K. Parker: The Proof House

I see. What rotten luck. I really do wish I could help.

‘So do I,’ Gannadius said. ‘But you can’t, so that’s that. Anyway, how are you keeping? All well with you?’

The figure of Alexius (not really him, of course; not in any comprehensible sense, though of course he was there) shrugged its thin shoulders. Not so bad. A dying spearman staggered toward him; he stepped sideways to let him through. I haven’t been sleeping at all well, though. Bad dreams, you know.

‘You as well? This one?’

Not lately; in fact, not since the last time I saw you here. No, I fancy I’ve been dreaming the siege of Ap’ Escatoy. The Loredan connection, I suppose, though I can’t remember having seen him. Just a lot of very unpleasant dark tunnels, with the roof caving in and people fighting in the darkness. Now the siege is over, perhaps they’ll stop.

‘Let’s hope so,’ Gannadius said, trying to sound properly sympathetic. ‘I’m glad to say I haven’t-’

‘Uncle?’

Gannadius opened his eyes. ‘What? Oh, it’s you.’

The boy looked at him. ‘You were talking to somebody, ’ he said.

‘Was I?’ Gannadius looked vague. ‘I must have been dreaming. Um, what was I saying?’

The boy smiled. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ he said. ‘You were mumbling, and I think it was some other language. Do you do that a lot? Talk in your sleep, I mean.’

Gannadius frowned. ‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘You see, even if I do, I’m asleep and don’t know I’m doing it.’

‘So you’re him, are you?’ the clerk said, looking sideways along his nose. ‘The hero.’

There was a scorpion on the window-ledge; a female, with her newly born young clinging to her back. Bardas counted nine of them. She skittered a few steps, stopped and froze, her pincers raised. The clerk either hadn’t noticed or wasn’t bothered.

‘That’s me,’ Bardas said. ‘At least, I’m Bardas Loredan, and I’ve been called a lot worse.’

The clerk raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, now,’ he said. ‘A sense of humour, too. You’ll get on all right with the prefect, he’s got a sense of humour. At least,’ he added, ‘he makes jokes. More a producer than a consumer, if you take my meaning.’

Bardas nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

The clerk dismissed the thanks with a small gesture of his long, elegant fingers. ‘We’ve heard all about you,’ he said. ‘Of course, you’re an interesting man.’ He swatted at a fly without looking at it; got it, too. ‘The prefect collects interesting men. He’s a student of human nature.’

‘It’s an interesting thing to study,’ Bardas said.

‘So I’m told.’ The scorpion set off again; but the clerk spotted her out of the corner of his eye, picked up a half-round ebony ruler from the folding desk in front of him, leaned across and dealt her a devastating smack with the flat side, crushing her and her nine children into a sticky, compacted mess. ‘It’s all right,’ the clerk went on, flicking the remains off the ledge, ‘they’re not nearly as dangerous as people make out. Sure, if they sting you, chances are you’ll swell up for a day or so, and it hurts dreadfully. But it’s quite rare for anybody to die.’

‘That’s good to know,’ Bardas said.

The clerk wiped the ruler against the wall-hanging and put it back on his desk. ‘So you used to be a law-fencer, ’ he said. ‘I’ve heard about that. You used to kill people to settle lawsuits.’

‘That’s right,’ Bardas said.

‘Remarkable. Well, I suppose there’s something to be said for it, as a way of dealing with these things. Quicker than our way, probably fairer, undoubtedly less painful and gruelling for the participants. Not how I’d choose to earn a living, though.’

‘It had its moments,’ Bardas replied.

‘Better than digging mines, I expect.’

‘Most things are.’

‘I believe you.’ The clerk picked up a short, thin-bladed knife and started trimming a pen. ‘You’ll find the prefect is a pretty fair-minded sort of man; remarkably unprejudiced, really, for an army officer. You play straight with him and he’ll play straight with you.’

‘I’ll definitely bear that in mind,’ Bardas said.

Through the window came the scent of some strong, sweet flower – a pepper-vine, at a guess; he’d noticed that the walls of the prefecture were covered in them. There was also a lingering smell of perfume, the sticks they burned here to mask out the other strong, sweet smells. A bird of some description squawked on the parapet above the window.

‘Of course, most of the senior officers-’ The clerk never got to finish his sentence, because the door opened and a man in uniform (dark-brown gambeson, steel gorget, dress dummy pauldrons, vambraces and cops) walked past without looking at either of them. ‘He’ll see you now,’ the clerk said, and turned his attention to the papers on his desk. Bardas got up and walked into the office.

The prefect was a big man, even by the standard of the Sons of Heaven; darker than most of those Bardas had come across at Ap’ Escatoy, which suggested he was from the inner provinces, a man of consequence. His head was bald and his beard was cropped short and close. The top joint of his left little finger was missing.

‘Bardas Loredan,’ he said.

Bardas nodded.

‘Sit down, please.’ The prefect studied him for a moment, then nodded towards the empty chair. ‘Presumably you have a certificate from your commanding officer at Ap’ Escatoy.’

Bardas pulled the little brass cylinder out from his sleeve and handed it over. Carefully the prefect popped off the caps and poked the curl of paper out with the tip of his mutilated finger.

‘Please bear with me,’ he said as he unrolled it, and as he read it his face was a study in concentration.

‘A fascinating career,’ he said at last. ‘You were second in command of Maxen’s army.’

Baras nodded.

‘Remarkable,’ the prefect said. ‘And then your years as a law-fencer – a most intriguing occupation – followed by your brief service as colonel-general of Perimadeia.’ He looked up. ‘I’ve read about it, of course,’ he said. ‘A fine defence, under the circumstances. And the final assault really only made possible by treachery, so hardly your fault.’

‘Thank you,’ Bardas said.

‘And after that,’ the prefect went on, ‘a somewhat shadowy role in the war between the Shastel Order and Scona; well, we won’t go into that, it was a most unusual sequence of events by all accounts.’ He paused, but Bardas didn’t say anything, so he continued, ‘After which you enlisted as a private soldier with the provincial office and spent – let’s see – three years, give or take a week, in the saps at Ap’ Escatoy, a most distinguished tour of duty by any standards.’ He looked at Bardas again, with no perceptible expression. ‘Very much the stuff of legends,’ he said.

‘It didn’t seem that way at the time,’ Bardas said.

The prefect considered for a moment, then laughed. ‘No, of course not. Now then, what else have we got here? Ah, yes, your brother Gorgas; the same Gorgas Loredan who staged the military coup in the Mesoge. Clearly soldiering runs in the family. Another remarkable career, by all accounts. And very shrewd, strategically speaking. The importance of the Mesoge as a potential theatre of confrontation has been sorely underestimated, in my opinion.’

Bardas thought for a moment. ‘That’s Gorgas for you,’ he said. ‘Though my sister’s the smart one in our family.’

The prefect smiled again. ‘Do you really think so?’ he said. ‘To build up a thriving business and then lose it so quickly, over such a trifling series of incidents? Well, of course I can’t claim to know all the facts.’ Again he paused, then continued, ‘All in all,’ he said, ‘an impressive resume for a sergeant of engineers. I confess, I’m curious as to how you came to join the provincial office, a man with your talents and experience. I’d have thought you’d have found something rather more challenging.’