K Parker - Devices and Desires

'Went out to have a look,' someone else replied. 'I think he gets antsy, just sitting around. You know, man of action.'

Scattered laughter; everybody knew Jarnac Ducas, of course. By the same token, everybody in the room was determinedly not looking at the vacant space where Miel Ducas should have been. They'd been not looking for hours. The strain was worse than the bombardment.

'How about a night sortie?' someone said. Silence. It wasn't the first time the suggestion had been made, and there was no reason to suppose that the many valid reasons against it had ceased to apply. 'I was thinking of a small force, no more than a hundred men…'

Whoever it was bleated on for a minute or so, then shut up. Nobody could be bothered to say anything. They were waiting for the whistle; and when it came, they counted.

'The Duke's compliments,' the man said, 'and if it's convenient, we've got orders to move you to the ground floor.'

Miel looked at him as though he was mad. 'The ground floor?' he repeated.

The man nodded. 'On account of the bombardment,' he said. 'The Duke felt that if they were to bring engines round the side of the city, you might be in danger up here. Much better off on the ground floor.'

Miel wanted to laugh. 'That's very thoughtful,' he said. 'When would he like me out by?'

'As soon as you're ready,' the man said. 'No tearing hurry.'

There were all manner of things that Miel wanted to ask, or say; but the man wouldn't know the answers to the questions, and it wouldn't do for him to hear the comments. 'Send my valet up and we'll start packing,' he said, with a faint smile. 'Thank you.'

Strange; the tower had become home. At least, it had become his customary environment, like a hawk's mews, a place where he perched and waited, hooded, until he was needed, or until someone came to pull his neck because he was no longer of any use. He wasn't sure he'd be able to cope as well, down at ground level.

It took a long time to put the proper state of the Ducas into bags and boxes (how can I have gathered so much stuff in such a short time? Miel wondered, as two more men staggered away down the stairs with their arms full). Eventually he was alone in a bare stone room, waiting for his keeper to take him down. Since he was on his honour (he was always on his honour), he hadn't even considered trying to slip away, bolt down the stairs while everyone was preoccupied with moving his possessions, try and run away. There was, after all, nowhere for him to go; he was the Ducas, everybody knew him by sight, and if he ran he'd have to leave being himself behind. That made him think, very briefly, of Ziani Vaatzes, who'd done just that. What on earth would that have felt like; jumping out of a window, he seemed to recall, and running like a doe or a boar flushed out of cover. And didn't he have a wife and children? I couldn't do that, Miel decided, I'd rather have stayed put and let them kill me.

The captain of the guard came to collect him; stood to one side to let him go first (due deference or a security precaution? Both, Miel decided; a happy coincidence of protocols). The tight coil of the spiral staircase made him feel slightly dizzy-always worse going down-and he had to stop for a moment and put his hand on the wall before they reached the bottom.

Just briefly they passed out into the open air. Miel stopped and looked up at the sky, then apologised for holding things up. It was time for his afternoon letter to Orsea.

'Can you tell me what's going on out there?' he asked the guard.

'Bombardment stopped about an hour ago,' the captain replied. 'We don't know yet if they've got any more stones to chuck at us, but it doesn't matter if they do. They just break up, like clods of dirt.'

At that moment Miel felt a stab of bewilderment, as though he'd suddenly woken up in a strange place. If the city was being attacked, he ought to be on the wall or in the council room, doing whatever he could to help. It seemed ludicrous that he should be blinking in the sunlight on the wrong side of the city, dull-witted from prolonged idleness, about to settle down in another cosy, enclosed room with nothing useful to do. He tried to remember what it was that he'd done wrong, but he couldn't. This is silly, he thought. I'll write a quick note to Orsea, he'll sort it all out. Then he remembered; he'd already done that, many times, and for some reason it didn't seem to have worked. He turned to the captain, who seemed a decent enough sort.

'Excuse me,' he said (because the Ducas is always polite). 'Can I ask you something?'

The captain frowned, then nodded. 'Of course.'

'This sounds silly,' Miel said, 'but you wouldn't happen to know, would you, what it is I'm supposed to have done?'

The expression on the captain's face was hard to interpret. Surprise, definitely; incredulity, perhaps, or shock. 'You mean…' he started to say, then hesitated for a moment. 'You mean to say you don't know?'

'That's right,' Miel said. 'I mean, they arrested me and brought me here, but nobody seemed to want to tell me why, I've written to the Duke and everybody else I can think of, but they haven't seen fit…' He paused. The Ducas doesn't criticise the Duke. 'I just wondered if you'd heard anything,' he said.

'That's-' Again, the captain stopped himself. 'If you haven't been told,' he said, 'it's got to be because there's a good reason. I'm sorry'

Miel looked at him. 'So there is a reason?' he said. 'You know what it is, but you won't tell me.'

'I can't,' the captain said.

Miel thought for a moment. 'Let me ask you something.' he said. 'You know what it is I'm supposed to have done. Yes?'

The captain nodded slowly.

'Fine,' Miel said. 'And I suppose it must be something pretty bloody dreadful, if I've got to be locked up in here for it. So; do you think I'm guilty?'

The captain looked away. 'It's not-'

'Do you think I did it or don't you?'

'Yes,' the captain said. 'Everybody knows about it, there was a letter-'

'A letter.' Miel closed his eyes, just for an instant. 'Right, thank you. I think I see now.'

The captain was looking at him. 'So it's true, then?' he said.

He tried not to, but he couldn't help laughing. 'I don't bloody know, do I?' he said. 'You won't tell me what the charges are.'

There was an edge of anger to the captain's voice. 'You were conspiring with the Vadani,' he said. 'You were plotting to get the Duke to escape, bugger off and leave us. You and-'

'That's not true,' Miel said angrily. 'What the hell have the Vadani got to do with it?' he added, because for a moment he'd forgotten who the letter had been from. He remembered as the captain replied.

'You're saying it's not true?' he said.

'I'd rather not discuss it,' Miel said. 'But for your information, because you're stuck with me and I don't want you thinking you're guarding some kind of evil monster, I've never had any dealings with the Vadani except as an accredited diplomat; I don't know Duke Valens, I've never talked to him or written him a letter or had a letter from him. If this is about what I think it is, then it's just a private thing between Duke Orsea and me.' He paused. 'Do you believe me?'

The captain stared at him. 'I don't know,' he said.

'Oh come on,' Miel said impatiently. 'Either you do or you don't.'

'You've got to go inside now,' the captain said.

Miel breathed out slowly. 'In case you're worried,' he said, 'I won't tell anybody about what you've just told me. If it comes up and they ask me how I knew, I'll say it was just some rumour my barber told me about. All right?'

The captain nodded gratefully. Evidently he was prepared to take the word of the Ducas. 'All I know is what people have been saying,' he said. 'They found a letter hidden in your house, and apparently it links you to a conspiracy to lure the Duke out of the city; they're saying the idea was to persuade him to escape to the Vadani, and then Valens would hand him over to the Mezentines.'