K Parker - Evil for Evil

In which case, Valens concluded, it was essential that the current Mezentine government didn't fall; because they must be well aware that their only chance of survival lay in achieving something that could be made to look like the accomplishment of their original objective in the brief space of time remaining to them before their political enemies brought them down. The pretext for the war had been Vaatzes' defection; if they had Vaatzes, and could point to the blackened ruins of Civitas Eremiae, they stood a chance of persuading their constituents that they had done what they had set out to do. Handing over Orsea might just achieve the same result; giving them Orsea and Vaatzes would almost certainly do the trick. Vaatzes on his own-well, what mattered to Valens wasn't saving the Mezentine government but striking a deal that would satisfy them. What mattered wasn't whether Vaatzes' head would be enough to rescue them, but persuading them that it might be. Could he do that? He considered his own abilities, and decided that he probably could. At the very least, it was worth a try.

Well, then; problem solved.

He poured himself a glass of wine, looked at it and poured it back into the jug. Wherever you went in the castle, there were jugs and decanters, glasses, cups and mugs; wine, both domestic and imported, mead, cider, perry; the simple fact was that he didn't like the stuff and never had. He didn't like the way it tasted, and he hated the way it fogged up his mind. His father had always said he couldn't think without a few drinks inside him, and that was probably true.

Problem solved, indeed. He sat down again and thought about Vaatzes' visit. Sealing up the mines would deprive the Mezentine opposition of their motive for taking over the war (assuming that they knew about it, and of course they would, if their spies were earning their pay). Understandable, therefore, that Vaatzes should want to see to it that the job was done properly, which meant doing it himself. Vadani engineers, given the job of half sealing the mines, might well err on the side of caution, with the result that the resourceful Mezentines would be able to get past their attempts at sabotage. On that level, Vaatzes' offer of help was reasonable enough. It was, of course, also just a pretext. It had been enough to get him an audience with the gullible Vadani duke (a clever fellow, but not nearly as clever as he thought he was) and an opportunity to make himself indispensable by pointing out the inadequacy of the duchy's materiel resources and taking responsibility for putting matters in order. Basically the same as he'd done in Eremia: giving the Republic's enemies the technological secrets they'd gone to war to keep control of. Once the Vadani accepted Vaatzes' help, simply handing Vaatzes back would no longer be good enough, since the damage would've been done. Clever man; problem not solved.

In which case, it was just as well that Valens had figured out what Vaatzes was up to before it was too late. All the more reason, therefore, to make a deal and hand him over now, while there was still time.

He thought about his reaction to that. Long ago, one of his father's huntsmen had taught him that the one thing a hunter should never do is get angry with the quarry. It would be inexcusable to blame a living thing for doing anything it possibly could to avoid being caught and killed. Feeling angry, or hurt or betrayed, because Vaatzes was trying to manipulate him was therefore out of the question. Instead, when you recognize the trick the quarry is playing on you, the proper reaction is to be glad of the insight you've gained into the way its mind works, because of course you can't hope to hunt something successfully unless you understand it first; and understanding comes from forgiveness, just as forgiveness comes from love.

Problem, then, still solved. What he should do now was write two letters: one to the Mezentines, proposing the deal, one to the guard captain, ordering Vaatzes' immediate arrest. Two letters to save his people from the consequences of his own stupidity. He ought to do it. He ought to do it right away.

Instead, he refilled the wine glass, pulled a face and drank the sour, dusty-tasting stuff down like medicine. It didn't make him feel any better, but he acknowledged the slight fuzziness it produced in his mind. Lots of things wrong with alcohol, but it has one redeeming virtue; it makes you stupid, and there are times when you need to be too stupid to do the intelligent thing.

He looked at the empty glass, then reached for an apple to take the taste away. In five days' time he'd be up to his eyes in savages; pleasant thought. The Cure Hardy; last time he'd had any dealings with them, he'd spent a certain degree of time and effort trying to understand them a little better. He'd ground a few insights out of them before having them killed, which he'd had to do because they were raiding his territory and harming his people. Now, here they were again. He had no idea what they wanted. He yawned.

Someone knocked at the door, and he groaned. He had the option, of course, of simply not being there. Let them knock until their knuckles started to ache, and then they'd go away again.

"Come in," he said.

As it turned out, it was only Macer, with some letters for him to sign. He nodded, and Macer put them down in front of him. The tradition was that letters needing a signature came in on a half-inch-thick sheet of glass; something flat to rest on in an uncertain world. "Do I need to read any of these?" he asked.

Macer shook his head. "Requisitions, mostly," he said. "And you're authorizing payments to a couple of merchants-hay, oats, stuff for the carthorses-and there's a warrant for some character called Jarnac Ducas."

"Oh, him." Valens nodded. "Wasn't life so much simpler when the Eremians were our enemies? You'd think that now there're so many fewer of them, they'd be less of a nuisance. Other way about, apparently." He signed a letter and Macer took it from him for sanding and blotting. "While I think of it," he went on, "the Mezentine, Ziani Vaatzes. I want you to go and see him, directly after dinner."

"Right," Macer said. "What about?"

Suddenly, Valens grinned. "Good question," he replied. "You're either going to make sure he gets anything he wants in the whole wide world, or you're going to have him arrested. Maybe both, and in no particular order, I haven't decided yet." He noticed Macer noticing the used wine glass; that obvious, then. He pulled himself together a little. "Vaatzes will hand you a list," he said. "All sorts of expensive things we haven't got; most of them you won't even have heard of, probably. Find out what they are, where you get them from and how much they cost. Then see me. If Vaatzes tells you to do anything for him, tell him yes, you'll see to it right away, then report back to me. Also, I want details of everywhere he goes and everyone he talks to."

"Understood," Macer said. "Actually, I've been doing that for the last couple of weeks. I've got a list right here, if it's of any use to you."

"Really?" Valens frowned. "Well done. All right, let's see it."

Macer never went anywhere without a battered pigskin folder stuffed with tatty scraps of paper. He opened it, leafed through, took out a scruffy little corner of four-times-erased parchment. Macer's family had been government clerks for six generations.

"Thanks," Valens said, as he glanced at the list. "Who the hell is Henida Eiconodoulus?"

"Merchant Adventurer," Macer replied immediately. "Big woman, wears a red dress. Used to be in the salt business. There's nothing against her."

Valens shrugged. "Maybe he just likes big women," he replied. "This is quite a list. Macer, you annoying bastard, why do you have to write everything so bloody small?"

"Saves on paper."