K Parker: Evil for Evil

"Orsea," Valens said quietly, "it's all right. Sit down."

Orsea hesitated, then did as he was told. The room was suddenly, completely quiet. I'd better do something, Valens thought. He looked round the room and picked a face at random.

"Carausius," he said, "how soon do you think we could be ready?"

Was Carausius smirking slightly? Probably not. He stood up. "It depends on what we want to take with us, obviously," he replied. "Assuming you only want the bare minimum-food, clothes, essential military supplies-we could be on the road inside a week."

Valens smiled. "I don't think the situation's as desperate as all that," he replied. "Let's say a fortnight."

Carausius nodded. "In that case," he said, "the real limitation on what we can take is transport. I had a quick inventory made of all the available carts, wagons and horses, I'll see to it you get a copy before the end of today. In a nutshell, a fortnight's plenty of time to load up all our available transport capacity. Tell me when you want to leave, and what the priorities are."

Valens nodded. "Another thing," he said, and he fixed his eyes on the back wall, just above head height. "We're agreed that one of the best ways of stopping the Mezentines is by being as expensive to kill as we possibly can. We aren't going to get very far with that strategy if we let them get their hands on the silver mines." He felt it as he spoke; a faint shiver, as though he'd brushed an open cut with his fingertips. "I'm prepared to bet that the war faction in the Guild assembly is selling this war to the skeptics on the basis that getting control of the mines will not only pay for slaughtering us, it'll go a long way toward wiping out the losses incurred in conquering and occupying Eremia. As long as the mines are there and capable of being worked, they've got an incentive. Take that away…" He shrugged. "We need to give the opposition in the Assembly as much help as we can. So really, we haven't got any choice in the matter. We've got to put the mines out of action, and we've got to do it in such a way that, if they finish the job on us, it won't be worth their while financially to stick around and get them up and running again."

He paused, to give them time to be suitably horrified and angry. To their credit, they hid it well. What he needed now, of course, was someone to stand up and disagree with him. He waited, but nobody obliged. He had them too well trained.

"Let's think about it for a moment," he went on. "It's a question of the degree of sabotage, and the fundamental difference between them and us. They're businessmen. They can only afford to do a thing if it makes money. If the cost of repairing the damage to the mines is too high, they won't bother. We don't have to live by those rules. The silver's all we've got. And if we wreck the mines, the silver will still be there, until such time as we can rebuild and start mining again. If it takes us ten years and all our available manpower, so what? We can afford the time and effort, because our time and our work come cheap. They can't. But if we leave the mines there for them to take-and let's face it, we couldn't defend them against an assault or a siege, any more than we could defend the city-it's giving them a reason to keep going, even if we do manage to hurt them. It's harsh, I know, but…" He paused again, shook his head and sat down.

This time he got what he'd been hoping for. Licinius, senior partner of the Blue Crown mine, and the nephew of the first man Valens had ever had put to death. He was frowning as he stood up, as though he was in two minds about raising a matter of marginal interest.

"I take your point," he said. "And in principle, I agree. What I'm a bit concerned about is the practicalities. With respect; it's all very well to say we should sabotage the mines to the point where the Mezentines can't get them running again. The fact is, though, I don't think it'd be physically possible-not in the time available, with the men and resources we could spare. We build our mines to last, after all."

Valens relaxed a little. He couldn't have asked for a better objection. "You're the expert, Licinius," he said, "so obviously I'm happy to listen to what you've got to say. But I think you may be worrying unduly. I've read up on this a bit, and I've talked to some engineers who know far more about this stuff than I do." He noticed Vaatzes out of the corner of his eye, completely expressionless, like a stone goblin. "As I understand it, what you do is fill the ventilation chambers at the ends of the primary access tunnels-am I getting the technical terms right? I'm sure you know what I mean-you fill them with nice dry logs soaked in lamp oil, set a fuse, light it and run. The fire draws its own draft down the ventilation shafts, so you get a really good heat very quickly; more than enough, at any rate, to burn out all the props in the gallery and cave in not just the chamber but the tunnels as well. Once that lot's come down, it'd be quicker to start all over again with new shafts rather than trying to dig out the mess in the old ones. Which, of course, is what we'll have to do, when the war's over and the Mezentines have all gone home. But we've already been into that. As far as what you were saying goes, Licinius, I don't see that there's an insuperable problem."

All Licinius could do was nod politely to concede the point. Valens nodded back, to show that all was forgiven. He'd been bluffing, of course. All he knew about the subject was what he'd read in a standard textbook on siege techniques, and the method he'd described was how they undermined the walls of cities, not the roofs of silver mines. Licinius had just confirmed that the method would work equally well in the mines, which was good of him, even if he didn't know he'd done it. Valens made a mental note to look into the matter in proper detail, when he had the time.

"Right," he said, "I think we're all agreed, then. I'm going to have to ask all of you to help out with the planning; I'll let you know what I need from you over the next couple of days. Orsea, if you could spare me a moment."

That was the cue for the rest of them to leave. He could feel their relief, and also their resignation. But it was his job to make decisions; and if he didn't, who would?

Orsea stood up. The rest of them left without looking at him, as though he was some kind of monstrosity. Years ago, hadn't people believed that if you looked a leper in the eyes, you could catch the disease that way? Maybe they still had the same belief about humiliation.

"I'm sorry," Orsea said. "That didn't come out the way I meant it to."

Valens shrugged, and perched on the edge of the table. "It's all right," he said, "you didn't do anybody else any harm."

He could feel the jab go home. It had only been slight, but Orsea felt the least touch these days. Understandably. He had a lot to feel vulnerable about. "I wanted to explain," Valens said, in as gentle a voice as he could manage, "why I don't want you to come to the council meetings anymore."

Orsea turned his head and looked at him. The expression on his face was familiar: the deer at bay, with nowhere left to run to. The difference was, Valens hunted deer because he wanted them; the meat, the hide, the trophy. Hunting was about reducing a wild thing into possession. He'd never wanted Orsea for anything at all.

"Because I make a fool of myself," Orsea said. "Understood."

"No." Valens sighed. "I was thinking of you, actually. And Veatriz." He paused. He hadn't meant to come so close to the truth. "Look, it's obvious. It's tearing you apart, even hearing news about the war. There's no need for you to put yourself through that. I'll see to it you're kept in the loop, and anything you've got to say, about policy, you can say to me direct." He stood up and walked across, until he was within arm's length. "If you want to keep coming to the meetings, then fine. I just thought you'd prefer not to."