time he thought about how much his feet hurt. As the sun went down, he saw a building beside the road, a grey stone square block. One of the Bank's post-houses.

The resident was an old man, who didn't want to open the door. Ba.s.so showed him a silver coin, which changed his mind.

"There's no food," the old man said.

"Pity," Ba.s.so replied, and put the coin back in his pocket. The old man gave him a poisonous look, went into the back room and came out again with a third of a loaf of grey bread and a yellow brick that might once have been cheese.

"Do I get pickles with that?" Ba.s.so asked, but maybe the old man was deaf. Ba.s.so put the coin down on the one ancient table. The old man picked it up and put the plate down where the coin had been. That's the epitome of trade, Ba.s.so thought; really, that's all you need.

The bread was so hard it cut his mouth.

The old man wanted more money for letting him sleep on the floor. Ba.s.so grinned at him. "I haven't got any more money," he said.

"f.u.c.k you, then," the old man said, and went out back, slamming the door behind him.

In the morning he set off again, before the old man emerged. At nightfall he came to the next post-house, but it was shuttered and the door was barred from the outside.

At noon the next day he met a man and a woman driving an empty cart. They stopped and looked at him. He asked them if they could sell him some food. They looked at each other as if he'd made an obscene suggestion. He took out his other silver coin and held it up between the forefinger and thumb of his right hand.

"We got bread," the woman said (the man scowled horribly at her). "And cheese and sausage."

Ba.s.so nodded, but didn't move his hand. "Can you give me a ride?" he asked.

"Where are you headed?" the woman asked. Ba.s.so shrugged. The man dug the woman in the side with his elbow. "Sorry," the woman said. "You want the food or not?"

His portrait in silver bought him a whole loaf of grey pumice, enough cheese to cover the palm of his hand, and eight inches of plaster-cased sausage. He thanked them. They drove on without saying anything.

He rationed the bread, a flake at a time; then he cut shavings off the cheese with his penknife; then he ate the sausage all in one go. That night it rained, and he had no shelter; he sat with his arms wrapped round his knees, and the rain crept between his collar and his neck. In the morning, he stood up and faced the road. There seemed to be just as much of it as there had been the previous day, and the day before, and the day before that. On balance, he thought, force of habit is the most compelling reason for staying alive.

In the middle of the afternoon he climbed up a hog's back and saw in the distance a cart. As he came closer, he saw it was actually a coach. The horses had been unyoked and hobbled to graze. He had six turners in copper, and the contents of his boot.

He came closer, and saw a man sitting inside the coach, with the doors shut; no sign of a driver or anybody else. He walked up and tapped on the door. The man inside was asleep, his chin on his chest. He was magnificently dressed in a purple and red gown crawling with gold thread and gold b.u.t.tons. He was fat, about sixty, with thin grey hair brushed over his bald patch.

Ba.s.so knocked again. The man woke up and looked at him. "Get lost," he said.

Ba.s.so was no expert, but he had an idea the purple gown was some sort of priestly vestment. "Excuse me," Ba.s.so said. "Can you spare me some food?"

The priest scowled at him, opened his mouth, then froze. "I know you," he said.

Oh for crying out loud. "I don't think so," Ba.s.so said, trying to be pleasant.

The priest was rummaging in his copious sleeve. He found a purse, opened it and took out a coin; a gold nomisma. Ba.s.so sighed. "I get that all the time," he said. "But I'm not him, really."

But the priest was smiling; not in a nice way. "Let's see," he said (he had a strong Auxentine accent). "You look exactly like him, and those boots must've cost two weeks' wages for a working man. Nice coat, too, except you look like you've been sleeping on a s.h.i.+theap in it."

Ba.s.so shook his head. "Charity," he said. "I only beg at the very best houses."

"That's not a beggar's voice," the priest said. He looked stupid, but he didn't sound it. "You're him, aren't you?"

Ba.s.so sighed. "Tell you what," he said. "This beautiful silver inkwell for a loaf of bread. Well?"

The priest took it from him, looked at it and handed it back. "Got one," he said. "Got a whole shelf of them."

"Fine," Ba.s.so snapped. "So how'd it be if I cut your throat and helped myself?"

The priest laughed. "You can try," he said. "I wasn't always a priest. The likes of you I could have for breakfast."

Ba.s.so shrugged. "So what are you doing in the middle of nowhere with no driver?"

"You don't use your eyes, is your trouble," the priest said. "Axle's busted. Wheel's off. They've gone back to the town to get the smith and the joiner. I couldn't be a.r.s.ed to walk." He reached down by his side and produced a slab of something, wrapped in vine leaves. Auxentine smoked lamb, most likely. "You are him, aren't you?"

"For what you're holding I can be anybody you like."

The priest smiled and threw him the meat; he tried to catch it left-handed, and it ended up in the dust. He brushed it off carefully. "If you're him," the priest went on, "I owe you a favour, specially if you're down on your luck."

"I'm him," Ba.s.so said.

The priest laughed. "You haven't got a f.u.c.king clue who I am, have you?"

"No."

The priest didn't seem to mind. "I'm Magnentius," he said, "cardinal of the Auxentines. You sent me a box of candied figs when I got elected."

Ba.s.so remembered. "You sat on the throne and refused to move," he said.

"That's me," Magnentius replied. "Anyhow, they were b.l.o.o.d.y good figs. I'm very partial to them, and you can't get 'em at home."

Ba.s.so laughed, as if the world suddenly made sense. "And a book," he said. "I sent you a book."

"Did you?" Magnentius shrugged. "I get sent a lot of books. So," he went on, "now you know who I am."

"I'm Ba.s.sia.n.u.s Severus," Ba.s.so replied. "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," Magnentius said. "What're you doing tramping the roads looking like s.h.i.+t?"

So Ba.s.so told him. When he'd finished, Magnentius frowned. "You just cleared out?" he said. "b.u.g.g.e.red off and let them win?"

"Yes," Ba.s.so replied. "Not what you'd have done."

"Too right," Magnentius said. "I'd have fought the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, and won. Still, that's my way. I started off working the docks, you know; I learned the hard way. Never back down, never turn your back on a friend."

The second part, Ba.s.so reflected, could be interpreted two ways. Both equally valid. "Well," he said, "it was a pleasure meeting you. I'd be grateful if you don't tell anybody you've seen me."

Magnentius was thinking, clearly a process that took both time and effort. "I'll do better than that," he said. "Listen, you must be quite handy with figures, right?"

"They wouldn't agree back home," Ba.s.so said. "But I can do simple arithmetic, if that's what you mean."

"Tell you what." Magnentius didn't seem aware that he'd spoken. "I'm p.i.s.s-poor with figures, always have been. Can't read or write either," he added, with what could only have been pride. "And here's you, smart fellow, in need of a job; and you sent me a jar of figs when you didn't have to." Magnentius seemed to hesitate; then he said: "Here's what I'm saying. You come and work for me, clerking and figuring, and I'll see you right. You'll be safe in Auxentia, so long as n.o.body knows who you are."

Ba.s.so's turn to frown. "Just because of a jar of figs."

"Take it or leave it," Magnentius said. "I'll say this, you won't get far on your own, not on this road. Nearest town's a day's walk east, and they'll cut your throat for your shoes."

It was, Ba.s.so decided, essentially perfect. It took him all his strength of mind not to burst out laughing. "That's very kind of you," he said. "Thank you."

"You'll have to work, mind," Magnentius said. "Hard work, long hours, and don't expect any favours."

"Of course," Ba.s.so said. "Out of curiosity, though: why?"

Magnentius shrugged, and his chins shook. "I do as the fancy takes me," he said. "Maybe it's your lucky day."

They came back with the smith and the joiner that evening, and worked through the night. Magnentius introduced Ba.s.so as a poor clerk, down on his luck, name of- "Antigonus," Ba.s.so said.

In the morning, they tacked up the horses and drove on. They were heading for the crossroads; north, to inspect the episcopal estates on the Blemmyan border. It would be a long journey, but n.o.body was in any hurry. Ba.s.so rode on the roof of the coach, with the porter, the guard and the cardinal's valet.

Extras.

Meet the Author.

K. J. PARKER is a pseudonym. Find more about the author at

www.kjparker.com.

introducing.

If you enjoyed THE FOLDING KNIFE,.

look out for.

THE COMPANY.

by K. J. Parker.

Hoping for a better life, five war veterans colonize an abandoned island. They take with them everything they could possibly need-food, clothes, tools, weapons, even wives.

But an unantic.i.p.ated discovery shatters their dream and replaces it with a very different one. The colonists feel sure that their friends.h.i.+p will keep them together. Only then do they begin to realize that they've brought with them rather more than they bargained for.